Hello faithful LeslieDishes readers. It's been a good run, BlogSpot has served me well. But I've joined the ranks of 2010 and actually purchased my own domain. Rest assured, LeslieDishes isn't going anywhere, I'm still continuing to blog about the hell that is put upon me, on a daily basis. You can now find me at
http://www.lesliedishes.com/
Give me a few days to get it going. I'm bumping my way through this whole web domain thing, so it may take a bit of time, but once it's up and going, I guarantee you'll be entertained because I've got weeks worth of ranting saved up!!!
Thank you, thank you, thank you,
Leslie
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
sexting
So, my husband had been white water rafting for 6 days. Then traveled for 2 days for bid-ness. Then took my kids camping for 3 days. Then traveled for bid-ness for another 3 days. So, yeah....we missed each other. He was really missing me on 4th of July when he was stuck camping with a bunch of nerds (and our kids) while I was at our friends' house with 3 other couples that we always hang out with. I was having a blast with our 'crew' and I was keeping him updated via text. He was sooooo jealous!
I went home that night and texted him that I was going to bed. He asked why I didn't send him any photo texts while I was at the party. I explained that it was too dark and smoky (fireworks). He asked, "how about a photo now?" I got all embarrassed! I've never, in my life, sent a naughty text to anyone, let alone my husband of 10 years. But, call it lapse of judgement or 7 Summer Shandy's....whatever. I snapped a pic of my boob and wrote, "there, are you happy? goodnight." He was all happy and so forth.
I thought that was the end of it....until. My kids come and wake me up two days later and the older one is shoving my phone in my face at 7:30 this morning saying, "MOM, LOOK WHAT GABE DID!!!" I look and see a picture of my boob. Now, any other time, I'd totally assume Gabe did it. He's a pig. He is known for taking disgusting pictures of things. But, we both know who is responsible for taking this particular photo. However, I can't very well tell my kids, "no, that was me. I took a picture of my own boob so your dad could get his jollies". That would traumatize them. So, I did what any other mother would do. I threw my 5 year old right under the bus. I was like, "Gabe.....did you take this picture????" He was bawling! He was all, "it wasn't me, I tell you!" I couldn't handle the guilt anymore, so I blamed it on the camera, saying it had accidently captured me getting dressed. Mother of the year.
I went home that night and texted him that I was going to bed. He asked why I didn't send him any photo texts while I was at the party. I explained that it was too dark and smoky (fireworks). He asked, "how about a photo now?" I got all embarrassed! I've never, in my life, sent a naughty text to anyone, let alone my husband of 10 years. But, call it lapse of judgement or 7 Summer Shandy's....whatever. I snapped a pic of my boob and wrote, "there, are you happy? goodnight." He was all happy and so forth.
I thought that was the end of it....until. My kids come and wake me up two days later and the older one is shoving my phone in my face at 7:30 this morning saying, "MOM, LOOK WHAT GABE DID!!!" I look and see a picture of my boob. Now, any other time, I'd totally assume Gabe did it. He's a pig. He is known for taking disgusting pictures of things. But, we both know who is responsible for taking this particular photo. However, I can't very well tell my kids, "no, that was me. I took a picture of my own boob so your dad could get his jollies". That would traumatize them. So, I did what any other mother would do. I threw my 5 year old right under the bus. I was like, "Gabe.....did you take this picture????" He was bawling! He was all, "it wasn't me, I tell you!" I couldn't handle the guilt anymore, so I blamed it on the camera, saying it had accidently captured me getting dressed. Mother of the year.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
how to be a good house guest
Ahhhh, Summer is upon us, which is prime 'house guest' season! Some are expected and highly anticipated. Others are not so expected and not so highly anticipated.
You know me and my lists.... Well, here is a handy guide line to adhere to, should you find yourself to be traveling about.
First and foremost, DON'T stay more than 3 days! Would YOU want a house guest for 3 days? Would you want to feed, entertain and be "on" for more than three days? No? Then neither does the person you're visiting. Unless, of course, you're like my sister and me who just lay on the couch in silence watching tv all day then drink well into the night. It's like I'm not even there.
Bring a hostess gift. Even if it's just a day trip. I'm not talking about a vase from Tiffany & Co. I just mean a small token of appreciation; a bottle of wine, coffee cake, a bag of carmel corn, some blow, strippers, what have you. At the very least, bring whatever you/your family will need so you're not like, "can I use your sunscreen, can I borrow a toothbrush, do you have any dog food, for my dog that we didn't tell you we were bringing"?
Just because you're close with these people, don't let your manners slip to the wayside. If the hostess asks if you'd like coffee, you still answer, "yes, please...that sounds great". Not "uh-huh". Or if she asks what you'd like for breakfast, don't say, "bacon and eggs". You would say, "whatever you're making, thank you so much".
I can't believe I even have to post this, but clean up after yourself for God's sake. Don't put dishes in the sink. PUT THEM IN THE DISHWASHER. It's not that hard. Make your bed. Carry your shit upstairs so it's not strewn all over the house. Hang up your towel. Jesus, I'm annoyed even writing this....who doesn't do this?
If the hostess orders food, like pizza or whatever...offer to pitch in. (FYI, it would be kinda tacky for the hostess to accept your money, unless you two decided together to order pizza for your families). Or, if she's preparing something for dinner, at the very least offer to help. Cut veggies or set the table. I always put my friends to work. Not because I need the help, but because I want to chat with her while I'm in the kitchen.
If you bring your dog, clean up after it. OK, I have a dog and I pretty much never take her anywhere because I feel like she's too big and hairy. While I allow her on the furniture in my home, I would NEVER let her get on the furniture at someone else's house.
If you're a smoker and you go outside to smoke, you must dispose of your butts accordingly. I hate when I have to pick up nasty butts the next day out of my grass....where my kids play. G-hetto.
This is another big one that I can't believe I have to spell out. If there is a gathering (big or small) in a living room, assume there is a couch, maybe a loveseat, perhaps a chair. Unless you are the only one in the room, DO NOT lay across the couch so no one else can sit down. This has happened so many times in my own home, where my guests and I have to sit on the floor because someone felt the need to lay down across 3 cushions. Rude.
Offer to take your shoes off. If the hostess says, "don't worry about it, you can wear them", then it's ok. But, if you see shoes lined up at the front door, that should be a clue that it's a shoes-off house.
If you've stayed for a while and it's the night before you're going to leave, offer to pick up the dinner tab for your hostess. OK, OK, if you're there by yourself and your hostess has a family of 8, there can be an exception to this rule. However, if you're there with your 12 kids and you're visiting a couple, or a single person, for God's sake, pick up the dinner tab! Don't be tacky. Really, it's the least you can do.
Offer to strip the bed before you leave. Because you know she's going to anyway.
Look her/him in the eye when saying your good byes and thank them for a great time.
If you are really fancy and this trip was sort of out of the ordinary, you might follow up with a thank you note via mail. I wouldn't do this if I were visiting my dear friends that I see all the time, but maybe I would if it were a new friend, or a distant cousin or something.
I swear, I'm not a stickler (I actually am a very fun person)....but these are lessons in common courtesy. It boggles me that I'm 36 years old and there are still people who are completely devoid of basic kindness. And no, I wasn't raised by Emily Post either. Again, it's just common courtesy, people.
Educating the world, one bitchy blog at a time.
You know me and my lists.... Well, here is a handy guide line to adhere to, should you find yourself to be traveling about.
First and foremost, DON'T stay more than 3 days! Would YOU want a house guest for 3 days? Would you want to feed, entertain and be "on" for more than three days? No? Then neither does the person you're visiting. Unless, of course, you're like my sister and me who just lay on the couch in silence watching tv all day then drink well into the night. It's like I'm not even there.
Bring a hostess gift. Even if it's just a day trip. I'm not talking about a vase from Tiffany & Co. I just mean a small token of appreciation; a bottle of wine, coffee cake, a bag of carmel corn, some blow, strippers, what have you. At the very least, bring whatever you/your family will need so you're not like, "can I use your sunscreen, can I borrow a toothbrush, do you have any dog food, for my dog that we didn't tell you we were bringing"?
Just because you're close with these people, don't let your manners slip to the wayside. If the hostess asks if you'd like coffee, you still answer, "yes, please...that sounds great". Not "uh-huh". Or if she asks what you'd like for breakfast, don't say, "bacon and eggs". You would say, "whatever you're making, thank you so much".
I can't believe I even have to post this, but clean up after yourself for God's sake. Don't put dishes in the sink. PUT THEM IN THE DISHWASHER. It's not that hard. Make your bed. Carry your shit upstairs so it's not strewn all over the house. Hang up your towel. Jesus, I'm annoyed even writing this....who doesn't do this?
If the hostess orders food, like pizza or whatever...offer to pitch in. (FYI, it would be kinda tacky for the hostess to accept your money, unless you two decided together to order pizza for your families). Or, if she's preparing something for dinner, at the very least offer to help. Cut veggies or set the table. I always put my friends to work. Not because I need the help, but because I want to chat with her while I'm in the kitchen.
If you bring your dog, clean up after it. OK, I have a dog and I pretty much never take her anywhere because I feel like she's too big and hairy. While I allow her on the furniture in my home, I would NEVER let her get on the furniture at someone else's house.
If you're a smoker and you go outside to smoke, you must dispose of your butts accordingly. I hate when I have to pick up nasty butts the next day out of my grass....where my kids play. G-hetto.
This is another big one that I can't believe I have to spell out. If there is a gathering (big or small) in a living room, assume there is a couch, maybe a loveseat, perhaps a chair. Unless you are the only one in the room, DO NOT lay across the couch so no one else can sit down. This has happened so many times in my own home, where my guests and I have to sit on the floor because someone felt the need to lay down across 3 cushions. Rude.
Offer to take your shoes off. If the hostess says, "don't worry about it, you can wear them", then it's ok. But, if you see shoes lined up at the front door, that should be a clue that it's a shoes-off house.
If you've stayed for a while and it's the night before you're going to leave, offer to pick up the dinner tab for your hostess. OK, OK, if you're there by yourself and your hostess has a family of 8, there can be an exception to this rule. However, if you're there with your 12 kids and you're visiting a couple, or a single person, for God's sake, pick up the dinner tab! Don't be tacky. Really, it's the least you can do.
Offer to strip the bed before you leave. Because you know she's going to anyway.
Look her/him in the eye when saying your good byes and thank them for a great time.
If you are really fancy and this trip was sort of out of the ordinary, you might follow up with a thank you note via mail. I wouldn't do this if I were visiting my dear friends that I see all the time, but maybe I would if it were a new friend, or a distant cousin or something.
I swear, I'm not a stickler (I actually am a very fun person)....but these are lessons in common courtesy. It boggles me that I'm 36 years old and there are still people who are completely devoid of basic kindness. And no, I wasn't raised by Emily Post either. Again, it's just common courtesy, people.
Educating the world, one bitchy blog at a time.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Ginger, the Dissing Dog.
An old friend of mine accidently inherited a dog. By accidently, I mean she absolutely didn't want it. Her kids were scared of dogs, she herself was not a dog person and as luck would have it, this dog happened to be among the most hyper & high maintenence breed of dogs (brittany spaniel). 'Ginger' had previously belonged to her mother in law, but grandma could no longer care for Ginger and her incessant need to play. Husband offered to adopt the dog. Wife offered to suffocate husband in his sleep. Dog ownership ensued.
So, fast forward a couple of years. The dog snarls at the children, never stops wanting to play and just generally annoys everyone, especially my friend. I witnessed Ginger's relentlessness during a weekend visit. Jesus, you couldn't even sit idle on the deck without Ginger pacing at your feet dying for you to throw her ball. So, you'd throw the ball so far into the woods, you'd assume Ginger would never come back. Oh no, 5 minutes later, Ginger would be back at your feet nudging that effing ball back toward your feet again. The ball went missing once and Ginger would spend at least 17 hours a day frantically looking for it. My friend finally broke down, went to Pet Smart and replaced it. Of course, it wasn't just any ball....it was the $12 kong ball, or whatever the hell it was. Fancy!
After several years, the family couldn't take it anymore, they'd decided to put Ginger up for adoption. The adopted family showed up to pick up their new dog and my friend called her children to come say goodbye to Ginger. The kids could barely muster the energy to look in Ginger's general direction and offer a weak, "bye". The new owners backed out the driveway and my friend goes barrelling down the street to retrieve Ginger. She couldn't go through with it. She was like the Grinch who's heart had grown 10 sizes that day. Christmas, it came without bags. It came without boxes or ribbons or tags. As she brought Ginger back into the house, I think she expected Ginger to be falling all over herself with gratitude. But, I think my friend sensed a bit of disappointment on Ginger's behalf. Ginger hung her head and sighed, as if to say, "Oh well. Easy come, easy go".
Fast forward another couple of months (or years....who knows really--it's their story to tell, not mine) and Ginger gets put up for adoption again. Honestly, what chance did she have? With a name like Ginger? It just sounds bitchy. Like Dutchess, for example--worst dog name, ever! Anyway, I digress. Ginger gets adopted by a lovely family in Kalamazoo. You might think the story ends here. You'd be wrong.
Fast forward many-a-month later. My friend's sister is at an event in Kalamazoo and would you believe she ran into Ginger and her new owners? Auntie was all excited to see her former dog-niece but Ginger was all, "I've moved on. You should too". Ginger was wearing a diamond encrusted collar. She was groomed to the nines and may or may not have had her toe nails painted pink. I don't like to spread rumors, so let's just say allegedly. Auntie was like, "get a load of Ginger!" But, Ginger wasn't endulging her. She totally dissed auntie. I guess she said something along the lines of, "Listen, we had some good times. Like that one time you threw a ball into the woods for me. (pause for effect) Yeah, I lived there for 4 years and I can see how throwing a ball more than once a day can seem excessive (Ginger was always so sarcastic). No, no, don't feel guilty. I'm with a new family now. My new mom is as barren as a rusty pipe, so you can imagine her devotion to me. Check out my coat...silky. Check out my teeth...sparkly. And you can tell that witch of a sister that I said, "how d'ya like me now....beeotch??" Then I guess she gave some dog-gang-sign with her paw, spun on her hind legs, and waltzed away.
Epic Diss!!!! .....And the moral of the story is...(wait for it)..... Hell, I don't know. It wasn't my dog.
So, fast forward a couple of years. The dog snarls at the children, never stops wanting to play and just generally annoys everyone, especially my friend. I witnessed Ginger's relentlessness during a weekend visit. Jesus, you couldn't even sit idle on the deck without Ginger pacing at your feet dying for you to throw her ball. So, you'd throw the ball so far into the woods, you'd assume Ginger would never come back. Oh no, 5 minutes later, Ginger would be back at your feet nudging that effing ball back toward your feet again. The ball went missing once and Ginger would spend at least 17 hours a day frantically looking for it. My friend finally broke down, went to Pet Smart and replaced it. Of course, it wasn't just any ball....it was the $12 kong ball, or whatever the hell it was. Fancy!
After several years, the family couldn't take it anymore, they'd decided to put Ginger up for adoption. The adopted family showed up to pick up their new dog and my friend called her children to come say goodbye to Ginger. The kids could barely muster the energy to look in Ginger's general direction and offer a weak, "bye". The new owners backed out the driveway and my friend goes barrelling down the street to retrieve Ginger. She couldn't go through with it. She was like the Grinch who's heart had grown 10 sizes that day. Christmas, it came without bags. It came without boxes or ribbons or tags. As she brought Ginger back into the house, I think she expected Ginger to be falling all over herself with gratitude. But, I think my friend sensed a bit of disappointment on Ginger's behalf. Ginger hung her head and sighed, as if to say, "Oh well. Easy come, easy go".
Fast forward another couple of months (or years....who knows really--it's their story to tell, not mine) and Ginger gets put up for adoption again. Honestly, what chance did she have? With a name like Ginger? It just sounds bitchy. Like Dutchess, for example--worst dog name, ever! Anyway, I digress. Ginger gets adopted by a lovely family in Kalamazoo. You might think the story ends here. You'd be wrong.
Fast forward many-a-month later. My friend's sister is at an event in Kalamazoo and would you believe she ran into Ginger and her new owners? Auntie was all excited to see her former dog-niece but Ginger was all, "I've moved on. You should too". Ginger was wearing a diamond encrusted collar. She was groomed to the nines and may or may not have had her toe nails painted pink. I don't like to spread rumors, so let's just say allegedly. Auntie was like, "get a load of Ginger!" But, Ginger wasn't endulging her. She totally dissed auntie. I guess she said something along the lines of, "Listen, we had some good times. Like that one time you threw a ball into the woods for me. (pause for effect) Yeah, I lived there for 4 years and I can see how throwing a ball more than once a day can seem excessive (Ginger was always so sarcastic). No, no, don't feel guilty. I'm with a new family now. My new mom is as barren as a rusty pipe, so you can imagine her devotion to me. Check out my coat...silky. Check out my teeth...sparkly. And you can tell that witch of a sister that I said, "how d'ya like me now....beeotch??" Then I guess she gave some dog-gang-sign with her paw, spun on her hind legs, and waltzed away.
Epic Diss!!!! .....And the moral of the story is...(wait for it)..... Hell, I don't know. It wasn't my dog.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
life; at a glance
It's not all fun and games here. I have a life, you know. Ever wonder what it's like to be me? I'm a tortured soul, I tell you. Here, see for yourself.
(insert the Law & Order's ching-ching sound bite)
First Day of Summer Vacation
Brought the kids over to the Rossi's for cocktails and hors d'voures. I had taken sudafed (allergies, you know) prior to arriving and then I hit the Smirnoff Ice rather abruptly. I only had one, but I was all tippy, for whatever reason. The littlest girl was struggling to get out of the pool and I waltzed over to hoist her out of the pool. I totally lost my balance and teetered into the pool. I didn't actually slip, but the stumble was obvious, mainly by the child's mother. I was horrified--(although, the mother is no stranger to parenting under the influence). I wasn't even drunk (yet). Whatever...she shoulda used the ladder.
Second day of Summer Vacation
I already loathe the children. I've been a bitch on wheels since I woke up this morning. First of all, Ben came barrelling into my room at 7:30 to announce the time. I was like, "can you believe this effing kid"? I ran down the list of rules for the Summer. No wakie mommy before 9. No loud toys before 9. No tattling before 9. Anyway.... I semi-float thru the day and somewhere around 4 PM, I'm white knuckling it and I kicked the kids out of the house. I told them to turn the tv off and get outside. I was upstairs and I heard them go outside, but I also heard the tv still on in the family room below. Whatever, at least they're outside. Oh, wait.... I come downstairs a few minutes later and those rotten kids took the ottomans off the deck, brought them over to the family room window and were watching tv from the backyard.
Third day of Summer vacation
For the first time ever, I had to ground my little Gabe. At his brother's baseball game, I busted him playing hide and go seek in the porta potty. Unfortunately, this is the second time this week that this incident has taken place (which is why he got grounded this time). In case you're wondering how this affects me, you might know that I'm soooo afraid of germs. I'm the mom with antibacterial spray (yes, spray, from bath and body works) on my belt loop. Long story short, Gabe had TWO bleach baths this week.
Fourth day of Summer Vacation
Gave Jason some loving after work. Scamped off to a jewelry party. Received a text from my husband telling me I looked hot before I left. I took that as a sign that I could buy whatever I wanted. End of story.
10th Day of Summer vacation
I was given a hot tip that there were Bulldog puppies at a local pet store. I put the pedal to the metal and got my sweet ass over there. Big ol' mama, big ol' papa and two baby boys came waddling over and met me at the door. I dropped to my knees and fell in love instantly. I named both boys and began calling them my own. Gabe was totally jealous of my affection for the dogs so he started climbing on me. I threw him aside and continued puppy-talking to the babies. "Who's a pretty boy?" One of them placed both paws on either side of my neck and started nuzzling my ear. That's it! Wrap 'em up, I'll take two!! I handed Gabe my phone and told him to take a picture of my new puppy and me. We both exhibited our perfect "pout" face (as in....pleeaaase, daddy) and we immediately texted the photo to Jason. To which he responded, "No Way. ....How much"? This is good. This means he's considering it. "What are they going for" I ask the lady. "$2300", she tells me. (gulp) I said, "whew, that's a little steep". She says, "yeah, but would you put a price on your child"? "YES!" I answer. "Name your price", I tell her. "I have another one at home who's bigger and smarter than this one", I add. She just stares at me and then surrupticiously calls the police, I think. I text Jason, "$2300. A real bargain if you consider the happiness he'll bring to us". I continue to carry my boy around the store (the dog boy, not the people-boy) and won't let anyone pet him. I bounce him as if he's a collicky baby. We're bonding. I burp his back. He snores in my ear. I'm in love. Jason texts back, "no fucking way". Whatever. I guess you picked the wrong week to go white water rafting in Colorado for the next 6 days.
Eleventh Day of Summer vacation
Jason has a cold. I repeat. Jason has a cold. A COLD. He woke me up at 3:30 in the morning to tell me that he was driving himself to urgent care. Really? Urgent Care, for a cold? Mind you, there was a tornado warning in town--unbeknownst to me, but the point is, he drove off into the night to score some pain relief and left his family for dead. No, I'm not being dramatic. So, he scores a vat of liquid vicodin, goes to work, comes home early, taps the liquid vicodin and went to bed at 4:30 P.M. Ok, do you know what it would look like if I had a cold? I'd get up, make breakfast, do b'fast dishes, make beds, get dressed, chaperone the children everywhere, make lunch, do lunch dishes, clean kitchen and family room, take shower--if there's time, deliver snacks, break up fights, fix dvd player, fix wii, make dinner, do dinner dishes, bathe the children, fold laundry, return phone calls, put children to bed, read to [said] children and then finally, chug hot soup and maybe decaffeinated tea and lay down. There. I feel justified.
And there you have it. My world, at a glance. Jealous?
(insert the Law & Order's ching-ching sound bite)
First Day of Summer Vacation
Brought the kids over to the Rossi's for cocktails and hors d'voures. I had taken sudafed (allergies, you know) prior to arriving and then I hit the Smirnoff Ice rather abruptly. I only had one, but I was all tippy, for whatever reason. The littlest girl was struggling to get out of the pool and I waltzed over to hoist her out of the pool. I totally lost my balance and teetered into the pool. I didn't actually slip, but the stumble was obvious, mainly by the child's mother. I was horrified--(although, the mother is no stranger to parenting under the influence). I wasn't even drunk (yet). Whatever...she shoulda used the ladder.
Second day of Summer Vacation
I already loathe the children. I've been a bitch on wheels since I woke up this morning. First of all, Ben came barrelling into my room at 7:30 to announce the time. I was like, "can you believe this effing kid"? I ran down the list of rules for the Summer. No wakie mommy before 9. No loud toys before 9. No tattling before 9. Anyway.... I semi-float thru the day and somewhere around 4 PM, I'm white knuckling it and I kicked the kids out of the house. I told them to turn the tv off and get outside. I was upstairs and I heard them go outside, but I also heard the tv still on in the family room below. Whatever, at least they're outside. Oh, wait.... I come downstairs a few minutes later and those rotten kids took the ottomans off the deck, brought them over to the family room window and were watching tv from the backyard.
Third day of Summer vacation
For the first time ever, I had to ground my little Gabe. At his brother's baseball game, I busted him playing hide and go seek in the porta potty. Unfortunately, this is the second time this week that this incident has taken place (which is why he got grounded this time). In case you're wondering how this affects me, you might know that I'm soooo afraid of germs. I'm the mom with antibacterial spray (yes, spray, from bath and body works) on my belt loop. Long story short, Gabe had TWO bleach baths this week.
Fourth day of Summer Vacation
Gave Jason some loving after work. Scamped off to a jewelry party. Received a text from my husband telling me I looked hot before I left. I took that as a sign that I could buy whatever I wanted. End of story.
10th Day of Summer vacation
I was given a hot tip that there were Bulldog puppies at a local pet store. I put the pedal to the metal and got my sweet ass over there. Big ol' mama, big ol' papa and two baby boys came waddling over and met me at the door. I dropped to my knees and fell in love instantly. I named both boys and began calling them my own. Gabe was totally jealous of my affection for the dogs so he started climbing on me. I threw him aside and continued puppy-talking to the babies. "Who's a pretty boy?" One of them placed both paws on either side of my neck and started nuzzling my ear. That's it! Wrap 'em up, I'll take two!! I handed Gabe my phone and told him to take a picture of my new puppy and me. We both exhibited our perfect "pout" face (as in....pleeaaase, daddy) and we immediately texted the photo to Jason. To which he responded, "No Way. ....How much"? This is good. This means he's considering it. "What are they going for" I ask the lady. "$2300", she tells me. (gulp) I said, "whew, that's a little steep". She says, "yeah, but would you put a price on your child"? "YES!" I answer. "Name your price", I tell her. "I have another one at home who's bigger and smarter than this one", I add. She just stares at me and then surrupticiously calls the police, I think. I text Jason, "$2300. A real bargain if you consider the happiness he'll bring to us". I continue to carry my boy around the store (the dog boy, not the people-boy) and won't let anyone pet him. I bounce him as if he's a collicky baby. We're bonding. I burp his back. He snores in my ear. I'm in love. Jason texts back, "no fucking way". Whatever. I guess you picked the wrong week to go white water rafting in Colorado for the next 6 days.
Eleventh Day of Summer vacation
Jason has a cold. I repeat. Jason has a cold. A COLD. He woke me up at 3:30 in the morning to tell me that he was driving himself to urgent care. Really? Urgent Care, for a cold? Mind you, there was a tornado warning in town--unbeknownst to me, but the point is, he drove off into the night to score some pain relief and left his family for dead. No, I'm not being dramatic. So, he scores a vat of liquid vicodin, goes to work, comes home early, taps the liquid vicodin and went to bed at 4:30 P.M. Ok, do you know what it would look like if I had a cold? I'd get up, make breakfast, do b'fast dishes, make beds, get dressed, chaperone the children everywhere, make lunch, do lunch dishes, clean kitchen and family room, take shower--if there's time, deliver snacks, break up fights, fix dvd player, fix wii, make dinner, do dinner dishes, bathe the children, fold laundry, return phone calls, put children to bed, read to [said] children and then finally, chug hot soup and maybe decaffeinated tea and lay down. There. I feel justified.
And there you have it. My world, at a glance. Jealous?
Monday, June 21, 2010
How to NOT age
Here are a few tips on how not to age yourself, or rather, how to appear younger.
1. Bangs. I don't know why this is, but whenever someone gets bangs, they immediately look younger!
2. Ripped jeans. So freaking cute! I wore ripped jeans to my sister in law's graduation party and Grandma Lupe said to me, "Oh mija, you look just like a teenager"! I love Grandma Lupe. And seriously, no one knows fashion like Grandma Lupe. That gal can rock a fur hat like it's nobody's business.
3. Preparation H (hemorroid ointment--NOT cream) under your eyes. It smells like death, but it shrinks the access skin under your eyes.
4. Self tanner as opposed to tanning bed. There's a chick at my gym that is so tan, she is actually darker than an African American. Seriously, I can't believe she thinks that looks good. She is so wrinkled and leathery, it's disgusting and I think she's my age, which of course, is 19. Self tanner is moisturizing, glowing and cancer-free!
5.Don't smoke. It totally causes wrinkles, especially around your lips. Plus, it makes you smell like cancer. Gross!
6. Stay current. No, your Beverly Hills Beach Club sweatshirt from 1987 isn't a wise choice for a trip downtown. Don't give me that, "it's comfortable" crap. Fashion knows no comfort! Also--anything in your closet that has a cartoon, writing or a character on it, just throw it away.
7. Watch the camel toe. It's a dead give away that you're old. There's someone in my, ahem, family that consistently sports a camel toe. It's not like I can tell her to pull her pants down, but seriously....it's disgusting.
8. Don't say things like, "rock and roll" or "blouse".
9. Don't 'wear' photos of your kids or grandkids. Tacky, tacky, tacky. Not on your purse, not on your shirt, not anywhere. You're a parent/grandparent 24/7. It doesn't need to infiltrate your wardrobe.
10. Stay fit. If you don't use it, you lose it. Stay active and quit concentrating on all the things that you can't do. "Oh, I can't walk all that way. Whew, I cleaned the whole house today and my muscles are sore". Really? Man up. The only time I ever get sore is when I do 100 squat kicks or 3 laps worth of walking lunges. I earn the right to complain after that....but not from say, gardening or vacuuming. (this particular bullet point is reserved for people over 75---however, my dear friend Tammy's elderly mother was locked out of her house while watering plants on her balcony, so she tied the hose around the rails and scaled her way down the house---Grandma Betty, you rock).
1. Bangs. I don't know why this is, but whenever someone gets bangs, they immediately look younger!
2. Ripped jeans. So freaking cute! I wore ripped jeans to my sister in law's graduation party and Grandma Lupe said to me, "Oh mija, you look just like a teenager"! I love Grandma Lupe. And seriously, no one knows fashion like Grandma Lupe. That gal can rock a fur hat like it's nobody's business.
3. Preparation H (hemorroid ointment--NOT cream) under your eyes. It smells like death, but it shrinks the access skin under your eyes.
4. Self tanner as opposed to tanning bed. There's a chick at my gym that is so tan, she is actually darker than an African American. Seriously, I can't believe she thinks that looks good. She is so wrinkled and leathery, it's disgusting and I think she's my age, which of course, is 19. Self tanner is moisturizing, glowing and cancer-free!
5.Don't smoke. It totally causes wrinkles, especially around your lips. Plus, it makes you smell like cancer. Gross!
6. Stay current. No, your Beverly Hills Beach Club sweatshirt from 1987 isn't a wise choice for a trip downtown. Don't give me that, "it's comfortable" crap. Fashion knows no comfort! Also--anything in your closet that has a cartoon, writing or a character on it, just throw it away.
7. Watch the camel toe. It's a dead give away that you're old. There's someone in my, ahem, family that consistently sports a camel toe. It's not like I can tell her to pull her pants down, but seriously....it's disgusting.
8. Don't say things like, "rock and roll" or "blouse".
9. Don't 'wear' photos of your kids or grandkids. Tacky, tacky, tacky. Not on your purse, not on your shirt, not anywhere. You're a parent/grandparent 24/7. It doesn't need to infiltrate your wardrobe.
10. Stay fit. If you don't use it, you lose it. Stay active and quit concentrating on all the things that you can't do. "Oh, I can't walk all that way. Whew, I cleaned the whole house today and my muscles are sore". Really? Man up. The only time I ever get sore is when I do 100 squat kicks or 3 laps worth of walking lunges. I earn the right to complain after that....but not from say, gardening or vacuuming. (this particular bullet point is reserved for people over 75---however, my dear friend Tammy's elderly mother was locked out of her house while watering plants on her balcony, so she tied the hose around the rails and scaled her way down the house---Grandma Betty, you rock).
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Always a Jewish Mother at Heart
It's true, biologically, I AM a (non-practicing) Jewish mother. Although I married a Christian and we are raising our boys Christian...you can't deny that deep down, I am a Jewish mother.
Case in point. I feel the need to feed every living creature that crosses my path. I'm all, "Eat..Eat...you're skin and bones". Which, for the record, both my children are skin and bones, but that's just good genes, not negligent parenting. Ok,so like there's these families of birds who come to live in our yard each and every Spring and I become totally fixated on them. I check on the eggs on an hourly basis (FYI, the mother birds really hate that). Finally, when the blessed eggs hatched, I texted my husband at work and told him. I guess I expected a big reaction, but he couldn't have been bothered (scrooge). Then, I proceed to dig up worms in my yard and throw them in the general direction toward the nest. PS. the mother bird really hated that. After I've sat back and thought about it, I'm sure the bird was like, "Um, thanks...but, I got it. I can find my own f^%-ing food. I'm a bird". Whatever.
Also, I tried to pour heaping cups of birdseed into our little bird house, but when I did, a HUGE bird came flying out of it and you have never seen this woman scream like a banshee in your life as I did that day. I did that girl-scream where it goes up 5 octives and you shake your arms like you fell into a porta potty. Scerred me-self. Anyway, so that little act of kindness failed because some dumb ass bird built a nest in our bird house. That's like me laying my sleeping bag on top of a Chinese Buffet. So, I did the next best thing, which was to pour birdseed into a medium sized tupperware bowl and place it under the tree. The boys and I marveled at the neighborhood birds who came to gather under the tree for a snack. We think we even may have helped our [said] bird's social situation. Like when your homely, asthmatic child brings popsicles to school...suddenly the cool kids become a little more accepting. So, I fell asleep that night with a clear conscience, knowing that although I might be a not-so-nice person to the human race, at least I'm a mensch to animals. Mensch: Yiddish expression meaning 'a good person'.
So, the next morning, the kids and I would wake up to check on the birds and the bowl would be empty. We'd all stand around commenting on how hungry those birds must have been and MY GOODNESS can those birds eat!! When smart ass Jason walks up behind us and says, "good job feeding the squirrels".
Ohhhhhhhh, riiiiight. Squirrels.
Whatever, I'm a Jewish mother at heart, and the moral of this story is where my human mothering lacks, my bird mothering flourishes. Shut up.
And also--I'm really good at making my kids feel guilty. (Jewish mother trademark)
Case in point. I feel the need to feed every living creature that crosses my path. I'm all, "Eat..Eat...you're skin and bones". Which, for the record, both my children are skin and bones, but that's just good genes, not negligent parenting. Ok,so like there's these families of birds who come to live in our yard each and every Spring and I become totally fixated on them. I check on the eggs on an hourly basis (FYI, the mother birds really hate that). Finally, when the blessed eggs hatched, I texted my husband at work and told him. I guess I expected a big reaction, but he couldn't have been bothered (scrooge). Then, I proceed to dig up worms in my yard and throw them in the general direction toward the nest. PS. the mother bird really hated that. After I've sat back and thought about it, I'm sure the bird was like, "Um, thanks...but, I got it. I can find my own f^%-ing food. I'm a bird". Whatever.
Also, I tried to pour heaping cups of birdseed into our little bird house, but when I did, a HUGE bird came flying out of it and you have never seen this woman scream like a banshee in your life as I did that day. I did that girl-scream where it goes up 5 octives and you shake your arms like you fell into a porta potty. Scerred me-self. Anyway, so that little act of kindness failed because some dumb ass bird built a nest in our bird house. That's like me laying my sleeping bag on top of a Chinese Buffet. So, I did the next best thing, which was to pour birdseed into a medium sized tupperware bowl and place it under the tree. The boys and I marveled at the neighborhood birds who came to gather under the tree for a snack. We think we even may have helped our [said] bird's social situation. Like when your homely, asthmatic child brings popsicles to school...suddenly the cool kids become a little more accepting. So, I fell asleep that night with a clear conscience, knowing that although I might be a not-so-nice person to the human race, at least I'm a mensch to animals. Mensch: Yiddish expression meaning 'a good person'.
So, the next morning, the kids and I would wake up to check on the birds and the bowl would be empty. We'd all stand around commenting on how hungry those birds must have been and MY GOODNESS can those birds eat!! When smart ass Jason walks up behind us and says, "good job feeding the squirrels".
Ohhhhhhhh, riiiiight. Squirrels.
Whatever, I'm a Jewish mother at heart, and the moral of this story is where my human mothering lacks, my bird mothering flourishes. Shut up.
And also--I'm really good at making my kids feel guilty. (Jewish mother trademark)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
my reign of terror
Holy Shitzu, is school out already? Gawd, 3 more half days and it's over. And what's up with 3 half days? Are the administrators trying to kill us slowly? Whatever. It's still better than no school at all, which is precisely what I'll be having to deal with for roughly 88 days. But, who's counting?
I don't get it...how some parents are so excited for Summer. I mean, if you're a teacher, sure, I totally get it. But a stay-at-home-mom? What's to look forward to? Whining, fighting and entertaining 24/7? Maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe everyone else's kids are awesome and they're a joy to be around. (However, I personally know some of these kids and I'm not buying it) My kids are great and all, but I'm realizing that they have no imagination and therein lies the problem.
We've all said it, 500 times. "....when we were kids, we'd disappear at 9 AM and our parents wouldn't see us until dinner time". Yeah, well, men are creepy now and we have to keep closer tabs on our kids. But seriously, Ben and Gabe couldn't entertain themselves in make-your-own-bomb factory. No, my kids would cry and complain that it was too (fill in the blank). They're either hungry, bored, hurt, uncomfortable, angry, thirsty, cold, hot or they have a headache. I pretty much have to build them a heated igloo that is stocked with toys and snacks for them to be remotely happy. I can handle it most days. But 88 days. In a row? Ima lose it.
I go thru this every Summer. I cannot, repeat CANNOT entertain them 7 days a week. GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY!!! You have every new toy known to man, you live in a neighborhood with 2700 kids (no lie), a park, a trampoline, a brother, a dog, a lake, the woods behind our house, a hose, a bike.....and on and on... Jeez, an old pair of socks used to keep me busy for days when I was their age. Of course, I was kinda a moron, as a child.
So, my "Reign of Terror" shall begin at exactly 12:00 noon on Friday, June 11. Our babysitter is coming at 5 so that we and our friends can get a prime spot at the annual, "Start of Summer" beer tent! You might remember how I got so lit last year, I dumped an entire drink on my sister in law, stood up and went home. Anyhoot, nice way to kick off the Summer. "Hey, congratulations you graduated from pre-school and your brother has completed 2nd grade. Yay you. Well, dad and I are off to numb ourselves".
I got a facebook message from an old friend recently who suggested that I drop the kids off at the library. The kids could pacify themselves for a few hours and I could go run some errands. That is a GREAT idea...if my kids were 17 and 14. OK, seriously? Where the hell does she live that her library allows the 'drop-off' option? Because we're totally moving there. Our library sucks. Mainly because it frowns upon abandonment. We do go there at least once a week, but that can only kill an hour...tops. So, just like last year, I've got the boys enrolled in pretty much every day camp that will take them. The 8 year old is going to wrestling camp and football camp. The 5 year old is going to some lame 'playground adventures' camp(which I'm sure he'll just lay on the ground and roll in dirt) and also a vacation Bible school. What? Together, I have them going camping twice with their dad (overnight....score!) and various other themed camps; Vegan camp, Jews for Jesus camp and a Michigan Militia camp. At this point, I don't even care. If they take 8 & 5 year olds, I'm signing them up.
Be aware that my blogs tend to get more intense and snippy as the Summer wears on. (hard to imagine, I know). However, the bright side is that along with the challenges of Summer, come the boat rides, parties, bon fires and back yard cocktails (more blogging material). There is a yard-olympics party coming up in a few weeks with 3 other couples. Ohhh, Lawd, I can't wait to bask in the aftermath of that! Can I just say....."KY Jelly Watermelon toss"?
~Happy Summer 2010
xoxox
I don't get it...how some parents are so excited for Summer. I mean, if you're a teacher, sure, I totally get it. But a stay-at-home-mom? What's to look forward to? Whining, fighting and entertaining 24/7? Maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe everyone else's kids are awesome and they're a joy to be around. (However, I personally know some of these kids and I'm not buying it) My kids are great and all, but I'm realizing that they have no imagination and therein lies the problem.
We've all said it, 500 times. "....when we were kids, we'd disappear at 9 AM and our parents wouldn't see us until dinner time". Yeah, well, men are creepy now and we have to keep closer tabs on our kids. But seriously, Ben and Gabe couldn't entertain themselves in make-your-own-bomb factory. No, my kids would cry and complain that it was too (fill in the blank). They're either hungry, bored, hurt, uncomfortable, angry, thirsty, cold, hot or they have a headache. I pretty much have to build them a heated igloo that is stocked with toys and snacks for them to be remotely happy. I can handle it most days. But 88 days. In a row? Ima lose it.
I go thru this every Summer. I cannot, repeat CANNOT entertain them 7 days a week. GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY!!! You have every new toy known to man, you live in a neighborhood with 2700 kids (no lie), a park, a trampoline, a brother, a dog, a lake, the woods behind our house, a hose, a bike.....and on and on... Jeez, an old pair of socks used to keep me busy for days when I was their age. Of course, I was kinda a moron, as a child.
So, my "Reign of Terror" shall begin at exactly 12:00 noon on Friday, June 11. Our babysitter is coming at 5 so that we and our friends can get a prime spot at the annual, "Start of Summer" beer tent! You might remember how I got so lit last year, I dumped an entire drink on my sister in law, stood up and went home. Anyhoot, nice way to kick off the Summer. "Hey, congratulations you graduated from pre-school and your brother has completed 2nd grade. Yay you. Well, dad and I are off to numb ourselves".
I got a facebook message from an old friend recently who suggested that I drop the kids off at the library. The kids could pacify themselves for a few hours and I could go run some errands. That is a GREAT idea...if my kids were 17 and 14. OK, seriously? Where the hell does she live that her library allows the 'drop-off' option? Because we're totally moving there. Our library sucks. Mainly because it frowns upon abandonment. We do go there at least once a week, but that can only kill an hour...tops. So, just like last year, I've got the boys enrolled in pretty much every day camp that will take them. The 8 year old is going to wrestling camp and football camp. The 5 year old is going to some lame 'playground adventures' camp(which I'm sure he'll just lay on the ground and roll in dirt) and also a vacation Bible school. What? Together, I have them going camping twice with their dad (overnight....score!) and various other themed camps; Vegan camp, Jews for Jesus camp and a Michigan Militia camp. At this point, I don't even care. If they take 8 & 5 year olds, I'm signing them up.
Be aware that my blogs tend to get more intense and snippy as the Summer wears on. (hard to imagine, I know). However, the bright side is that along with the challenges of Summer, come the boat rides, parties, bon fires and back yard cocktails (more blogging material). There is a yard-olympics party coming up in a few weeks with 3 other couples. Ohhh, Lawd, I can't wait to bask in the aftermath of that! Can I just say....."KY Jelly Watermelon toss"?
~Happy Summer 2010
xoxox
Saturday, May 29, 2010
more things to ponder and general complaints
Do Asians joke that white people all look alike?
And furthermore I'm fairly certain when we're getting pedicures and the nail techs are all squawking in their native tongue, they aren't talking about us. We're so self centered to assume they are. Like they have nothing better to talk about.
Why is it that when you get into a little (ahem) scuffle with someone on the road, it never fails that they pull into the same parking lot as you? Like, really? Out of all the 19 million places to go, the person I flipped off on I-96W is also deciding to go Targeting at MY Target?
The person who talks about their ailments. So annoying. There's this chick at the gym who angles her inuries and illnesses into every conversation. For example, Instructor: ....and get up into a plank and hold for 60 seconds. Sickie McSickerson: OH, I CAN'T DO THAT. MY DOCTOR SAYS NOT TO PUT ANY WEIGHT ON MY ARMS. Me: who the fuck asked you?
I've skirted around this issue in the past, but now I'm taking a grand stand. I hate the person who uses Facebook as a platform to brag about themselves. SUZY MCGEE.....wants to thank all the people who told me I was pretty last week. SUZY MCGEE.....needs to the hit the gym. SUZY MCGEE... hasn't worked out in like 6 minutes and I might be creeping up the scales at a whopping 112 lbs. And then all of Suzy's stupid friends have to comment how skinny she is and how if anyone can afford to skip the gym it's Suzy! And 'what I wouldn't give to look like you, Suzy!!!' Shut up, Suzy. You're fishing for a compliment, don't even try to lie. I hate that. I think it's their blatent insecurity that bothers me.
I hate the chick at my gym that always smells like onions. Oh my gawd, this lady....it's so disgusting. She is always soaked with sweat. It's always dripping off her hair and her too-tight tank is just drenched. That alone makes me sick, but coupled with the fact that she has the worst body odor I have ever smelled. It's b.o. and onions. Every day. And it lingers, too. I refuse to even stand on the same side of the room as her because the smell wafts over to me and then remains in my sinuses for the next 12 hours. I hate that!
Celebrity wives who talk TOO MUCH about their amaaaaazing marriages and their amaaaaaazing sex lives. See: Lisa Rinna, Heidi Klum, Jada Pinkett Smith. Has anyone else noticed this? These women...everytime they're being interviewed about anything, the conversation always gets redirected toward the sex. Maybe if they continue to brag about it, eventually we'll believe them. Keep it up, keep it up.
And speaking of Heidi Klum, do you ever shut your mouth? My God. Every picture of you has your big mouth gaping open. Shut it, horse teeth. Because, you know....I have room to criticize Heidi Klum (not). I just realized that Jake Gyllenhall (sp?) and Kate Gosselin have that problem too---smiling with their mouth open and their tongues hanging out.
Gretchen from Bravo's Housewives of Orange County. Whore. She cackles after every single thing that she says--which I HATE when people consistantly laugh at their own jokes. But in addition to her over blown ego, she flaunts her sexuality. OK, Gretchen...you're about 7 feet tall and smokin' hot. We get it. Just in case your good looks were lost on anyone--we get it, you're a tiger in the bedroom. Noted.
Do I seem bitter tonight?
And furthermore I'm fairly certain when we're getting pedicures and the nail techs are all squawking in their native tongue, they aren't talking about us. We're so self centered to assume they are. Like they have nothing better to talk about.
Why is it that when you get into a little (ahem) scuffle with someone on the road, it never fails that they pull into the same parking lot as you? Like, really? Out of all the 19 million places to go, the person I flipped off on I-96W is also deciding to go Targeting at MY Target?
The person who talks about their ailments. So annoying. There's this chick at the gym who angles her inuries and illnesses into every conversation. For example, Instructor: ....and get up into a plank and hold for 60 seconds. Sickie McSickerson: OH, I CAN'T DO THAT. MY DOCTOR SAYS NOT TO PUT ANY WEIGHT ON MY ARMS. Me: who the fuck asked you?
I've skirted around this issue in the past, but now I'm taking a grand stand. I hate the person who uses Facebook as a platform to brag about themselves. SUZY MCGEE.....wants to thank all the people who told me I was pretty last week. SUZY MCGEE.....needs to the hit the gym. SUZY MCGEE... hasn't worked out in like 6 minutes and I might be creeping up the scales at a whopping 112 lbs. And then all of Suzy's stupid friends have to comment how skinny she is and how if anyone can afford to skip the gym it's Suzy! And 'what I wouldn't give to look like you, Suzy!!!' Shut up, Suzy. You're fishing for a compliment, don't even try to lie. I hate that. I think it's their blatent insecurity that bothers me.
I hate the chick at my gym that always smells like onions. Oh my gawd, this lady....it's so disgusting. She is always soaked with sweat. It's always dripping off her hair and her too-tight tank is just drenched. That alone makes me sick, but coupled with the fact that she has the worst body odor I have ever smelled. It's b.o. and onions. Every day. And it lingers, too. I refuse to even stand on the same side of the room as her because the smell wafts over to me and then remains in my sinuses for the next 12 hours. I hate that!
Celebrity wives who talk TOO MUCH about their amaaaaazing marriages and their amaaaaaazing sex lives. See: Lisa Rinna, Heidi Klum, Jada Pinkett Smith. Has anyone else noticed this? These women...everytime they're being interviewed about anything, the conversation always gets redirected toward the sex. Maybe if they continue to brag about it, eventually we'll believe them. Keep it up, keep it up.
And speaking of Heidi Klum, do you ever shut your mouth? My God. Every picture of you has your big mouth gaping open. Shut it, horse teeth. Because, you know....I have room to criticize Heidi Klum (not). I just realized that Jake Gyllenhall (sp?) and Kate Gosselin have that problem too---smiling with their mouth open and their tongues hanging out.
Gretchen from Bravo's Housewives of Orange County. Whore. She cackles after every single thing that she says--which I HATE when people consistantly laugh at their own jokes. But in addition to her over blown ego, she flaunts her sexuality. OK, Gretchen...you're about 7 feet tall and smokin' hot. We get it. Just in case your good looks were lost on anyone--we get it, you're a tiger in the bedroom. Noted.
Do I seem bitter tonight?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
tips for my unborn daughter
Don't be a ho.
Don't change yourself to accomodate a boy
Don't order spaghetti on a date, or ribs.
Treat yourself to a professional eyebrow waxing.
Don't be overly available to anyone.
Don't call your grandmother when you're mad at me. I don't need you two in cahoots.
Take off your makeup every night. No matter how trashed you are.
Don't sun worship---believe you, me---those wrinkles WILL creep up on you! Self tanner is the ticket.
Don't take cameras out with you during a bender. In this crazy world of technology, it can only hurt you.
Do NOT have a party at my house while dad and I are on vacation. The thrill you'll endure will NOT be worth the wrath of your mother.
Keep your 'situation' trimmed and maintained. Just sayin'.
Don't let a boy video tape your bedroom antics, I guarantee they will resurface.
Don't bring pot to Mexico---they will find it.
Don't cut your own hair
If you're cursed with ugly feet, keep 'em covered.
Invest in a good bra
Pay attention to your colon
Exercise, exercise, exercise. Stay active---it's good for your heart and soul.
Recognize your weaknesses, then find a pill to correct it.
Get in good with your family physician.
Be independent!!! I can't stress this enough. You'll look pathetic if you always have a boy on your arm. and ps. boys love girls who have their own thing going on.
Never show up empty handed. This was a tip handed down from my mother and it's always served me well.
Always acknowledge a gift by way of thank you notes. Personal notes are the lost art and we're becoming a very lazy society that doesn't value the written word.
It's never ok to dress your kids in character clothes.
Don't ever let anyone talk you out of something that you really, really want to do. Unless it's a terribly idea.
FINISH COLLEGE
Invest in nice bedding. Your bedroom should be your sancuary and you should always fall into a crisp, clean, soft bed with a fluffy, heavy down comforter on top! You won't be sorry.
It's best to not even start smoking---it's hard to quit, plus it's pretty gross when you think about it.
Don't decide to cut off all your hair when you're pregnant. Sure, in your mind you'll think 'it'll be cute'----but trust me, you can't successfully pull off fat AND butch at the same time.
And for the love of God, if you're not ready to have a baby, don't have unprotected sex. Even if you think you're ready and you figure, 'what the heck..how hard can it be?' I can tell you with 100% honesty, your easiest day [as a parent] is still way harder than the toughest day you could have ever imagined.
...Now go on. Make mama proud.
Don't change yourself to accomodate a boy
Don't order spaghetti on a date, or ribs.
Treat yourself to a professional eyebrow waxing.
Don't be overly available to anyone.
Don't call your grandmother when you're mad at me. I don't need you two in cahoots.
Take off your makeup every night. No matter how trashed you are.
Don't sun worship---believe you, me---those wrinkles WILL creep up on you! Self tanner is the ticket.
Don't take cameras out with you during a bender. In this crazy world of technology, it can only hurt you.
Do NOT have a party at my house while dad and I are on vacation. The thrill you'll endure will NOT be worth the wrath of your mother.
Keep your 'situation' trimmed and maintained. Just sayin'.
Don't let a boy video tape your bedroom antics, I guarantee they will resurface.
Don't bring pot to Mexico---they will find it.
Don't cut your own hair
If you're cursed with ugly feet, keep 'em covered.
Invest in a good bra
Pay attention to your colon
Exercise, exercise, exercise. Stay active---it's good for your heart and soul.
Recognize your weaknesses, then find a pill to correct it.
Get in good with your family physician.
Be independent!!! I can't stress this enough. You'll look pathetic if you always have a boy on your arm. and ps. boys love girls who have their own thing going on.
Never show up empty handed. This was a tip handed down from my mother and it's always served me well.
Always acknowledge a gift by way of thank you notes. Personal notes are the lost art and we're becoming a very lazy society that doesn't value the written word.
It's never ok to dress your kids in character clothes.
Don't ever let anyone talk you out of something that you really, really want to do. Unless it's a terribly idea.
FINISH COLLEGE
Invest in nice bedding. Your bedroom should be your sancuary and you should always fall into a crisp, clean, soft bed with a fluffy, heavy down comforter on top! You won't be sorry.
It's best to not even start smoking---it's hard to quit, plus it's pretty gross when you think about it.
Don't decide to cut off all your hair when you're pregnant. Sure, in your mind you'll think 'it'll be cute'----but trust me, you can't successfully pull off fat AND butch at the same time.
And for the love of God, if you're not ready to have a baby, don't have unprotected sex. Even if you think you're ready and you figure, 'what the heck..how hard can it be?' I can tell you with 100% honesty, your easiest day [as a parent] is still way harder than the toughest day you could have ever imagined.
...Now go on. Make mama proud.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
differences betwix my mother and me
In Honor of Mother's Day......
Differences betwix my mother and me
Similarities betwix my mother and I
LB
Differences betwix my mother and me
- Well, for one thing, I don't leave a cigaratte buring in every ashtray in every room of the house.
- My pubes aren't busting out the sides of my bathing suit like "jazzy hands".
- I don't threaten to bash my kids' teeth down their throats
- I don't polish my silver every month (do I even have silver?)
- I can't whip up a wreath on a moment's notice
- I don't get drunk off of one fuzzy navel (more like 11--except I haven't drank peach schnapps since I was 14)
- She birthed girls, I birthed boys
- She didn't believe in antidepressants or therapy (despite desperately needing both). I'm a walking poster child for antidepressants.
- She loved to take care of other people. I'm legally obligated to take care of two people in particular.
- Her belief was that cleanliness was next to Godliness. I believe that it takes an unGodly amount of effort to keep this friggin' house clean 24/7
- She genuinely enjoyed taking care of my step father. Me? eh.
Similarities betwix my mother and I
- She had a very disturbingly sick relationship with her dog. Luna is my favorite person in the world.
- She swore like a sailor. I have a trucker mouth.
- She loved to sing while vacuuming. I too, love to sing and vacuum. No witty comparison there.
- When I'd annoy her, she'd scream, "WHHAAAAAT???? Goddamn it, WHAT?" When my kids go, "mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom..." I scream, "WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?" (then mutter the Goddamn it part under my breath)
- I know she used to secretly fantasize about bashing my dad's skull with a baseball bat. Ahem.
LB
Saturday, May 1, 2010
my mother's dying wish
My mom and I had not a tumultuous relationship, but not a real close one either. For the most part, she was a good mother, but I was the polar opposite of her. I think mostly I just contributed to her gray hair and wrinkles. In other words, I was probably a huge pain in her ass. Not an easy girl to raise, let's just say.
Her dying wish was, "I hope you get one just like you". Meaning she was trying to curse me with an equally rotten daughter. Of course, I was naive at the time and my response to her was, "I hope so too....because I'm awesome". My thought process was that I would be a way cooler mom than she was.
So, after I birthed two sons and saw an inkling of how hard parenthood was, I cut my losses and got my tubes tied, out of fear that I'd have that [said] daughter. I figured I'd dodged a bullet and was mentally flipping my mother the bird. 'Ha ha...instead of a rebellious, emotional wreck of a daughter, I got 2 adorable boys. How dya like me now?'
Fast forward to 2010. I have one who is about as emotional as any 15 year old girl and another one who wouldn't think twice about stealing my car to go pub crawling. Joke's on me. I have been reincarnated in both my children. Although each one looks nothing like me, each have inherited my worst attributes. Bless their hearts.... Of course, at the time, I didn't think my laugh-in-the-face-of-authority, poor judgement and blatent stupidy were necessary bad traits----but now, I fully admit that raising me had to be a nightmare.
You win, mom. Happy? My oldest is going to break my heart with his emotional roller coaster. He's so me. Nothing is good enough, everything is catastrophic and a stubbed toe will inevitably ruin an entire week. My youngest never thinks of consequences, he's impulsive and not terribly bright, but always the life of the party. (it's always the idiots that make the most friends)
Here's me. Waving my white, surrender flag. I apologize to my mother in heaven for every night that she waited up for me. For her having to hold my hair back while I puked. For lying to the police about her beating me. For running away from home, because I didn't want to be grounded and miss a party. For the endless parties at her house. For watering down her whiskey. For watering down her peach schnapps. For stealing her Virginia Slims. For terrorizing her husband. For being an all around impossible daughter.
Here's the thing, mom....I'm not as tough and rough around the edges as you were. Please be kind to me and disarm the curse that is upon me. My boys are great and all....but give 'em 5-10 years and I'm screwed.
Her dying wish was, "I hope you get one just like you". Meaning she was trying to curse me with an equally rotten daughter. Of course, I was naive at the time and my response to her was, "I hope so too....because I'm awesome". My thought process was that I would be a way cooler mom than she was.
So, after I birthed two sons and saw an inkling of how hard parenthood was, I cut my losses and got my tubes tied, out of fear that I'd have that [said] daughter. I figured I'd dodged a bullet and was mentally flipping my mother the bird. 'Ha ha...instead of a rebellious, emotional wreck of a daughter, I got 2 adorable boys. How dya like me now?'
Fast forward to 2010. I have one who is about as emotional as any 15 year old girl and another one who wouldn't think twice about stealing my car to go pub crawling. Joke's on me. I have been reincarnated in both my children. Although each one looks nothing like me, each have inherited my worst attributes. Bless their hearts.... Of course, at the time, I didn't think my laugh-in-the-face-of-authority, poor judgement and blatent stupidy were necessary bad traits----but now, I fully admit that raising me had to be a nightmare.
You win, mom. Happy? My oldest is going to break my heart with his emotional roller coaster. He's so me. Nothing is good enough, everything is catastrophic and a stubbed toe will inevitably ruin an entire week. My youngest never thinks of consequences, he's impulsive and not terribly bright, but always the life of the party. (it's always the idiots that make the most friends)
Here's me. Waving my white, surrender flag. I apologize to my mother in heaven for every night that she waited up for me. For her having to hold my hair back while I puked. For lying to the police about her beating me. For running away from home, because I didn't want to be grounded and miss a party. For the endless parties at her house. For watering down her whiskey. For watering down her peach schnapps. For stealing her Virginia Slims. For terrorizing her husband. For being an all around impossible daughter.
Here's the thing, mom....I'm not as tough and rough around the edges as you were. Please be kind to me and disarm the curse that is upon me. My boys are great and all....but give 'em 5-10 years and I'm screwed.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Rx
So, I've been losing it. Totally losing it. I've always known that Ben was going to put me in a home when I turned 40, but this is ridiculous.
In addition to my many, many ailments, I've also been (self)-diagnosed with ADHD. I always just accepted the fact that my brain like a snow globe. But I'm 36, enough is enough. My sister worded it perfectly. "If you could hear inside my head at all the millions of thoughts that are being fired at once, you'd think I was a crazy person". When I heard that, I was like, "YES!!! YES!!!! That's what I've been trying to tell you!!!" I can't process all the thoughts that are being fired at once. What looks like me being in a bad mood, is simply me trying to focus.
My distractions range from opening a drawer and wondering what I'm looking for, to losing car keys, to circling the yard aimlessly to it taking me 4 hours to empty the dishwasher. I simply can't take it. When I'm about to embark on a project that will take time to figure out, all my eyes can process is "words words words words". I become so fixated on the final outcome that I forego all the necessary steps it takes to accomplish the goal. Like, I won't put my seatbelt on until I'm 1/4 the way to my destination, because I was so focused on getting there. You know where this story is going.
So, I'm at my doctor's office, my beloved doctor whom I have affectionately named, "Dr. Feelgood". He walks in and I just want to take my shirt off. Not because he's terribly good looking, but because I want to show him my appreciation. (come to think of it, seeing my boobs isn't necessarily a reward, but more of a punishment). He asks me what's up and I told him what had happened just that very morning: I went upstairs to make beds around 9 AM and I stood in the hallway and noticed that all the beds were already made. My first thought was that someone had broken in and made our beds when I'd driven Gabe to school. But then I thought, "that's just silly". Then I stood there trying to recollect making the beds. I couldn't. How did I forget something that I had apparently just done? So, I tell this to Dr. Feelgood and he asks me a variety of questions which I know will just lead to the inevitable. Then, as predicted, he whips out his prescription pad and I start to drool. 1, 2...6, I'm skipping out of there with my samples in tow. I love modern science.
Who knows what the long term effect of all my pharmaceutical usage will lead to, but I don't really care. So, I grow a tail. Who cares? I'm done having kids, so it's not like I'm harming my unborn children. My parents died at respectively 52 and 60, so it's not like I'm planning to live forever. I'd rather be youthful and sane than old and demented. Any day. Plus, I enjoy the productiveness of my hazy days. I mean, wouldn't you rather be efficient and happy than to spend your entire day white knuckling it? Well Dr. Feelgood thinks so and for now, I'll listen to him. He's a doctor after all. Well, not so much a doctor, but a pharmacologist. Well, he's not exactly a pharmacologist, but runs an illegal drug pushing operation under I-96. You know what---I know what you're thinking and don't judge me. He who lives in glass houses....
*totally kidding. Dr. Feelgood is a certified Doctor of Osteopath. At least that what his photoshopped diploma reads.
In addition to my many, many ailments, I've also been (self)-diagnosed with ADHD. I always just accepted the fact that my brain like a snow globe. But I'm 36, enough is enough. My sister worded it perfectly. "If you could hear inside my head at all the millions of thoughts that are being fired at once, you'd think I was a crazy person". When I heard that, I was like, "YES!!! YES!!!! That's what I've been trying to tell you!!!" I can't process all the thoughts that are being fired at once. What looks like me being in a bad mood, is simply me trying to focus.
My distractions range from opening a drawer and wondering what I'm looking for, to losing car keys, to circling the yard aimlessly to it taking me 4 hours to empty the dishwasher. I simply can't take it. When I'm about to embark on a project that will take time to figure out, all my eyes can process is "words words words words". I become so fixated on the final outcome that I forego all the necessary steps it takes to accomplish the goal. Like, I won't put my seatbelt on until I'm 1/4 the way to my destination, because I was so focused on getting there. You know where this story is going.
So, I'm at my doctor's office, my beloved doctor whom I have affectionately named, "Dr. Feelgood". He walks in and I just want to take my shirt off. Not because he's terribly good looking, but because I want to show him my appreciation. (come to think of it, seeing my boobs isn't necessarily a reward, but more of a punishment). He asks me what's up and I told him what had happened just that very morning: I went upstairs to make beds around 9 AM and I stood in the hallway and noticed that all the beds were already made. My first thought was that someone had broken in and made our beds when I'd driven Gabe to school. But then I thought, "that's just silly". Then I stood there trying to recollect making the beds. I couldn't. How did I forget something that I had apparently just done? So, I tell this to Dr. Feelgood and he asks me a variety of questions which I know will just lead to the inevitable. Then, as predicted, he whips out his prescription pad and I start to drool. 1, 2...6, I'm skipping out of there with my samples in tow. I love modern science.
Who knows what the long term effect of all my pharmaceutical usage will lead to, but I don't really care. So, I grow a tail. Who cares? I'm done having kids, so it's not like I'm harming my unborn children. My parents died at respectively 52 and 60, so it's not like I'm planning to live forever. I'd rather be youthful and sane than old and demented. Any day. Plus, I enjoy the productiveness of my hazy days. I mean, wouldn't you rather be efficient and happy than to spend your entire day white knuckling it? Well Dr. Feelgood thinks so and for now, I'll listen to him. He's a doctor after all. Well, not so much a doctor, but a pharmacologist. Well, he's not exactly a pharmacologist, but runs an illegal drug pushing operation under I-96. You know what---I know what you're thinking and don't judge me. He who lives in glass houses....
*totally kidding. Dr. Feelgood is a certified Doctor of Osteopath. At least that what his photoshopped diploma reads.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
more random observations
If you're in line in the grocery store and you're trying to save time by using the self check out kiosk, please don't take that very opportunity to teach your children how to scan---because chances are, the people behind you are in a hurry as well. Take a social cue and get on with it.
Is there really a need to put the sweetened oats in Lucky Charms? I mean, don't you just push them aside to get to the marshmallows anyway?
I was at our local library today and as I approached the door, I noticed a sign reading, "no latex zone". I didn't realize they had such a problem with patrons wearing surgical gloves. Great--now where am I going to have unprotected sex??
I have to wonder about these ads boasting, 'painless dentistry'. Really--? Because it's 2010. I'm pretty sure there's no such thing as painful dentistry anymore. That's like offering 'live babies' at the birthing center.
Is there really a need to put the sweetened oats in Lucky Charms? I mean, don't you just push them aside to get to the marshmallows anyway?
I was at our local library today and as I approached the door, I noticed a sign reading, "no latex zone". I didn't realize they had such a problem with patrons wearing surgical gloves. Great--now where am I going to have unprotected sex??
I have to wonder about these ads boasting, 'painless dentistry'. Really--? Because it's 2010. I'm pretty sure there's no such thing as painful dentistry anymore. That's like offering 'live babies' at the birthing center.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Graysen
I was at the mall today with Gabe (the almost 5 yr old) and since he was good, I allowed him to play in the little play area, which I call the E Coli Pit.
I'm sitting on the bench, half watching him, half checking out facebook on my phone. This OBNOXIOUS mother is sitting next to me and this is what she sounds like, " Graysen, hi honey. Hi Graysen. Pull up your pants, Graysen. Good boy, Graysen, good boy! Ooooh, be careful Graysen, you scared me. (Gasp) Graysen...are you ok, honey? GRAYSEN...ARE YOU ALRIGHT, ARE YOU HURT??". Ok, Graysen is about 5 and there is absolutely nothing in the E Coli pit that could possibly hurt him. It's padded, carpeted and everything is soft plastic. She's the epitome of the hovering helicopter mom. And you know how much I love the helicopter moms. She was so annoying the way she was smothering him.
The little f-er kept following Gabe all over the place. Usually that wouldn't bother Gabe, but this kid was hot on his trail for about 15 minutes and ya know....that could get old. So, Gabe said, "how come you're following me"? So, Graysen's mom gets all indignant, "Graysen, baby...come here and see mommy". I continue to ignore Graysen and his loser mother. Gabe comes over to me and tells me that he doesn't want that little boy following him anymore. I explain that "Graysen" can play wherever he chooses and just to go play and be a nice boy.
I look back down at my phone for 3 seconds and this is what I hear from Robo-Mom: "NOOOO, NOOOOO....GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM, THAT WASN'T NICE----YOU SAY YOU'RE SORRY NOW". I refuse to look up because I don't want her to think I'm being nosy, when she leans over, (hysterically) and says to me in the most theatrical voice, "YOUR SON JUST GRABBED MY SON!!!" It was said in the tone that someone would say, "YOUR BABY...HE'S ON THE ROOF AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE MIGHT JUMP". I looked up at her and I was caught off guard. I was totally thinking she was yelling at "Graysen" but it took a minute for it to sink in that she was screaming at Gabe. So, I calmly called Gabe over and asked him what he did and he said, "I squeezed his arm because he wouldn't stop following me". Now, with that said, I am never one to back down from disciplining my children. You all know about the beatings, right? I'm no stranger to punishment, so it's not like I'm one of those moms that's like, "now precious, put down the knife and untie mommmy".
I pat Gabe on the head and send him on his way and tell him to " go have fun". I watch him walk away and that's when I noticed Graysen's mom following him through the little play area. It seemed as if she was playing 'Following the Leader" with Graysen. If Graysen jumped off of the 12 inch platform, mom jumped behind him, to ensure that he wouldn't get hurt (again, Graysen is approx. 5 years old----therefore perfectly capable of walking and not falling down). She was man-handling him like a marionette. I began this blog while I was sitting there.....it was just going to be about an obnoxious mother, but it turned out to be much, much more. Yay for me. I always welcome new material.
As I left the play area, Graysen's mom was glaring at me and I threw this comment in her general direction, "I just twittered about you", and scurried away. I'm so proud of me-self.
I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that Graysen is an only child. I'll also assume Graysen's dad left about 4 years and 11 mos. ago.
Ooooh, I so badddd.
I'm sitting on the bench, half watching him, half checking out facebook on my phone. This OBNOXIOUS mother is sitting next to me and this is what she sounds like, " Graysen, hi honey. Hi Graysen. Pull up your pants, Graysen. Good boy, Graysen, good boy! Ooooh, be careful Graysen, you scared me. (Gasp) Graysen...are you ok, honey? GRAYSEN...ARE YOU ALRIGHT, ARE YOU HURT??". Ok, Graysen is about 5 and there is absolutely nothing in the E Coli pit that could possibly hurt him. It's padded, carpeted and everything is soft plastic. She's the epitome of the hovering helicopter mom. And you know how much I love the helicopter moms. She was so annoying the way she was smothering him.
The little f-er kept following Gabe all over the place. Usually that wouldn't bother Gabe, but this kid was hot on his trail for about 15 minutes and ya know....that could get old. So, Gabe said, "how come you're following me"? So, Graysen's mom gets all indignant, "Graysen, baby...come here and see mommy". I continue to ignore Graysen and his loser mother. Gabe comes over to me and tells me that he doesn't want that little boy following him anymore. I explain that "Graysen" can play wherever he chooses and just to go play and be a nice boy.
I look back down at my phone for 3 seconds and this is what I hear from Robo-Mom: "NOOOO, NOOOOO....GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM, THAT WASN'T NICE----YOU SAY YOU'RE SORRY NOW". I refuse to look up because I don't want her to think I'm being nosy, when she leans over, (hysterically) and says to me in the most theatrical voice, "YOUR SON JUST GRABBED MY SON!!!" It was said in the tone that someone would say, "YOUR BABY...HE'S ON THE ROOF AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE MIGHT JUMP". I looked up at her and I was caught off guard. I was totally thinking she was yelling at "Graysen" but it took a minute for it to sink in that she was screaming at Gabe. So, I calmly called Gabe over and asked him what he did and he said, "I squeezed his arm because he wouldn't stop following me". Now, with that said, I am never one to back down from disciplining my children. You all know about the beatings, right? I'm no stranger to punishment, so it's not like I'm one of those moms that's like, "now precious, put down the knife and untie mommmy".
I pat Gabe on the head and send him on his way and tell him to " go have fun". I watch him walk away and that's when I noticed Graysen's mom following him through the little play area. It seemed as if she was playing 'Following the Leader" with Graysen. If Graysen jumped off of the 12 inch platform, mom jumped behind him, to ensure that he wouldn't get hurt (again, Graysen is approx. 5 years old----therefore perfectly capable of walking and not falling down). She was man-handling him like a marionette. I began this blog while I was sitting there.....it was just going to be about an obnoxious mother, but it turned out to be much, much more. Yay for me. I always welcome new material.
As I left the play area, Graysen's mom was glaring at me and I threw this comment in her general direction, "I just twittered about you", and scurried away. I'm so proud of me-self.
I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that Graysen is an only child. I'll also assume Graysen's dad left about 4 years and 11 mos. ago.
Ooooh, I so badddd.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Reuniting Loved Ones
So, like have you seen those commercials for the reality show where the shady detective finds missing loved ones and reunites them with the nosy bitch who be looking for them?
Yeah. So, at first I experienced warm fuzzies thinking of the boy my mother put up for adoption some 40 years ago. (I don't know why, but I'm convinced that I have along lost brother. No evidence, mind you. Just a hunch. For reals).
Then, after a short while. I begin to imagine all the people who have come and gone from my life and then I start to worry about any one of those people resurfacing. Like, what if that guy from the show contacted me and led me on this big treasure hunt, all the while telling me about someone from my past just dying to get reacquainted with me. It would be someone who has never given up looking for me. I'm nervous, excited, thinking it's a past love or my [said] long lost brother. When suddenly my old college roommate jumps out from behind a tree.
I'd be like, "Oh. hi." (sigh) She'd say, "you seem disappointed". And I'd say, "No. No, it's not that. It's just the whole build up, you know. It's kind of a let down'. She'd understand, but she'd be visably hurt.
Anyway, now I'm paranoid everytime I get a blocked call or a suspicious email. I'm wondering if I'm being ambushed into being 'found'. I don't want to be found. Trust me, if I wanted you in my life, I probably would have kept in touch. Unless you happen to be my [said] long lost brother. In that case, holla.
This fear can also be true with regard to my death. I'm worried that the right person won't be there to greet me at the Pearly Gates. I'll be expecting my mother or grandmother to be standing there waiting for me and I get there, only to find my 4th grade teacher jumping up and down waving to me. I'd look behind me to make sure she wasn't expecting someone else. Then I'd point to myself as if to say, "me?" and she'd nod excitedly. Then I'd drop my bags, take a deep breath, feign happiness and think to myself. 'Well. This is gonna suck. What a fine afterlife this has turned out to be. What a buzz kill'
Yeah. So, at first I experienced warm fuzzies thinking of the boy my mother put up for adoption some 40 years ago. (I don't know why, but I'm convinced that I have along lost brother. No evidence, mind you. Just a hunch. For reals).
Then, after a short while. I begin to imagine all the people who have come and gone from my life and then I start to worry about any one of those people resurfacing. Like, what if that guy from the show contacted me and led me on this big treasure hunt, all the while telling me about someone from my past just dying to get reacquainted with me. It would be someone who has never given up looking for me. I'm nervous, excited, thinking it's a past love or my [said] long lost brother. When suddenly my old college roommate jumps out from behind a tree.
I'd be like, "Oh. hi." (sigh) She'd say, "you seem disappointed". And I'd say, "No. No, it's not that. It's just the whole build up, you know. It's kind of a let down'. She'd understand, but she'd be visably hurt.
Anyway, now I'm paranoid everytime I get a blocked call or a suspicious email. I'm wondering if I'm being ambushed into being 'found'. I don't want to be found. Trust me, if I wanted you in my life, I probably would have kept in touch. Unless you happen to be my [said] long lost brother. In that case, holla.
This fear can also be true with regard to my death. I'm worried that the right person won't be there to greet me at the Pearly Gates. I'll be expecting my mother or grandmother to be standing there waiting for me and I get there, only to find my 4th grade teacher jumping up and down waving to me. I'd look behind me to make sure she wasn't expecting someone else. Then I'd point to myself as if to say, "me?" and she'd nod excitedly. Then I'd drop my bags, take a deep breath, feign happiness and think to myself. 'Well. This is gonna suck. What a fine afterlife this has turned out to be. What a buzz kill'
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
my return to reality
After spending 5 days away, in Minneapolis, with my sister, I have returned to life as I know it. Or at least, as I knew it.
I've changed and I just don't think I'm ready for my old life. In fact, I can barely remember this actually being my life. I'm told that it was. It's like that movie with Goldie Hawn, "Overboard". Did I really used to take care of children and clean all day???
To be clear, I spent my vacation pretty much horizontal. Except for the day when we literally drank for 11 hours and then had the strength to go gambling. My biggest decision of every day was figuring out which shoes to wear. I leisurely showered. I leisurely got prettied up. I leisurely sat thru my 2 hour pedicure. I leisurely watched movies (and not in 10 minutes segments). I leisurely ate (and drank...). So, you're seeing a pattern, yes? I lounged. And caught up on tv. But, I wasn't a total sloth, we laughed....a lot. Laughing burns calories. We even wore work-out clothes one day.
So, upon my return I was like a fish out of water. I got very, very used to my 'leisurely' life. I don't like this life that I supposedly had pre-Minneapolis. There are children here. Ones that talk, and complain. That doesn't bode well with my new leisurely outlook on life.
On a lighter note, my husband not only took great care of the kids while I was gone, but my house was completely spotless when I got home and he somehow found the time to paint our bedroom. (I was grateful beyond words, but secretly I think he' was just trying to show off--proving to me that he can do my job better than I can. Which...who couldn't? A monkey can do my job. But I was thrilled, nonetheless).
That's all then. Just a little shout out to let you know how much fun I had on my much-needed-respite. Looking forward to my next jaunt!!! Now, about these short people who keep calling me mom....
I've changed and I just don't think I'm ready for my old life. In fact, I can barely remember this actually being my life. I'm told that it was. It's like that movie with Goldie Hawn, "Overboard". Did I really used to take care of children and clean all day???
To be clear, I spent my vacation pretty much horizontal. Except for the day when we literally drank for 11 hours and then had the strength to go gambling. My biggest decision of every day was figuring out which shoes to wear. I leisurely showered. I leisurely got prettied up. I leisurely sat thru my 2 hour pedicure. I leisurely watched movies (and not in 10 minutes segments). I leisurely ate (and drank...). So, you're seeing a pattern, yes? I lounged. And caught up on tv. But, I wasn't a total sloth, we laughed....a lot. Laughing burns calories. We even wore work-out clothes one day.
So, upon my return I was like a fish out of water. I got very, very used to my 'leisurely' life. I don't like this life that I supposedly had pre-Minneapolis. There are children here. Ones that talk, and complain. That doesn't bode well with my new leisurely outlook on life.
On a lighter note, my husband not only took great care of the kids while I was gone, but my house was completely spotless when I got home and he somehow found the time to paint our bedroom. (I was grateful beyond words, but secretly I think he' was just trying to show off--proving to me that he can do my job better than I can. Which...who couldn't? A monkey can do my job. But I was thrilled, nonetheless).
That's all then. Just a little shout out to let you know how much fun I had on my much-needed-respite. Looking forward to my next jaunt!!! Now, about these short people who keep calling me mom....
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The new friend
So, Ben brought home a friend after school yesterday. They've been pals for a while, but they've never had a play date...until yesterday. I'm friendly with the mom, we run in a lot of the same circles and enjoy each other's company, should we find each other at the same event. But, to emphasize---we don't know each other very well. As in, I haven't allowed her to see the inner workings of my shameful household, yet. I usually keep that under wraps until we've been friends for a few years. Then I bring out the big guns.
OK, so I pick the boys up from school. I'm really laying the cheese on thick, as to create the illusion that I am a really, really nice mom. "Well, hi there, Max!!! We are so glad you could come home with us today!! I stopped and got you guys donuts, hope you like sugary treats"!!!!!! So, the big boys get in the car and Gabe is waiting patiently in the backseat. This is Gabe: "Hi Max. Are you Ben's friend? Do you like me? Max? Max? Max? Max, Max, can you hear me? Max, do you have Wii sports resort? What's your favorite game? Do you want a donut when we get home? Do you like donuts, Max? I looooove donuts?" This line of questioning will go on for hours if I don't put a stop to it. So, I break his spirit and tell him to put a sock in it.
We get home and the play date seems to be going well enough. They're old enough where they don't need my constant supervision. I let them huff paint or whatever 8 year olds do in their spare time. Finally, a short while before the parents are supposed to pick Max up, Max and I are on the couch while Ben & Gabe are standing in front of us trying to "out do" each other's disgustingness. Here's what that sounded like.
Gabe: Mom, I see your booooobies!!!
Ben: Mom, truth or dare?
Me: Truth.
Ben: Has dad ever seen you naked?
(I'm pinching the bridge of my nose, horrified and Max is about 14 shades of red).
Me: You guys, stop being so gross, max is never going to want to come over again.
(Max is looking longingly toward the front door, wishing that his parents would hurry)
Gabe: Max, do you like my mom's butt? Nice butt, mom.
Me: Oh. My. Gosh. Knock it off you guys, you're acting like we've never had another human in our house before today.
Ben: Max, do you want me to sing Lady Gaga for you. Watch this. "I'm your biggest fan, Papa Papa Paparazzi...." (and Ben begins to sing seductively to Max. We're all uncomfortable at this point).
Ok, I am mortified and I'm imagining that my children will be taken away from me after word spreads that my kids are total pervs.
The mom calls to say that her husband is on his way and I warn her as to what her son was exposed to and apologized profusely. She laughs, but I know she was making mental notes to never let her children associate with mine again.
Dad shows up. I'm kneeling in front of Max and through clenched teeth, I say, "we ate healthy snacks, worked on book reports and sang church songs, got it". He laughs and bee lines out the door.
Another friendship bites the dust, I think to myself. I go about my merry way.... Jason comes home and I explain to him the entire story. He looks amused, but I'm half wondering why he's starring at my chest the entire time I'm talking. I'm done with my story and Jason says, "who came to get Max, his mom or dad"? I said "his dad, why?" He nods toward my shirt. I look down.
OK, side note. My hair stylist came over earlier in the day to cut & color my hair. In effort to make her laugh, I wore an old t-shirt that read, "MILF" on it. Yep, you know where this is going. I was STILL wearing it when dad came to get Max.
So, what would you do if you came to pick up your child from someone's house, who you have NEVER met and the mom came to the door wearing a shirt that read, "MILF"?
That's all. Carry on.
OK, so I pick the boys up from school. I'm really laying the cheese on thick, as to create the illusion that I am a really, really nice mom. "Well, hi there, Max!!! We are so glad you could come home with us today!! I stopped and got you guys donuts, hope you like sugary treats"!!!!!! So, the big boys get in the car and Gabe is waiting patiently in the backseat. This is Gabe: "Hi Max. Are you Ben's friend? Do you like me? Max? Max? Max? Max, Max, can you hear me? Max, do you have Wii sports resort? What's your favorite game? Do you want a donut when we get home? Do you like donuts, Max? I looooove donuts?" This line of questioning will go on for hours if I don't put a stop to it. So, I break his spirit and tell him to put a sock in it.
We get home and the play date seems to be going well enough. They're old enough where they don't need my constant supervision. I let them huff paint or whatever 8 year olds do in their spare time. Finally, a short while before the parents are supposed to pick Max up, Max and I are on the couch while Ben & Gabe are standing in front of us trying to "out do" each other's disgustingness. Here's what that sounded like.
Gabe: Mom, I see your booooobies!!!
Ben: Mom, truth or dare?
Me: Truth.
Ben: Has dad ever seen you naked?
(I'm pinching the bridge of my nose, horrified and Max is about 14 shades of red).
Me: You guys, stop being so gross, max is never going to want to come over again.
(Max is looking longingly toward the front door, wishing that his parents would hurry)
Gabe: Max, do you like my mom's butt? Nice butt, mom.
Me: Oh. My. Gosh. Knock it off you guys, you're acting like we've never had another human in our house before today.
Ben: Max, do you want me to sing Lady Gaga for you. Watch this. "I'm your biggest fan, Papa Papa Paparazzi...." (and Ben begins to sing seductively to Max. We're all uncomfortable at this point).
Ok, I am mortified and I'm imagining that my children will be taken away from me after word spreads that my kids are total pervs.
The mom calls to say that her husband is on his way and I warn her as to what her son was exposed to and apologized profusely. She laughs, but I know she was making mental notes to never let her children associate with mine again.
Dad shows up. I'm kneeling in front of Max and through clenched teeth, I say, "we ate healthy snacks, worked on book reports and sang church songs, got it". He laughs and bee lines out the door.
Another friendship bites the dust, I think to myself. I go about my merry way.... Jason comes home and I explain to him the entire story. He looks amused, but I'm half wondering why he's starring at my chest the entire time I'm talking. I'm done with my story and Jason says, "who came to get Max, his mom or dad"? I said "his dad, why?" He nods toward my shirt. I look down.
OK, side note. My hair stylist came over earlier in the day to cut & color my hair. In effort to make her laugh, I wore an old t-shirt that read, "MILF" on it. Yep, you know where this is going. I was STILL wearing it when dad came to get Max.
So, what would you do if you came to pick up your child from someone's house, who you have NEVER met and the mom came to the door wearing a shirt that read, "MILF"?
That's all. Carry on.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Harvey Harmonica
OK, so Jason and I were out to dinner at Grill One Eleven. We stood at the bar and swilled cocktails while waiting for our table to be ready. There was a quaint little 2 piece band playing in the corner. A keyboardist and a vocalist were getting down with their bad selves to the tune of Natalie Merchant, Melissa Etheridge, Carly Simon and the like. Real maniacs I tell you. Anyway, out of the corner of his mouth Jason whispers, "without being too obvious, take a look at the guy at the bar with the harmonica". Everyone who's anyone knows that 'obvious' is my middle name, so I whip my head around and see an older man with a handle bar moustache trying to keep time with the band. "Yeah? And?" I replied to Jason, "what about him". Jason takes a long drink and quietly mentions, "he's not with the band".
It takes a moment for this to sink in, but when it does, a big, obnoxious smile breaks out across my face (Not unlike the Grinch). I'm trying to process the magnitude of the situation, but all I can think of is my blog and how I can regale you with this story. In case you need me to spell it out for you, this guy randomly shows up to the bar/restaurant and plays along with the band without their consent. He's about 104, so the liklihood of him knowing any of these songs is slim to none, but God bless 'em, he tries. He's totally throwing the band off key and you can tell they're like, "Um, can you NOT play along, thanks". This would be like me bringing a wireless mic to a comedy club and piggy backing on all his jokes from my table. "HA HA, THAT HAPPENED TO ME ONCE TOO".
We imagined the man with the handle bar moustache kissed his wife good bye every Friday night and told her he had a 'gig'. She would picture him up on stage while young hotties throw their bras at him. But really, he just sits at the end of the bar, trying to keep time with his li'l harmonica.....to songs that don't sound good with a harmonica, mind you. I mean, no one was playing Piano Man, ya know?
So, we immediately stop talking to each other and we become fixated on this man and his harmonica. We take our places in leather chairs so we can have front row seats. We look like we're watching a ping pong match because our eyes are bouncing from the singer to the harmonica man and back again. (The straw never left my mouth, in case you're wondering how I found the time to drink through all of this).
The server comes to get us and seats us upstairs. DAMN IT! Now what will entertain us throughout our meal? I barely have my coat off and I'm making up some excuse to have to go down to the bathroom. I race down the stairs and now the guy has this long box in front of him with various harmonica accessories in it. I trek back upstairs and explain my findings to Jason. Our appies come, we seem distracted and preoccupied. Jason asks me for the 4,000th time what I plan to do with myself once Gabe starts Kindergarten in the Fall. I ignore him because everyone knows I don't want to do anything with myself when Gabe starts Kindergarten (duh). Jason says, "you want to go downstairs and check on your friend, don't you"? (he knows me so well) I push my chair back like gang busters and fly down the stairs, two steps at a time and I see that he now has a fancy little harmonica holder that attaches to his ears, so he can go hands free. I'm dying. He has literally put this much thought into breaking into the band. I look and see the 'band' is blatenly annoyed. I mean, how well can you play Shawn Colvin with a whining harmonica interrupting your mad solo?
I fly back up the stairs and report the update to Jason. We conceded to the fact that Harvey Harmonica was simply going to occupy our dinner. Talk of Leslie's future, BE DAMNED! So, Jason and I can often get to exaggerating and embellishing (WHAT...no, no, it's true). We came up with this bang up plan for next Friday night and every single Friday night hereafter. Next Fri., I'm going to show up and Grill One Eleven and take my seat at the bar. I'll wait until the band starts to play and then I'm going to whip out my ecclectic collection of spoons and start playing them on the wooden barrel I'll have turned upside down on my lap. They won't mind. After all, it will accentuate their music. The following week, I'll sit at a table, closest to the band and when the music starts, I'll surrupticiously side step my way over to the mic and start whistling along with her. The week after that, humming.
That's all the ridiculousness I can possibly get out of that story. Enjoy your weekends!!!!
~L.
It takes a moment for this to sink in, but when it does, a big, obnoxious smile breaks out across my face (Not unlike the Grinch). I'm trying to process the magnitude of the situation, but all I can think of is my blog and how I can regale you with this story. In case you need me to spell it out for you, this guy randomly shows up to the bar/restaurant and plays along with the band without their consent. He's about 104, so the liklihood of him knowing any of these songs is slim to none, but God bless 'em, he tries. He's totally throwing the band off key and you can tell they're like, "Um, can you NOT play along, thanks". This would be like me bringing a wireless mic to a comedy club and piggy backing on all his jokes from my table. "HA HA, THAT HAPPENED TO ME ONCE TOO".
We imagined the man with the handle bar moustache kissed his wife good bye every Friday night and told her he had a 'gig'. She would picture him up on stage while young hotties throw their bras at him. But really, he just sits at the end of the bar, trying to keep time with his li'l harmonica.....to songs that don't sound good with a harmonica, mind you. I mean, no one was playing Piano Man, ya know?
So, we immediately stop talking to each other and we become fixated on this man and his harmonica. We take our places in leather chairs so we can have front row seats. We look like we're watching a ping pong match because our eyes are bouncing from the singer to the harmonica man and back again. (The straw never left my mouth, in case you're wondering how I found the time to drink through all of this).
The server comes to get us and seats us upstairs. DAMN IT! Now what will entertain us throughout our meal? I barely have my coat off and I'm making up some excuse to have to go down to the bathroom. I race down the stairs and now the guy has this long box in front of him with various harmonica accessories in it. I trek back upstairs and explain my findings to Jason. Our appies come, we seem distracted and preoccupied. Jason asks me for the 4,000th time what I plan to do with myself once Gabe starts Kindergarten in the Fall. I ignore him because everyone knows I don't want to do anything with myself when Gabe starts Kindergarten (duh). Jason says, "you want to go downstairs and check on your friend, don't you"? (he knows me so well) I push my chair back like gang busters and fly down the stairs, two steps at a time and I see that he now has a fancy little harmonica holder that attaches to his ears, so he can go hands free. I'm dying. He has literally put this much thought into breaking into the band. I look and see the 'band' is blatenly annoyed. I mean, how well can you play Shawn Colvin with a whining harmonica interrupting your mad solo?
I fly back up the stairs and report the update to Jason. We conceded to the fact that Harvey Harmonica was simply going to occupy our dinner. Talk of Leslie's future, BE DAMNED! So, Jason and I can often get to exaggerating and embellishing (WHAT...no, no, it's true). We came up with this bang up plan for next Friday night and every single Friday night hereafter. Next Fri., I'm going to show up and Grill One Eleven and take my seat at the bar. I'll wait until the band starts to play and then I'm going to whip out my ecclectic collection of spoons and start playing them on the wooden barrel I'll have turned upside down on my lap. They won't mind. After all, it will accentuate their music. The following week, I'll sit at a table, closest to the band and when the music starts, I'll surrupticiously side step my way over to the mic and start whistling along with her. The week after that, humming.
That's all the ridiculousness I can possibly get out of that story. Enjoy your weekends!!!!
~L.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
recommendation
I don't often do this, but I feel compelled to mention it. I recently read a book that was so moving to me, I wanted to share it with you all.
Through my sister (and through the wide world web) I was introduced to an author, Diane Keyes. She wrote "The Spirit of the Snow People". My sister suggested that perhaps my boys would like the story. I was prepared for it to be a fairy tale type story, but it went so much deeper than that.
Ms. Keyes tells the story of the "Snow People" of whom the town people grow to love, but seem to easily dismiss them when Spring time comes and the Snow People disappear. The town people wonder why anyone would bother to make such a fuss over the Snow People when they inevitably melt. Obviously, the moral of the story is the care & love that you put into any relationship is never unnecessary and how the spirit of a loved one will always live on in our hearts. It's worded so beautifully and it's message is so warm, that I believe it could potentially soften the blow for anyone dealing with grief. A child could really benefit from hearing the story. Death is such an enormous topic for a child to grasp, this book does a marvelous job explaining another side of losing someone.
If you know anyone who is struggling with a loss, I would suggest this book. It could be a touching gift and also one that could continue to warm hearts, each and everytime it's read.
~Feeling sentimental on Super Bowl Sunday
xo
Through my sister (and through the wide world web) I was introduced to an author, Diane Keyes. She wrote "The Spirit of the Snow People". My sister suggested that perhaps my boys would like the story. I was prepared for it to be a fairy tale type story, but it went so much deeper than that.
Ms. Keyes tells the story of the "Snow People" of whom the town people grow to love, but seem to easily dismiss them when Spring time comes and the Snow People disappear. The town people wonder why anyone would bother to make such a fuss over the Snow People when they inevitably melt. Obviously, the moral of the story is the care & love that you put into any relationship is never unnecessary and how the spirit of a loved one will always live on in our hearts. It's worded so beautifully and it's message is so warm, that I believe it could potentially soften the blow for anyone dealing with grief. A child could really benefit from hearing the story. Death is such an enormous topic for a child to grasp, this book does a marvelous job explaining another side of losing someone.
If you know anyone who is struggling with a loss, I would suggest this book. It could be a touching gift and also one that could continue to warm hearts, each and everytime it's read.
~Feeling sentimental on Super Bowl Sunday
xo
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Successor Sleeps Over
So, I had me a little sleep-over last night. Jason was traveling, so I invited Laura (you know, the girl who gets to marry Jason if I die) over for a little girl on girl action.
My plan to tickle each other was heavily clouded when she walked in and immediately asked me to put on ESPN. Curses! Our girl talk got thrown to the wayside while MSU trampled Michigan on the basketball court. Who cares.
The game finally got over and not a second too soon because Teen Mom on Mtv was about to start! Laura took off her 'dike' hat and got girly with me after all. We ate Red Vines and laid on my couch watching these pathetic teens try to raise babies. It was all fun and games until Tyler (God, I love that boy) proposed to his longtime (1 year) girlfriend, Caitlyn. A little background; Tyler is precious. He's a darling 17 year old boy who is caring, mature, responsible and so loving. He got his girlfriend (Caitlyn) pregnant and out of all the couples on this show, they were the only ones who put their own feelings aside, thought only of the love they had for their unborn daughter and gave her up for adoption. I completely and utterly commend them for that impossible decision. My respect for them aside, ohhhhh, Caitlyn. Poor, poor Caitlyn. While Tyler is such a cutie pie, Caitlyn is.....not. Truth be told, she reminds me of a Bermese Mountain Dog. Bless her heart. The situation going on with her mouth is so unfortunate. She has braces and wires and rubber bands and chapped lips......not to mention a mouth the size of a salad bowl. But I digress.
ANYWAY---so, this season focuses on their struggles with knowing that someone else is raising their baby, but they remain strong in their convictions that it was indeed the right decision to make. They are a sweet couple and seem to have hope for a glowing future, despite the fact that they seem to have been raised by wolves. Tyler's father (Butch) has been in and out of prison for the past 12 years. He's currently out of the big house and has since married Caitlyn's mother. Which, you guessed it, makes Caitlyn and Tyler step-siblings. Of course! Caitlyn's mother is a real dandy herself.
So, Tyler goes to Caitlyn's mom and asks her permission to marry her daughter. The conversation goes something like this, "So, ya know, I love Caitlyn a whole lot and I care a lot about her. I'm 17 and I never thought I'd ever meet the one, but I'm pretty sure Caitlyn is the one, so I was wondering if you'd approve". The grubby mom just cackles and coughs up some phlegm, then smiles and shows off her black gums and says, "You're gonna make Caitlyn cry.....and you're prolly gonna puke"!!!! Nice. OK, so fast forward to the next day and Tyler tells Caitlyn to dress real nice because they're going somewhere 'fancy' for lunch. Lunch. He suggests she wear her Homecoming dress. To lunch. He puts on a suit and tie, but has trouble with his tie, so he asks his father to help him in this momentous occasion. Dad (Butch) walks in, with his sleeveless t-shirt and long grey braid and says, "I ain't never wear no god damned tie". Butch is such a scoundrel! Of course, sweet li'l Caitlyn googles 'tie tieing' online and she ties the tie for her soon-to-be groom. The bow tie he'll wear at the wedding should be extra challenging!
So, they roll up in this beat up van to a restaurant that looks like a diner. They continue to gush over the 'fancy-ness' of the restaurant, all the while he orders a burger and fries. No one seems to much care that she's wearing a beaded evening gown in a diner in the middle of the afternoon. Precious li'l Tyler pops the question and I would have cried, but I couldn't get past Caitlyn's mouth full of metal saying, "I'll totally marry you". Anyone wanna lay bets that they'll be knocked up by season 3?
I love reality tv. So, Laura and I sat up and talked about these young mothers as if they were our friends or sisters. We cracked each other up until the wee hours. She spent the night and the next day, my 4 year old asked me if Laura was my husband.
No----but if she plays her cards right, she might be his new mother!
My plan to tickle each other was heavily clouded when she walked in and immediately asked me to put on ESPN. Curses! Our girl talk got thrown to the wayside while MSU trampled Michigan on the basketball court. Who cares.
The game finally got over and not a second too soon because Teen Mom on Mtv was about to start! Laura took off her 'dike' hat and got girly with me after all. We ate Red Vines and laid on my couch watching these pathetic teens try to raise babies. It was all fun and games until Tyler (God, I love that boy) proposed to his longtime (1 year) girlfriend, Caitlyn. A little background; Tyler is precious. He's a darling 17 year old boy who is caring, mature, responsible and so loving. He got his girlfriend (Caitlyn) pregnant and out of all the couples on this show, they were the only ones who put their own feelings aside, thought only of the love they had for their unborn daughter and gave her up for adoption. I completely and utterly commend them for that impossible decision. My respect for them aside, ohhhhh, Caitlyn. Poor, poor Caitlyn. While Tyler is such a cutie pie, Caitlyn is.....not. Truth be told, she reminds me of a Bermese Mountain Dog. Bless her heart. The situation going on with her mouth is so unfortunate. She has braces and wires and rubber bands and chapped lips......not to mention a mouth the size of a salad bowl. But I digress.
ANYWAY---so, this season focuses on their struggles with knowing that someone else is raising their baby, but they remain strong in their convictions that it was indeed the right decision to make. They are a sweet couple and seem to have hope for a glowing future, despite the fact that they seem to have been raised by wolves. Tyler's father (Butch) has been in and out of prison for the past 12 years. He's currently out of the big house and has since married Caitlyn's mother. Which, you guessed it, makes Caitlyn and Tyler step-siblings. Of course! Caitlyn's mother is a real dandy herself.
So, Tyler goes to Caitlyn's mom and asks her permission to marry her daughter. The conversation goes something like this, "So, ya know, I love Caitlyn a whole lot and I care a lot about her. I'm 17 and I never thought I'd ever meet the one, but I'm pretty sure Caitlyn is the one, so I was wondering if you'd approve". The grubby mom just cackles and coughs up some phlegm, then smiles and shows off her black gums and says, "You're gonna make Caitlyn cry.....and you're prolly gonna puke"!!!! Nice. OK, so fast forward to the next day and Tyler tells Caitlyn to dress real nice because they're going somewhere 'fancy' for lunch. Lunch. He suggests she wear her Homecoming dress. To lunch. He puts on a suit and tie, but has trouble with his tie, so he asks his father to help him in this momentous occasion. Dad (Butch) walks in, with his sleeveless t-shirt and long grey braid and says, "I ain't never wear no god damned tie". Butch is such a scoundrel! Of course, sweet li'l Caitlyn googles 'tie tieing' online and she ties the tie for her soon-to-be groom. The bow tie he'll wear at the wedding should be extra challenging!
So, they roll up in this beat up van to a restaurant that looks like a diner. They continue to gush over the 'fancy-ness' of the restaurant, all the while he orders a burger and fries. No one seems to much care that she's wearing a beaded evening gown in a diner in the middle of the afternoon. Precious li'l Tyler pops the question and I would have cried, but I couldn't get past Caitlyn's mouth full of metal saying, "I'll totally marry you". Anyone wanna lay bets that they'll be knocked up by season 3?
I love reality tv. So, Laura and I sat up and talked about these young mothers as if they were our friends or sisters. We cracked each other up until the wee hours. She spent the night and the next day, my 4 year old asked me if Laura was my husband.
No----but if she plays her cards right, she might be his new mother!
Monday, January 25, 2010
perhaps the most stupid thing I've ever said
Jason & I were watching a documentary about 9/11. I'd made a comment about an appropriate punishment for those people responsible. Jason responded that the 'main guy' was still at large. Flippantly, I said, "where is he, anyway---I mean, when he pops up in videos, can't we figure out where he is?" Jason said, "well, it's not like he's standing on a street corner with street signs behind him in the video".
I must have laughed for 15 minutes straight. Sometimes he's so funny. That, Jason.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
How to cheat
Boy, that got your attention. Fortunately, (or perhaps unfortunately--however you look at it) this essay isn't about cheating on your husband....well, in the old fashioned sense, anyway. I am here to help you cheat on your husband (or wife) by way of finances.
If any of you have a spouse who controls the household money, you'll appreciate this. I'm sure I'm not alone on this one. Jason lives as if he personally survived the depression. He makes a good living, a very respectable living, but the man has this looming fear that it will all come to a crashing end and we'll wind up on the streets. The man has the work ethic of a horse, so the liklihood of that happening is nill. To keep his unreasonable fears at bay, I often take matters into my own hands. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I end up with a great new pair of shoes and he's none the wiser. Win/Win! These are some fool proof ways to get what you want without having to grovel for money.
1. If you have a budget-----let's say your husband gives you $100 a week to use at your own discretion, and let's say that groceries aren't included in that budget. You simply ask for cash back when you're paying for your groceries. Voila! Disclaimer: This won't work if your husband scrutinizes the grocery bill.
2. If you've already spent the money and you know you're going to catch hell when you get home, just tell him it cost twice as much as it really did. When he blows a nut, you get to say, "ha ha...got you! It was only half that". The idea here is that he he'll be so relieved that you only spent $50 instead of $100, that he'll be thrilled. Jason has never fallen for this one, but maybe your husband is stupid.
3. Do you have a fashionista friend or sister? Just say that she bought it for you---just make sure she's in on it.
4. Did you buy a new coat or a hot pair of jeans? Tell him that you brought some of your old clothes into the consignment shop and the price of your new item happened to be the EXACT price that the store offered you for your clothes.
....and my personal favorite
5. Does your grocery store sell gift cards? Meijer sells every kind of gift card imaginable....from Pottery Barn to Bloomingdales to Ebay. You know where I'm going with this. You buy a gift card for yourself, throw it in with the groceries and there you have it....free money to your store of choice. I am ever-so crafty.
It's pathetic that this has become my life, but a girl's gotta look good, for crying out loud!
If any of you have a spouse who controls the household money, you'll appreciate this. I'm sure I'm not alone on this one. Jason lives as if he personally survived the depression. He makes a good living, a very respectable living, but the man has this looming fear that it will all come to a crashing end and we'll wind up on the streets. The man has the work ethic of a horse, so the liklihood of that happening is nill. To keep his unreasonable fears at bay, I often take matters into my own hands. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I end up with a great new pair of shoes and he's none the wiser. Win/Win! These are some fool proof ways to get what you want without having to grovel for money.
1. If you have a budget-----let's say your husband gives you $100 a week to use at your own discretion, and let's say that groceries aren't included in that budget. You simply ask for cash back when you're paying for your groceries. Voila! Disclaimer: This won't work if your husband scrutinizes the grocery bill.
2. If you've already spent the money and you know you're going to catch hell when you get home, just tell him it cost twice as much as it really did. When he blows a nut, you get to say, "ha ha...got you! It was only half that". The idea here is that he he'll be so relieved that you only spent $50 instead of $100, that he'll be thrilled. Jason has never fallen for this one, but maybe your husband is stupid.
3. Do you have a fashionista friend or sister? Just say that she bought it for you---just make sure she's in on it.
4. Did you buy a new coat or a hot pair of jeans? Tell him that you brought some of your old clothes into the consignment shop and the price of your new item happened to be the EXACT price that the store offered you for your clothes.
....and my personal favorite
5. Does your grocery store sell gift cards? Meijer sells every kind of gift card imaginable....from Pottery Barn to Bloomingdales to Ebay. You know where I'm going with this. You buy a gift card for yourself, throw it in with the groceries and there you have it....free money to your store of choice. I am ever-so crafty.
It's pathetic that this has become my life, but a girl's gotta look good, for crying out loud!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Y I am NOT a good wife
A friend of mine who's husband is a high-up advertising exec. at a very well known corporation was invited to a ball. You know, like formal gowns, tuxedos....yeah, that kind of ball. She accepted the invitation even tho her hubby was across the country and wouldn't be in attendance himself.
Ok, the likelihood of that happening in this house is slim to none and none just put glow stix around it's neck and went clubbing. Seriously, I would no more attend a company 'ball' with Jason, let alone without him. As I've mentioned, I don't do well in fancy, stuffy situations. At least when Jason is there, he can work the room like a pro while I just stand next to him and nod my head politely. (what? I can be charming when I wanna--I just never wanna)
Ok so back to my story. So, she's sitting at this table with all other exec wives and someone snaps a picture and texts it to her husband. Upon receipt, her husband immediately sends her a text telling her that she looks, "maaaaahvelous".
'K. Wanna hear how that situation would go down if that were to happen to Jason and myself. Yeah, if Jason received such a picture, he'd laugh at first, knowing that I was suffering. Then he's start flop sweating because he'd be so worried about that glass of champagne sitting in front of me. He knows what happens when I get nervous and add alcohol to the mix. You know where this is going.
So, the point of my story is that this friend of mine is a great wife. While I, am not. Well, there's 3,000 other reasons why I'm not a great wife, but this one just happens to be a great example.
Ok, the likelihood of that happening in this house is slim to none and none just put glow stix around it's neck and went clubbing. Seriously, I would no more attend a company 'ball' with Jason, let alone without him. As I've mentioned, I don't do well in fancy, stuffy situations. At least when Jason is there, he can work the room like a pro while I just stand next to him and nod my head politely. (what? I can be charming when I wanna--I just never wanna)
Ok so back to my story. So, she's sitting at this table with all other exec wives and someone snaps a picture and texts it to her husband. Upon receipt, her husband immediately sends her a text telling her that she looks, "maaaaahvelous".
'K. Wanna hear how that situation would go down if that were to happen to Jason and myself. Yeah, if Jason received such a picture, he'd laugh at first, knowing that I was suffering. Then he's start flop sweating because he'd be so worried about that glass of champagne sitting in front of me. He knows what happens when I get nervous and add alcohol to the mix. You know where this is going.
So, the point of my story is that this friend of mine is a great wife. While I, am not. Well, there's 3,000 other reasons why I'm not a great wife, but this one just happens to be a great example.
Friday, January 8, 2010
holla
Hey---holla if you still read me. I'm going to be adding ads to my blog. Now, that I'm in the blog world, I've been reading/following so many other blogs that I think you'll enjoy as well! None quite as witty and saucy as mine, but good deals & shopping sites! I'd love some feedback--drop me a line if you're still following me.
xox
m'wah!
LB
xox
m'wah!
LB
Monday, January 4, 2010
Insecurities
There are some things in our life that simply illicit feelings of fear, anger or inadequacy. We don't understand why, but I'm willing to bet most of them come from childhood insecurities. Kids are assholes. Not all kids, mind you, but certainly a good number of the students that attended Lakes Elementary School in Hartland, MI from 1978-1984. Don't get me wrong, not all sore spots originate from my peers. Some came straight from my home, but that's a whole different ball of wax.
Let's look at the basics. My name, for example. Leslie Ann. Sounds a lot like Lesbie Ann or lesbian, doesn't it? Yeah, not real sure how my parents didn't foresee that tragedy. Not that I have a problem with homosexuals whatsoever, because I don't....but I will tell you that it took me up until a few years ago to admit that women are pretty because I was so afraid someone would think I was gay. Listen, you can't go to school every day for 6 years hearing, "Leslie Lezzie Lesbian, humps her friends as fast as she can" without it causing some damage. 'humps her friends as fast as she can'. Really? I'm 9 and humping all my friends real fast..., like a jack rabbit? Ok, first of all....not likely. But, I was a kid....I believed it. I figured they all knew something I didn't. Elementary school sucked. Everyone always said I was 'weird'. Whatever...they were all just too stupid to get my sense of humor. I was HI-larious! Of course, it didn't help matters that I wasn't a particularly good looking child.
Moving onto my physical insecurities. I've never claimed to be a beauty. (Of course, that never stops me from pointing out other people's flaws) Although all my friends are gorgeous and I run with a lovely crowd, I've never looked in the mirror and thought to myself, "Self, you are one good looking gal". In fact, I usually hate every picture ever taken of me and obsess over every one of my (many) flaws. Gee, that couldn't possible be because my father used to call us the "Lee Sisters". (Ug-Lee & Home-Lee) Oh. Yes. He. Did. He must have missed that chapter in the parenting books where you're supposed to build up your child's self esteem, not crush it. Who, WHO could look at their daughter and call her ugly? Even if they were? I mean, my GOD, he used to make me stomp my foot whenever people asked me how old I was. (get it? like a horse)
It's a wonder I made it to adulthood. I'm telling you....the baggage we bring from our childhood.... Me thinks it's why Prozac was created. And Xanax. And liquor. And cigarettes. And paint thinner. And computer duster. And cough medicine. And whatever else the kids are doing these days. Snorting Sweetarts? Drinking antifreeze?
At any rate, it's all good. I'm over it. Sure, my insecurities rear their ugly heads from time to time, but all in all, I keep a cool head over it all (thank you Walgreen's pharmacy). I'm also very realistic. I am what I am. No matter how jealous I might get over someone else for what they look like, or what they have---there are probably 20 other people that THEY are envious of. Be happy with who & what you are!!!!
Side note: In keeping with the theme, "Security" you MUST go to youtube and type in "Bon Qui Qui". Go ahead, see for yourself what I enjoy watching in my spare time. My 15 year old niece turned me onto her and Bon Qui Qui has since become my imaginery friend. When put in awkward situations I often wonder what Bon Qui Qui would do. That's why I wear WWBQQD bracelets. (what would bon qui qui do)
Let's look at the basics. My name, for example. Leslie Ann. Sounds a lot like Lesbie Ann or lesbian, doesn't it? Yeah, not real sure how my parents didn't foresee that tragedy. Not that I have a problem with homosexuals whatsoever, because I don't....but I will tell you that it took me up until a few years ago to admit that women are pretty because I was so afraid someone would think I was gay. Listen, you can't go to school every day for 6 years hearing, "Leslie Lezzie Lesbian, humps her friends as fast as she can" without it causing some damage. 'humps her friends as fast as she can'. Really? I'm 9 and humping all my friends real fast..., like a jack rabbit? Ok, first of all....not likely. But, I was a kid....I believed it. I figured they all knew something I didn't. Elementary school sucked. Everyone always said I was 'weird'. Whatever...they were all just too stupid to get my sense of humor. I was HI-larious! Of course, it didn't help matters that I wasn't a particularly good looking child.
Moving onto my physical insecurities. I've never claimed to be a beauty. (Of course, that never stops me from pointing out other people's flaws) Although all my friends are gorgeous and I run with a lovely crowd, I've never looked in the mirror and thought to myself, "Self, you are one good looking gal". In fact, I usually hate every picture ever taken of me and obsess over every one of my (many) flaws. Gee, that couldn't possible be because my father used to call us the "Lee Sisters". (Ug-Lee & Home-Lee) Oh. Yes. He. Did. He must have missed that chapter in the parenting books where you're supposed to build up your child's self esteem, not crush it. Who, WHO could look at their daughter and call her ugly? Even if they were? I mean, my GOD, he used to make me stomp my foot whenever people asked me how old I was. (get it? like a horse)
It's a wonder I made it to adulthood. I'm telling you....the baggage we bring from our childhood.... Me thinks it's why Prozac was created. And Xanax. And liquor. And cigarettes. And paint thinner. And computer duster. And cough medicine. And whatever else the kids are doing these days. Snorting Sweetarts? Drinking antifreeze?
At any rate, it's all good. I'm over it. Sure, my insecurities rear their ugly heads from time to time, but all in all, I keep a cool head over it all (thank you Walgreen's pharmacy). I'm also very realistic. I am what I am. No matter how jealous I might get over someone else for what they look like, or what they have---there are probably 20 other people that THEY are envious of. Be happy with who & what you are!!!!
Side note: In keeping with the theme, "Security" you MUST go to youtube and type in "Bon Qui Qui". Go ahead, see for yourself what I enjoy watching in my spare time. My 15 year old niece turned me onto her and Bon Qui Qui has since become my imaginery friend. When put in awkward situations I often wonder what Bon Qui Qui would do. That's why I wear WWBQQD bracelets. (what would bon qui qui do)
Thursday, December 31, 2009
hypocricy
Nothing, I mean nothing bothers me more than hypocrisy. I'll cut a bitch over hypocrisy.
In my book, there are two kinds of hypocrisy: DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO: This kind of hypocrisy occurs when the [said] offender gets on his or her soapbox to proclaim their convictions with such gusto, but then has the nerve break their own rules. And then, to make it worse, they dismiss their actions with a quick & dismissive, "oh, well that's different". Ooooh, them are fighting words. I don't care who or what you are, just own it! Don't pretend to be a saint and judge everyone else, then sleep with half the town. Ya know?
Like this person, for example....she gets up on her hind legs and rants about cancer awareness and makes everyone else feel like shit for not doing as much work as she has on the issue, then has the audacity to blow cigarette smoke in all of our (non-smoking) faces. Or the person who lies, cheats and is basically a cunning, calculating, con-artist, but then berates someone for not sending a birthday card. (hypothetical, of course).
Moving on... WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE ISN'T NECESSARILY WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GANDER: The husband is FAMOUS for this one and it is often what causes me to envision taking a shovel to his kneecaps. This offense comes in all shapes and sizes in our household. I should preface this paragraph with a bit of background on the matter. He likes to pick on me. Not in a controlling, Lifetime Movie kind-of-way, but in a petty, joking kind-of-way. The man loves to point out my mistakes. This is where I've adopted the nickname "Luuu-cyy". Get it? My big Cuban husband (ok, he's mexican) and his ditzy white wife. He'll gripe at me for spending money on things that we'll genuinely need, then he'll shamelessly buy a Harley Davidson, riding lawn mower, snow blower, every single article of clothing that Harley has ever made, goes out to lunch every single day, buys the kids ridiculous gifts just for simply being adorable, and every other unnecessary trinket or tool that's ever been brought into this house that's only purpose is to make life a tad more convenient for him. Then I'll be like, "babe, I gotta run to Target and get a new mop" he'll be all, "WHAAAAT??? That's crazy, just use a toothbrush". Ok, I'm exaggerating, but you get the point. But it doesn't always have to do with money. It can come down to parenting, diet, chores, in-laws, etc... Hypocrisy in any form is a real touchy subject with me. As you can plainly see.
Anyway---in addition to my funny stories, I'll often use my blog to vent about issues that rattle me. Call it passive aggressive--whatev. It makes me feel better.
Stay tuned for my next blog about 'insecurities'. :-) Except you have to pronounce it
"in-seh-kurr-i-tee" Like Bon Qui Qui (my favorite You Tube video---if you haven't seen it....you MUST).
M'WAH xo
In my book, there are two kinds of hypocrisy: DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO: This kind of hypocrisy occurs when the [said] offender gets on his or her soapbox to proclaim their convictions with such gusto, but then has the nerve break their own rules. And then, to make it worse, they dismiss their actions with a quick & dismissive, "oh, well that's different". Ooooh, them are fighting words. I don't care who or what you are, just own it! Don't pretend to be a saint and judge everyone else, then sleep with half the town. Ya know?
Like this person, for example....she gets up on her hind legs and rants about cancer awareness and makes everyone else feel like shit for not doing as much work as she has on the issue, then has the audacity to blow cigarette smoke in all of our (non-smoking) faces. Or the person who lies, cheats and is basically a cunning, calculating, con-artist, but then berates someone for not sending a birthday card. (hypothetical, of course).
Moving on... WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GOOSE ISN'T NECESSARILY WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GANDER: The husband is FAMOUS for this one and it is often what causes me to envision taking a shovel to his kneecaps. This offense comes in all shapes and sizes in our household. I should preface this paragraph with a bit of background on the matter. He likes to pick on me. Not in a controlling, Lifetime Movie kind-of-way, but in a petty, joking kind-of-way. The man loves to point out my mistakes. This is where I've adopted the nickname "Luuu-cyy". Get it? My big Cuban husband (ok, he's mexican) and his ditzy white wife. He'll gripe at me for spending money on things that we'll genuinely need, then he'll shamelessly buy a Harley Davidson, riding lawn mower, snow blower, every single article of clothing that Harley has ever made, goes out to lunch every single day, buys the kids ridiculous gifts just for simply being adorable, and every other unnecessary trinket or tool that's ever been brought into this house that's only purpose is to make life a tad more convenient for him. Then I'll be like, "babe, I gotta run to Target and get a new mop" he'll be all, "WHAAAAT??? That's crazy, just use a toothbrush". Ok, I'm exaggerating, but you get the point. But it doesn't always have to do with money. It can come down to parenting, diet, chores, in-laws, etc... Hypocrisy in any form is a real touchy subject with me. As you can plainly see.
Anyway---in addition to my funny stories, I'll often use my blog to vent about issues that rattle me. Call it passive aggressive--whatev. It makes me feel better.
Stay tuned for my next blog about 'insecurities'. :-) Except you have to pronounce it
"in-seh-kurr-i-tee" Like Bon Qui Qui (my favorite You Tube video---if you haven't seen it....you MUST).
M'WAH xo
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
the REAL Christmas letter
What if our Christmas letters weren't the G-rated, glossy image of our families that we so badly want the world to believe? What if we just put it out there and weren't ashamed of our realities? I wish I had the kahunas to compose a REAL Christmas letter. I'd like to imagine that it would go a little something like this:
Ha ha ha.... I'm just kidding. That would never happen. This is more like how my Christmas letter would read, should I ever have the stones to write one:
Dear Friends & Family,
Is it December already? Whew, seems like just yesterday when we hosted that golf outing to help raise money for Tom's bail. The year goes by fast when you're living conjugal visit to conjugal visit. We never did come up with his bail, but we sure had fun golfing that day.
In hindsight, it would have been smarter to put an honest person in charge of collecting the cash, instead of Tom's cousin who'd recently done hard time up in county. But, you live and learn!
This year, our little Becky graduated from beauty school. She's turned out to be a real bitch, just like her older sister. Which comes in handy when looking for a husband--not. We keep telling her that she's looking in all the wrong places, but she insists that the Mobile Gas Station on 44th street has the biggest dipsticks in town. Whatever that means.
Carl jr. is still in the 4th grade. We figure at this rate, he'll be able to drive himself to school by 5th grade. Sweet mother of Mary, the boy ain't right. Least no one picks on him. Him being 8 years older than everyone else puts him at an advantage. Knowing OUR family, we'll take all the advantages we can get!
We finally laid to rest our sweet Mee-Maw. Dang thing lived to be nearly 93. Well, we didn't so much 'lay her to rest' as forget to feed her for quite some time. We figured we'd keep her death a li'l secret....that is, until her social security ran out. We was livin' high on the hog for a while. White Castle every night... But that's all a passing fancy since our dog, Brutus dug her up and the nosy neighbor kid told his parents. Well, one thing lead to another and next thing you know, we've got the po-po knocking on our front door. There went that cash cow! Ah, it was fun while it lasted.
But, it's not all bad. Tom's parole hearing went off without a hitch. His release is set for 2034 and that's not so far if you think about it. Figure, he's probably learning some mad skillz in prison, more so than he'd learn out on the streets.
If anyone is wondering what to buy us for Christmas this year, don't get all crazy. You know we don't like hand outs. But Carl jr. needs a new mattress (he chewed his old one) and I could really use a carton or two of cigarettes. Maybe a bottle of booze (any booze will do) and a puffy paint kitty sweatshirt. That'd be real nice.
Merry Christmas!!!!
Ha ha ha.... I'm just kidding. That would never happen. This is more like how my Christmas letter would read, should I ever have the stones to write one:
Dear Friends & Family,
This year sucked. Jason works non-stop and I'm stuck here between these four walls for days on end. Jason tells me to find a hobby, but I'd rather just complain about being bored.
Ben continues to do well. He is a great student and a well liked kid. We don't think he's ours. Upon Jason's promotion earlier this year, Ben asked if he could join the local country club. We reminded him that we aren't "country club" people. To which, he replied, "WELL, I AM"!!!! He is well aware of the fact that he is way too good for our family. We think there's a grubby kid out there somewhere that belongs to us. But, we keep that under wraps because we believe Ben will be our meal ticket someday.
Gabe...... Um. Let's see. What can I write about Gabe that won't land me in jail? He's got the most darling eyelashes you've ever seen. He has a very healthy appetite, despite looking manorexic. His hobbies include eating non-edible things and that about sums up Gabe.
Me? Oh, don't worry about me. No, no, it's allllllll about the kids. It's children first in this family. Oh, I'm sorry, do you NOT speak sarcasm? No? Well, if you're going to live in my world, you really ought to learn the language.
The most remarkable thing to happen this year is that I finally conceded to the fact that I can't cook. I've suspected it all along, but the truth came out when I cleverly substituted baking powder for baking soda. Disaster ensued.
I've also upped my game where it pertains to hiding money from Jason. This year, I've graduated from hiding cash in the freezer, to actually taking out an additional bank account under my alias. Shhhh.
The high point of my year was my court appointed, community services. I'll just leave it at that.
The low point of 2009 was that nasty pregnancy scare back in March. Whew!!! Not enough vodka to smooth over that whoopsie.
You're probably thinking, "Leslie, How. Do. You. Do. It? You seem to have it all and you're just so selfless". Yes, well....it's the least I can do, for being allowed to live this lap of luxury. (help me)
Just another day in paradise!
Happy Freaking Holidays.
Monday, December 7, 2009
etiquette lessons required
So, I'm told that my husband has been invited to dinner at his boss' house. I guess my presence is expected as well. Who knew? Not me, as I tend to avoid these types of affairs. You've been reading this blog long enough to know that I'm not exactly house broken yet. Just for kicks, go into my early archives and read, "Stupid Things I've Said". Not to be confused with "Stupid things my husband's said".
Only the upper level management has been invited, which really only amounts to maybe 4 men (and their wives). I have been to 2 other company events----one was a Christmas party and my behavior was hardly noticed because I was lost in a sea of 300 other drunks. The second function was a company picnic and I busied myself with my kids, so I was somewhat able to keep my nose clean that day.
But these new developments have me in a quandary. Me nervous. So many things can go wrong. So many variables. What do I wear? Do I bring a hostess gift? Will it be catered or will I have to roll up my sleeves and help with dishes? Shall I except a drink if offered? That's silly, of course I will. What if I snort? What if it's boring and I yawn? What if they talk about businessy stuff all night? What if I hate what they serve?
All these worries could be dismissed if I were a normal person. But, I'm not. I blurt out indescretions. I don't have a filter between my brain and my mouth. I get nervous during awkward silences and that's usually when things go terribly, terribly wrong. What's worse, is I drink too much when I'm nervous. And why am I so nervous----it's not like I'm meeting my boyfriend's parents. Well, my husband has about as much faith in me as my mother did during my teen years. The pressure, the pressure. I'm scerred.
Only the upper level management has been invited, which really only amounts to maybe 4 men (and their wives). I have been to 2 other company events----one was a Christmas party and my behavior was hardly noticed because I was lost in a sea of 300 other drunks. The second function was a company picnic and I busied myself with my kids, so I was somewhat able to keep my nose clean that day.
But these new developments have me in a quandary. Me nervous. So many things can go wrong. So many variables. What do I wear? Do I bring a hostess gift? Will it be catered or will I have to roll up my sleeves and help with dishes? Shall I except a drink if offered? That's silly, of course I will. What if I snort? What if it's boring and I yawn? What if they talk about businessy stuff all night? What if I hate what they serve?
All these worries could be dismissed if I were a normal person. But, I'm not. I blurt out indescretions. I don't have a filter between my brain and my mouth. I get nervous during awkward silences and that's usually when things go terribly, terribly wrong. What's worse, is I drink too much when I'm nervous. And why am I so nervous----it's not like I'm meeting my boyfriend's parents. Well, my husband has about as much faith in me as my mother did during my teen years. The pressure, the pressure. I'm scerred.
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