Helepillar

If you haven't read my story "Gang Wars", stop reading this blog, go back and read it. This blog is a sequel to Gang Wars.





Now then, this tale picks up where Gang Wars left off (which is pretty much what a sequel does). You may remember a tiny little caterpillar riding into my home on my Cable Guy's boot. Well, that was 10 days ago and that stinking thing is still here. I left it in a small Tupperware container and I give him water and a fresh leaf every day.





At first it was cute. Mom catches a caterpillar. Mom shows her boys the caterpillar. Boys couldn't possibly be less interested. Mom grows resentful of the caterpillar and it's neediness. Oldest story in the book.




After 10 days, I'm all, "LEAVE ALREADY...YOU HAVEN'T HAD A LID ON YOUR BOWL FOR TEN DAYS....IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO FIGURE OUT...YOU HAVE 300 FEET, MOVE IT"!




But no. The caterpillar remains. It has the longest hair I have ever seen on a caterpillar. It's like a fraggle rock muppet. It's got this crazy, long, wispy hair. So, the first 5 days, it didn't move. It ate like a champ, but it never moved. I decided it was depressed. My sister's theory was that it's hair was too long to walk. I like that theory all right, but because it's MY caterpillar, chances are, it's depressed. Mental illness runs in the family, after all. So, it doesn't move. It just sits and eats all day long. Then it hit me. It's my mother. She's come back in the form of a caterpillar. She always told us that when she died, she'd come back as a butterfly so she could fly around and look over us. There are even butterflies on her box (ashes..get your mind out of the gutter). So, all of these clues are all leading me to believe that it's Helen. She's come to look after me. That's why she won't leave. It's as obvious as the nose on my face. (If you've seen my face, you'd know how blatantly obvious it is)




So, I went to show my youngest the caterpillar one day, you know, to introduce him to his Grammy. And it was gone. GONE! I was somewhat devastated, but if I knew Helen like I think I did, it was most likely on it's way to Walmart. Now, everyone knows the chances of finding a caterpillar on the way to Walmart is nearly impossible, so I accepted his departure and embraced his freedom.




When my older son got home from school that day, I showed him the empty bowl and explained that our caterpillar was gone. Well, who was sitting back on his leaf, but the caterpillar. It was a miracle, if ever I've seen one. It found it's way back home, all by itself, it did. He knew where his bread got buttered. Who's your mommy? Well, technically, he was actually my mommy, but since I was taking care of it, I would be the mommy. It's funny how you switch roles once your parents grow old. Or die. The child becomes the parent and so forth.

Once I came to realize that caterpillar was here to stay and is as much a part of this family as anyone, I've grown to like the little guy. I like to watch him walk the perimeter of his bowl. Bless his heart, he's dumber than a box of rocks, he just walks around and around and around the lip of the bowl, never once attempting to step one foot (or 300 feet) outside of his comfort zone. I've made quite a home for him. He'd be crazy to leave. At first his constant needs bothered me. The cleaning of the bowl, the agonizing, the pulling of the leaves every morning, the fresh water...Oy. But really, having one extra "thing" to take care of isn't such a big deal. I already do everything for everyone all day long, so what's a little more? (that's the Jewish mother (martyr) in me)




I think mom/caterpillar really likes it here. As you know, my mother's remains are here with me. If you don't know this, please read blog entitled, "Helen's Homecoming". Her ashes may be up on my built-in bookshelves, but her soul is right here on my kitchen counter. She's really thinking outside the "box" these days. Good thing too, because she was getting to be a real "square". OMG, I am cracking myself up right now.





So, ta-ta for now. Mom/Caterpillar and I are going homecoming dress shopping.


xo

Gang Wars

First, let me first start by telling you that I'm living among the gang world. Not Bloods or Crips, mind you see. No, these gangs go by the street names, "Cable" & "Satellite". They're a vicious bunch.

It all started when we left Charter (our local cable company) a few years back because my husband thought it would be cool to have a satellite dish. Well, as a result we had to get "jumped" out of our contract, but nevertheless, we made the switch, knives and all. Not 2 weeks into having the satellite, problems occurred. We figured it was a fluke, had it repaired, and so forth. Then another repair. Then another repair. Then another repair. We started realizing that each time the wind blew (literally) it blew our satellite out of whack. And that ain't whack, yo. So finally another tech comes to visit and he asks me if I ever see Charter vans around here. Well, there ARE 1100 homes in this neighborhood, don't you think it's a little arrogant to assume everyone has Dish? So, I tell him that yes, from time to time I'll notice a Charter vehicle or two. He nods his head all knowingly and he decides he can trust me, so he lets me in on a little secret.

Allegedly, Charter has been known to "cut" the satellite lines, as, you know, a prank. "Yeah, they don't much like us, those Charter guys", he tells me. "Started a few years ago, when we moved our offices over near their headquarters. Even now, I'll wave to them if I pass them on the road (it would only be ethical, after all), but now ( he shakes his head for effect) , they won't even wave back". I'm staring at this guy like I'm waiting for his story to continue, but I guess that's the end. So, I say, "...they. don't. wave . back?" Nope, he sighs all dramatically. Whatever. I shoo him off to fix our satellite, I can't be bothered with such ugliness. Then, I got to imagining. You know how I like to imagine things. So, I'm envisioning Charter vs. Dish in my front yard, except they're all circling around my big Oak tree, bouncing and snapping their fingers...."when you're a Jet, you're a Jet..." I had a chuckle over that, my imagery.

So, fast forward 2 long years and we have successfully made the switch back to Charter because, well, Charter is dope, yo, what with the Charter on Demand and whatnot. So I had a window between 8 A.M. and Noon. Coke bottle glasses with red hair shows up at 12:30. He drove me nuts the moment he arrived. First of all he was late, so after noon, I assumed he wasn't coming and I went about my day. My 3 yr old peed his pants, I went upstairs to find him new undies & shorts, in the meantime, he's downstairs naked from the waist down, the doorbell rings, he, of course, answers the door (naked) even though I don't allow my kids to answer the door. None the less, my 85 lb Lab bursts through the door, my son is telling him to come in, but the guy doesn't want to considering he's naked. And 3. So, I hear all the ruckus and I come running down the stairs. To my horror, I find my naked son in the foyer and an empty beer bottle on the floor by his feet.

Now, I swear to you this is true. My older son was performing a magic trick of sorts the night before for Aunt Sarah and it required a bottle and a ring. He asked if he could borrow a beer bottle, I told him to rinse one out from the recycle bin and he could use it. It seemed innocuous enough. When he put away the magic kit, he put the beer bottle away with it. So that's where that came from. But I digress.

So, coke bottle glasses with red hair is staring at the naked child, the beer bottle and me. Not to mention my house was tore apart. It's not easy keeping it tidy when you're confined to your home with a 3 yr old from 8-12. I was mortified. I was fairly certain he was using his Nextel to phone in a report to CPS. Well, long story short, he was here for over 5 hours and exactly nothing got done. He asked me question after question about "burying lines" and "tapping into wires" and all this jibberish. I didn't know why he was asking MY advice, seeing as though I hired HIM. He was a real putz, this guy. After 5 hours I was slumped on the couch with my chin in my hand asking him how to use this intricate, fancy new system and he tells me, I swear to you this is true, "I don't really know, this is only the 2nd one I've ever installed".

But that's not where this story ends. It ends with a hairy little caterpillar that came into my home and into my heart that day. He must have gotten a ride in on Coke bottle's boot, bless his heart. I will continue on with my trials and tribulations with this caterpillar in a subsequent blog. For, my hands are cramping.

Oprah's Picks (although, not so much Oprah's)

Because my opinion counts and all; I'd like to draft a list of my top 3 picks


Leslie's 3 favorite songs


1. Time by Pink Floyd

2. Into the Mystic by Van Morrison

3. Erotic City by Prince (I ALWAYS request this song at weddings and then shortly afterward, I'm usually asked to leave).

(a close 4th, 5th & 6th would obviously be, Night Moves by Bob Seger, Southern Cross by CSNY and OPP by Naughty by Nature) Naturally.





Leslie's 3 favorite holidays


1. Thanksgiving. I love Turkey day because it represents all the cozy things that Christmas means to me, except the ridiculous gift-giving and hustle & bustle.


2. Memorial Day. Ahhhh, the start of Summer. The promise of a long drunken weekend that typically revolves around water, boats, sun & fun.


3. My Birthday. Call me ego-centric, but it's true, it's my most favorite day of the year. It's the one day that it's truly all about me (and not just in my imagination, like all the other days).



Leslie's 3 favorite possessions (friends & family excluded)


1. My dog, Luna
2. A book mark that my sister gave me. A long fish wire with fancy beads at either end.
3. my new Antik Denim jean


(close 4th would be my vacuum, ohhhh, I love her so)





Leslie's 3 favorite ways to spend spare time


1. reading a good book in Jason's hammock

2. go to a movie

3. Shopping downtown Rockford





Leslie's 3 favorite must-see t.v. shows


1. The Office
2. Californication
3. Intervention (I'm preparing for my own inevitable intervention....it's bound to happen sooner or later)





Leslie's 3 favorite places to be


1. Barnes & Noble
2. The Rossi's House (see blog entitled "My God Lindsey, I thought I killed her)
3. Home (queer, I know, but I'm a home-body, for shiz)





Leslie's 3 favorite ways to spend a perfect day


1. Shopping/mani/pedi

2. Going for a boat ride with Jason & the boys

3. Having a bunch of friends over after the kids go to bed. (bonfire)





Leslie's 3 favorite things to wear


1. Nothing. (They didn't call me the "drafty dreamer" in college for nothing)

2. Velour yoga pants & long sleeve t.

3. A. tube top & white pants (tube tops rock it 'old school' because they are super sexy PLUS you can let it all hang out underneath...bonus)



Leslie's 3 favorite stress relievers


1. Pain killers
2. Alcohol
3. Mowing the lawn




Leslie's 3 favorite cocktails



1. Beer (reminiscent of sipping warm, almost empty MGD cans that were left by my dad and his friends)

2. Grey Goose & 7 up with a splash of cranberry juice (I'm fancy that way)

3. Bloody Mary. (Specifically, Peper Stoli, Clamato Juice or V8, A1 sauce, celery salt, pepper, Worcestershire Sauce, 1 pickle, 1 stalk of celery, 2 green olives with pimento) It's like a salad...but with charisma! Perfect for when you haven't had dinner, nor are you interested in eating solid foods. It's the epitome of killing two birds with one stone.



Leslie's 3 favorite baby names (of which my husband shattered my dreams and nixed everyone of them)

Boy

1. Brock

2. Brooks

3. Tate

Girl

1. Grier

2. ....You know, come to think of it, we've never gotten this far because I never really wanted a daughter.

3.



Leslie's 3 favorite "desert island" items
1. my sunglasses (because you never know when the paparazzi will be following you)
2. headbands or ponytail holders (because the last thing you want is hair in your face)
3. chapstick or lip gloss (because you never know when you'll need glossy lips)

....And lastly, Leslie's 3 favorite daydreams
1. Calling all my friends after we've won the lotto and telling them all they never have to work again

2. Being a bestselling author with a tour bus and book signing appearances and fans and expensive shoes.

3. Being old, living on the lake, having beach parties with our old friends. The boys come home from college to visit us and their friends think we're cool parents and try to take our beer. We catch them and tell them to buy their own damn beer. They laugh and we end up giving them our beer because after all, they're our children and what kind of parents would we be if we didn't give beer to our children. Then they bring girlfriends home and we sabotage their relationships because no one is good enough for our boys. Then it all comes full circle when our sons marry the daughters of our closest friends after years of trying to set them up and we officially become family. Except tension ensues during holidays because we bicker over who's house the children will visit first. Or, in this case, who's house they'll visit last because everyone knows whoever gets visited first ends up getting hosed because the guests will inevitably leave early to get to the final destination. The second tier stop is always the best. Everyone who's anyone knows that.

Leslieisms.....or as my husband calls them, "lies"

I'm compiling a list of my more infamous "leslieisms" ....or as my husband calls them, "lies". By nature I'm really not a liar. I'm neither deceitful nor wiley--I swear. It's comforting to know that I'm actually a terrible liar. But from time to time I find myself in a pickle and I have to try and weasel my way out. As pathetic as some of the stories may be, I still give futile attempts at recovery. Some even work!



I'll start with earlier lies...er, Leslieisms and work my way up to adulthood.



Teen Years:

Had a huge bash at my house. My parents were in NY for the weekend. I told a few people, they told a few people and so on and so forth. It's the oldest story in the book. Next thing I know, I was face down on my family room floor being awoken by the police. Quite a hostess I was, even then. The police asked where my parents were, I told them Meijers. On my fridge was a very large note that read, "LES, HERE'S THE NUMBER WHERE WE'LL BE STAYING IN NYC. STAY OUT OF TROUBLE!!". So, those tricky cops put two and two together and figured out that I wasn't being so truthful. Fast forward to Sunday night, when the 'rents arrived home. There I sat, looking so pitiful on my couch (the house had never been so clean). I cried and cried about how all the senior girls spread rumors about a party and they just showed up and being a meek little sophomore, what was I supposed to do? In fact, I'd even considered calling the police myself, because wasn't it you who told me to always call the police if I were in trouble? It was awful, I'm so glad you're home. Boy, did I learn my lesson. Well, they reluctantly bought it. I did the obligatory time, one month's grounding and then all was to be forgiven. That is, until I got my film developed. Like a donkey, I made a collage of all my party photos and placed it on the back of my bedroom door. I figured, why the heck would she ever be in my room with the door closed? Well, that logic lasted for about, oh, um, 14 hours. Pictures of me doing keg stands and beer bongs cluttered my door. Images of virginal me sitting (laying) on every guy's lap trying to weasel my way into a picture. There was actually a photo of me, standing at the "bar" playing bartender in my mother's apron with one of her Virginia Slims hanging out of my mouth. I must have thought that was the epitome of sophistication! Needless to say, my month's grounding was elevated to hard time, where I remained grounded for the rest of my Sophomore year. I was mad at myself, really.

Another dandy was when I snuck out of the house to (what else) drink beer with my pals. When I got home, I hid the rest of the beer under my chimney. You may recall that beer was somewhat hard to come by as a teen, so when there was leftovers, we hoarded it. I made such a ruckus that my 75 year old step father came out to ask what was up. I slurred, "shhhhhhh, it's mom's mother's day present, I'm hiding it". He gave me the okie-doke sign and winked at me, like he was down with the hi jinx and whatnot. Flash forward 3 weeks and of course, the only mother's day present for my mother was a drunken 16 year old passed out in her bed with her clothes on backwards and leaves in her hair.



During my aforementioned grounding, I missed a few key holidays, but darned if I was going to miss New Year's Eve '89. I told my mother that I was babysitting. My friend picked me up in his '85 Camero and he was wearing a blue helmet on his head. He always wore that helmet when he drove, I still don't know why, but, heck if it didn't crack me up every time I saw him. Anyway, I went to a party of a girl that was in our class. Her parents were extremely wealthy but we couldn't stand her. We only went because her parents were gone. I may or may not have ashed in her permed & frosted hair a few times and when she'd turn around, I'd just smile wildly and wave at her. It was a fine friendship, really. I even got ballsy (which 38 beers will tend to do) and I called my parents to wish them a Happy New Year!!! More like, "hic.....Appy Hue Near, mom. Shooooot no, they're not home yet....it'll prolly be anudder few hours...what, oh, all dat noises....Dick Clark's Rockin' Nuyeers, a'course....bye"!!! Got away with it, hook, line and sinker. Cue to Leslie, rubbing my knuckles on my chest after huffing on them.



Tried to leave a different house party in order to make curfew. The hostess had a circular driveway and I was blocked in by about 400 cars. There was a rock garden in the middle of the circle, which normally would be an obstacle, but not for me, why I just drove right over it. The next day, my 75 year old step father screams, "Jesus Cheeerist, Les, what the hell did you hit?" Hm? What's that, a dent, you say? You know, come to think of it, there were a lot of plow trucks out last night, I wonder if one of them hit me. So, he and my mother took my car to the police station the next day, filed a report and allegedly the police told them that the damage was in fact, consistent with that of a plow truck. Cue to Leslie taking a bow.



College Years



Every TIME, I mean EVERY TIME I got drunk, I told people that my boyfriend beat me. I realize now that domestic abuse is no laughing matter, but it was big fun back in the early 90's. I loved the attention, but really I just wanted to break up with him and frankly, I was sick of my friends liking him better than me.



Out ran the cops on WMU's campus in my Ford Tempo. Finally pulled over and told the police that he was scaring me, that's why I wouldn't stop.



Got a speeding ticket after doing the walk of shame. Make that the drive of shame. I fought the ticket and told the judge that I was speeding because there was a bee in my car and I was highly allergic to bees. Never mind that the ticket was issued in February, but by the time my court date was set, it was June. Bada Boom Bada Bing, ta-ta ticket!



Because college was such a blur and I really don't even recall graduating, these are really all of the lies, er..Leslieisms that stick out in my mind. Now, onto adulthood.



Present day

I've used the old, "I'm going to be late, I got stuck behind a funeral procession....ugh, you know how that can be" at least a million times. It's a dandy!



I know this one sounds plain ridiculous, but it's true. I told my employer that I couldn't go to work because my cat ate a poisonous bug and I had to keep an eye on him. (True lie, honest)!



I told a different employer that I sprained my ankle. Then, I rented crutches from Walgreens to cover my tracks. I'm too sneaky for m'self!

I signed a contract with a martial arts gym. After weeks and weeks of hellish kick boxing, I had to get out of it. I plotted and schemed, but nothing was going to get Master Kim to let me out of the contract. Finally, I had a friend in Chicago write me up a fake lease on fake letter head with a fake offer letter from a fake company. I'm now realizing that for all that trouble, I, myself could have drafted up all of these fake documents. It seemed more authentic to have an out of town friend do it, though. The post mark, you see....always check the city's postmark. I'd make a hella criminal, don't you think? Master Kim finally let me off, but I think he simply grew tired of my pestering. Had I put as much energy and effort into kick boxing as I did to getting out of kickboxing, I'd be a bad ass by now.

I told everyone at my sister's 2nd wedding (where I didn't know a soul) that she was approximately 14 years older than she really was. Actually, that's not altogether true. Sometimes I reduced her age by 14 years too, it just depended on who I was talking to. But, I was very consistent with a 14 year difference. Considering she had small children at the time, it made the story ever-so interesting. I loved watching the look on her new in-laws faces as they tried to process this new information. I said other things that night too, like, "pssst, I don't think the bride is showing yet, do you? She looks marvelous, even in her condition"... and things like that. Some of the other stories from that night escape me, but the point is, I'm a HOOT when I'm taken to a fancy schmancy affair where I don't know anyone. Like at my step father's 65th birthday party when I snuck wine coolers, then told his guests that I was his bastard child. A HOOT, I tell you. When attempting this stunt, it's best to walk away right after the whammie. It leaves the listener confused. Best not to stick around and answer questions.



Lies I've told my children

These are actual lies and not "Leslieisms". There's a big difference.

1. They were made from love. (or drunken make-up sex...whichever)
2. Black holes will appear on their tongues if they lie.
3. They can't drink beer because it's too spicy (I also tell them this with regard to anything that I don't want to share with them, oreos, etc..)
4. I'll come back upstairs in 5 minutes. Just close your eyes and wait for me.
5. Oops, did I accidentally skip a page?
6. That there's jewelry in my mother's box (uh, no, that'd be Grammy's ashes).
7. Skateboards aren't allowed until you're 10. It's the law.
8. If you don't eat healthy food, I'll have to call Dr. Macedo and he'll have to give you a vitamin shot.
9. Daddy and I went alllllll the way to Las Vegas, just to get you this pokemon card. Aren't we the bestest parents ever? Of course we didn't buy it at the gas station downtown, silly!
10. We're not fighting, we're just talking about a movie we saw last night (I use the movie line for any conversation my son overhears that he shouldn't overhear).

~TRULY yours,
Leslie

lamenting

Allow me to lament today. I'm in of those moods. A plethora of things are bothering me and I really ought to get them off my m' chest while they're fresh on m' mind.

Just got word that Lauren Conrad is writing a book. Really? Lauren Conrad? As in the spoiled brat who debuted her stardom on Mtv's Laguna Beach and then went onto the Hills to chronicle her life as a fashion intern? Fascinating! She can't land a man. She baby talks and I'm so tired of her life being plastered on every magazine cover. Lauren Conrad reads a newspaper! LC likes lettuce wraps! Tonight on "E!" ....Lauren Conrad takes us inside her closet! It's nauseating. And now she's writing a book. What would it entail? Chapter one: My favorite color. Chapter two: What I like for breakfast. Chapter three: Who's felt me up. I don't have the strawnth. Do something important for pity's sake, that is, besides biting the tip of your tongue while flirting with boys. I think I just vomited in my mouth just thinking about it.

Something else that bothers me is the C-word. Well, not so much the C-word, but the taboo behind the C-word. I mean, who decided that this was the worst word in the world? You can call a woman a bitch, slut, whore, worthless, etc. but the C-word..... (gasp)? It's just a word. Who cares? Sometimes I think it fits the bill, perfectly. There are a few times I've wanted to utter that word, but didn't have the *chutzpah. Take last night, for example. A woman that I'd just met, confirmed my son's name and then in the very same breath, literally dogged it. Her son shares the same name as mine, except her's goes by the formal name and mine goes by the nickname. She vehemently told me that if anyone called her son the name that I have been calling mine since he entered the world, she would grab that person by the throat and unleash on them. Really? I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not like I've never woke up in the morning and winced at a stupid comment I've made. (see: blog entitled "Stupid Things I've Said"). But, don't mess with my kids. That's off limits. C-U-Next-Tuesday!

*chutzpah--Yiddish expression for nerve

There. I feel better now. I'm sure something else will have me *kvetching by mid-morning. Ta ta for now.

*kvetch--Yiddish expression for complain, which is what Jews do best.

The Minneapolis post mortem

Adam, our "driver" and me. Taking this photo of us resulted in him running a stop sign and nearly killed us.

I just got back from a weekend in Minneapolis. It was filled with debauchery from the moment we arrived until moments before we left.

I'll recap. It was my brother in law's SURPRISE 50th birthday, but the only real surprise was that my beautiful sister is married to, in fact, a 50 yr old. All joking aside, he's most lovely. He and my sister (the one who initially started this blog with me and then bailed) are quite the party people. It's why I love them so.

The weekend began with seeing a well-worth-the-money Ron White show. We were center stage and in the 6th row. Oh. Yes. We. Were. He's a filthy, dirty pig, who swills scotch and smokes cigars like it's his job. Oh. Wait. It IS his JOB!!!! The man has literally become a ka-trillionaire simply for simply being rude and sarcastic while he drinks & smokes. Where's the justice???? I wouldn't go as far as to say he's good looking, but ladies, you can't help but to get a little smitten when he's talking about pulling your hair while doing you from behind. He's a gentleman, that way. Yada yada yada, the show was over, my husband and I gambled as much money at the casino as we possibly could in one evening and then we called it a night.

The following night was the big par-tay. 300 of their closest friends were invited to this shin dig, and a shin dig it was! My see-ster rented some yacht (the Excelsior or some bullshit) to tool us around Lake Minnetonka all while dancing, dining and drinking. Mostly drinking as I can't recall putting anything into my mouth besides a funnel of booze. I know most of their friends..... a fun crowd indeed! See-ster's girlfriends are legendary and I love them like my own. They've taken me on as an honorary member of their tribe....I'm their Michigan affiliate. I'm like the baby sister they've always had but never wanted. So, with all that said, here are my favorite highlights of the weekend (at least from what I can remember).

Night #1. (Ron White @ the Casino)

• I saw a woman hold a fork with just her ring finger and thumb. Starred at her like she was a zoo animal, asked if I could take a picture with her because I was so intrigued by her eating habits.

• Was convinced I saw Ron White at the bar and basically assaulted him until I realized it was just a heavy woman with a bad dye job, wearing men's clothing.
  
  

• Sat in front of a woman wearing a crown & sash that read "Miss Feline Rescue". She stood on a chair waving at no one in particular and I couldn't stop starring at her. Often I get fixated on people and it becomes borderline psychotic.
  

• Lost miserably at black jack and told the dealer that I hated his fucking guts. Almost got kicked out.

• Heard through the grapevine that Ron White was gambling after the show. I set out on an obnoxious quest to find him. I'll admit, I get a little star struck. No matter where I went in the casino, the crowd would tell me, "Ohhhh, you JUST missed him". I think they were fucking with me. You know how the crowd can get.... By the end of the night, I was like a rabid dog, pacing back and forth trying to find him. I wonder what I would have done, had I actually located him. What? Make him sign my boob?....most likely I'd have stuttered like a freak and then crept away.

On the way home, the four of us discussed at length, who in Hollywood prefers anal sex. We all agreed that Oprah and Steadman FOR SURE and also Oprah and Gayle. Oprah's down with it.

Night #2 (surprise party on the boat)

• After nearly slipping about 40 times that day because I can't lie and I can't keep a secret worth a damn, lest when I'm drunk, which I typically am, I practically pushed my bro in law onto the boat just to get the frigging surprise over with. I was tired of it being all about him.
• I found my newly come-out-of-the-closet lesbian couple and immediately told the dark haired one that she looked just like Lois Lane. Really? That's all I could come with? Lois Lane? Ummm....1978 called...
  
  

• Later I offered up my uterus to the lesbian couple, should they ever want children. Apparently it didn't occur to me that it was the penis they needed, not the uterus. Gawd, I'm stupid when I drink.
  
  
• I smooshed my 12 year old nephew's head into my boobs, just for kicks.
  
  
  
• I pretended to be Julie from the Love Boat while greeting people at the door.
  
  
• I told people that my husband was Isaac from the Love Boat (he is neither black nor a bartender).

• I walked around with my black satin pants unzipped for most of the night, unbeknownst to me.
  
  
• When I realized the lesbian's didn't really need me, I offered up my husband's dick. Cut out the middle man, so to speak. Always one to help out a friend, I am.
  
• Peed on myself in the teeny-tiny bathroom.
• When the lesbians told me they wanted to adopt a Guatemalan baby I shrieked, "WHAT IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU WANT ONE OF THOSE FOR......"???? and then calmly walked away.
• Told my brother in law's oldest & dearest friend that he looked like a game show host. And then I proceeded to call him Wink Martindale all night. As in, "Hey Winkie, get over here, you crazy kook"!!!!! I thought I was hilarious. Wink...not so much.

• Took the captain's hat off his head and then shimmeyed in front of him.
  
  
• Called "shot-gun" in the town car on the way home, just so I could sit up front with the hot driver. Evidently, he ran a stop sign because I had my head in his lap, trying to take a picture of the two of us together (see attached photo). Nevermind my husband was in the back seat.
  

That about wraps up my weekend. A good time was had by all. I don't think we'll be welcomed back to the Twin Cities anytime soon!

adventures with koko

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an OB's worst nightmare

In 2001 I became pregnant for the first time. Like every first time mommy, I was a walking miracle, the epitome of feminity. I convinced myself that mine was the most interesting & unique pregnancy of all time. In hind sight, it barely warranted keeping the pregnancy journal that I committed to writing in each night. My Gosh, I look back at it now and I just about want to choke myself from the boredom of it.





....."tonight the baby kicked. I ate an apple. Yesterday the baby had hiccups. I have to pee a lot. My boobs are big. My clothes don't fit. This might not be Jason's baby"......you know, same old, same old...

But, it's funny how we forget. If I had to guess, I'd say I was a typical patient. Perhaps a bit on the cautious side, but calm, cool and collected, nevertheless. It all came back to haunt me a few days ago. I was looking for something in the waaaayyy back of my closet and I came upon a manila folder. I peeked inside and sure enough, it was records from my old OB's office. I had them forward my file to me when I moved to the other side of the state. My intentions were to give it to my next OB, but I guess I never got around to it. I had some time to kill, so I decided to flop on my bed and stroll down memory lane. After all, it might be fun to reflect on my first pregnancy from the doctor's perspective.





My file was about 3 inches thick, that should have been my first clue. All those times I called the doctor's office to ask an innocent question, I guess I didn't realize that they document every conversation between the nurses & myself. Heh heh... I'm not exaggerating when I tell you some of the entries into my file:





...August 14, 2001. PT (that's code-ski for patient) wants to know if it's ok for her to swing on a swing. I checked with dr. j to be sure, but advised her that yes, it was ok.





.... August 29, 2001. PT says husband won't let her walk her dog until she gets clearance from Dr. J. We ok'd it.





... October 18, 2001. PT called with concerns of eating pumpkin seeds, wants to know if it will increase the baby's liklihood of developing allergies.





November 11, 2001 PT called to report that her "virgin" mimosa, may have had a "splash" of champagne in it. Nurse. P. assured her that the baby wouldn't have fetal alcohol syndrome.





December 12, 2001. PT calls to ask if she can keep poinsettia's in the house. Are they toxic to babies or just to cats? Nurse told her that Leslie would actually have to eat it for it to be toxic to the baby.





February 19, 2002. PT calls with complaints of being tired. I assured her that it was normal.





February 24, 2002. PT complains of "severe pains" running up and down her legs. PT reports that she often wears high heeled boots to work. PT reports that she'll cease from wearing high heels to work.





March 3, 2001. PT reports discomfort & cramping. I explained braxton hicks to her and told her that she could supplement with tylenol. PT says that tylenol upsets her stomach, so she will take advil instead.





March 8, 2002 PT reports that her dog may or may not have come into contact with a dead bird at the park and then dog licked her hand later that day. PT worries if she may have been exposed to West Nile Virus. I told her to bring the bird to CDC for testing. PT declined.





April 1, 2002. PT calls wondering if she's in labor. She claims to have been having contractions for 3 days now. Nurse reports that she'd have had the baby by now if she was in fact having contractions for 3 days.





....I mean, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I'm embarrassed for MYSELF! What must they have thought of me???? I turned it all around for my 2nd and last pregnancy. I never once, NOT ONCE called the dr. I could have been crowning at my 4th month and would have refused to call. "No, that's ok, I'll wait it out. I think it'll pass...." That's a good little patient. I'm now Dr. Van Slooten's most favoritest patient. Which, for all intents & purposes cancels out because I'm still Dr. Johnson's most worstest patient to date.



There will many more blogs like this one, as I have lots o' doctor stories. I don't know why, but I often find myself in odd predicaments at the doctor office. Like the time I boxed in the young, hot resident's head with my knees, 'cause he scerred me.

Mars & Venus

I'd like to take this opportunity to give you my rendition of the vast differences between men & women.





Woman: straighten, clean, scour, disinfect, organize, prioritize and scrub.

Men: put a bunch of stuff in a drawer and then look for praise.



Woman: teach their children how to ride two wheelers.

Men: take the children for their first bike ride (sans the training wheels) and proudly accept praise from all the neighborhood mommies who think he's such a great dad.



Woman: potty train their babies

Men: change one frigging diaper in public and relish in all the gushing mommies at Meijers who think he's such a great dad.



Woman: to get ready for bed, have to fluff the pillows, let the dog out, let the dog in, turn out the lights, put the beer bottles in the recycle bin, start the dishwasher, carry clothes basket upstairs, properly tuck in the kids, turn on night lights, brush teeth, wash face, apply anti-aging cream, apply chapstick, lay in bed, think of tomorrow's to-do list, eventually fall asleep.

Men: walk upstairs, lay down, sleep.



Woman: Get a cold. Take Advil Cold & Sinus and go about their day.

Men: Get a cold, call in sick to work, cry, whimper, limp around waiting for someone to notice them, call their mommys, call anyone they can think of so they can practice their hoarse, sick-voice, baby talk their wives, lay in bed until they've decided they're hungry, want something we ultimately don't have in the house, eat it, decide they don't like it, want something else, be a martyr and go back to bed.



Woman: get old and haggered

Men: get handsome & distinguished



Woman: get bitchy for no apparent reason

Men: are simply stressed out from their jobs



Woman: to get ready for an outing, pack a diaper bag, the camera, snacks, let the dog out, then in, make sure the kids have matching shoes and have gone to the bathroom, clean up the house so you don't come home to a messy house, print out directions, grab the list of things to get, pack activities for the kids, charge the cell phones, apply lipstick and lock the door.

Men: get in the car and honk for their wives to hurry up.



Woman: Upon relaying news about a new baby, will provide the stats such as: the sex, it's name, the weight, the length, the time it was born, how many pushes it took to get it out, whether she needed stitches, what hospital she's at, what the colors of the nursery are and what the alternative name would have been if it were born the opposite sex.

Men: tell you that so & so had a baby and it might have been either a boy or a girl.

movie tag lines that I reference weekly

Nobody puts baby in the corner, ~ Dirty Dancing
I like to use this reference most often when I'm attending a wedding where the bride and groom have the common sense to stick my husband and I in the corner of the reception.



I would expect this from BOB, but not you, Ritchie, ~La Bamba

I enjoy saying this line with a heavy Mexican dialect. It works best when there is a pair of men (brothers, for example) and the sensible one makes a bad decision.





The one that says Bad Mother F&*ker! , ~Pulp Fiction

I like to respond with this tag line when someone asks me 'which one is yours'.




Knock it off Napolean and go make yourself a dang Quesadilla, ~Napolean Dynamite

You absolutely have to pronounce quesadilla phonetically (kay-suh-dil-a). It works when someone is whining in the kitchen about how there's nothing to eat.




Ummmhmmmm.....I reckon I like them french fried potaters, ~Sling Blade

I don't have an example of an appropriate time to use this quote. It's creepy, but my husband does a stellar Billy Bob Thorton impression.




Drink your juice, Shelby, ~Steel Magnolia

Perfect for whenever Shelby drinks her juice....duh!



Waaaait, is she a great big fat person?, ~Silence of the Lambs

For the record, I don't condone making fun of heavy people. What I do condone however, is making fun of people who make fun of heavy people. Especially when those people have a nasaly, serial killer-type voice, like that of Buffalo Bill.



"Surely you can't be serious" , ~Airplane

And my visceral response will always be: I am serious and don't call me shirley



I won't be ignored, Dan, ~ Fatal Attraction
I lit-rally reference this at least daily. Mainly, when my sister won't return my calls.



Run, Forest.....Run.....!, ~Forest Gump
Perfect for when my 3 year old tries to run.

They're not dirty pillows mama, they're breasts., ~Carrie I have no words for this movie tag line, I just like it.

Don't shoot your friends, Joseph, ~Unbreakable This works well when you don't want Joseph to shoot his friends.

The Betty Broderick Story; A woman scorned, ~a Lifetime Movie Original There isn't any one specific line in this movie that I reference nearly as much as the title itself. I think it speaks volumes. It says, "you can't just divorce Meredith Baxter Birney and think you can get away with it. Oh. No. You. Can't".

I'm not just another pretty face, you know.

It's true. I'm not just another pretty face. No, really. I'm not. I'm also an avid reader, a fabulous hostess, a mediocre cook, mildly interesting and marginally fashionable. I don't like to toot my own horn, but I fancy myself a pret-ty, sharp cookie. I've also become quite the "Handy Andy" in my old age. Becky Home-ecky, if you will. Why, I can fashion a toilet paper cozy out of some scrap yarn and an old barbie doll so fast, your head would spin.



I enjoy clipping wedding & engagement announcements out of the Sunday paper and then writing my own captions for them, and then delivering them to various friends' mailboxes. You know, just for kicks.



I dabble in making custom note cards for my peeps (my friends are like, 'mmmmmm, yeah....thanks for the set of personalized stationary. It's even better than the last 4 set you've made me....oh, I see, this one is much, much different. It has the comic sans font....how clever!') My newest creation is buying craft store, wooden letters and then decorating them with decorative paper. I'm fancy that way. Will I ever stop re-inventing myself? Will the madness ever end?



Hmm. I just realized something while typing this. I was just about to add my blog to my long list of talents when it hit me--- this is what I've been reduced to. Writing to complete strangers about my sad, sad existence. Really? Am I really that proud of my stationary and widdled wooden letters? Good God, am I pathetic.

When all my skirts get together, we're like a sewing circle. All you hear is white noise of conversation with a frequent howl of laughter. If I'm feeling particularly anti-social or quiet, I'll just listen to everyones' conversation and I'll wonder if we have anything else to talk about besides the elementary school's new play ground, recipes or regaling each other with darling little stories about our sons and daughters. Is this really what it has come down to? Ugh. I've become my mother. Never in a million years did I think that this is how I would pass my time. Valentine's Day party meetings....I mean, you bring cupcakes, candy hearts and valentines...voila! Oh no, not anymore....you have to have crafts and nutritious snacks and games and centers, my God, the centers.... don't you know?

I know this is why I chose to stay home with my babies. I just envisioned myself being different than those "other" mothers. I thought I'd be much more cool, but when it comes down to it, like every other mother, giving birth has robbed me of my former self. I used to have a somewhat extensive vocabulary. Not anymore, I have to grasp for synonyms and I struggle to express myself without swearing. I barely know how to hold a pen, for pity's sake! I will go to write out my grocery list and it's like my hands immediately go to sleep and I'm like a caveman who's completely unfamiliar with the workings of a writing utensil. I bang it on the table, grunting.

I feel utterly useless. So, I can potty train a child. So, I can teach a little boy how to ride a two wheeler...that's all well and good but can I contribute anything else to society? Well, that is, besides 2 self sufficient, highly functioning men. Well....at least ONE self sufficient, highly functioning man (our youngest is all slow in the head and whatnot). So, I guess if all of my sacrifices, challenges and tribulations can contribute to at least one of my children becoming upstanding members of society, than I guess it was worth it. I'll keep telling myself that!

This isn't exactly where I thought this blog was heading, but evidently I had some pent up emotions on the subject of my so-called life. At the beginning of my rant, I went from being a well read, creative & talented woman and ended my schpeel with my being a useless, ninny who likes to glue paper together. Neat! At the end of the day, we all turn out to be our mothers---it's inevitable. You can't fight city hall.

That reminds me, I'm going to go blog about really stupid expressions, like, you can't fight city hall....

The ticket muncher

Many, many happenings in my home these days. My 3 yr old is potty training and we've given our kitchen a face lift, of sorts. Oh, when will the fun end for my family and myself, I mean, WHEN? It just doesn't get any better than this. I've said it once, I'll say it again, I'm just living the dream. Living. The. Dream. I tell you...

Like any red blooded mother, I made a pee pee chart for my son. Every 5 stamps earns him a special treat. Like, dinner for example. His first 5 earned him a trip to Chuck E. Cheese, which is my personal hell on earth, but the kids enjoy it so. So, alas, he earned 5 stamps and off we went to pay the mouse.

Also, on this particular day, my husband and I were in disagreement as it pertained to our new backsplash. He wanted to do it himself. I wanted him to hire out. My husband doesn't "hire out" for anything. He's quite handy, you see. So, you can imagine the brick wall I was up against when I begged for the back splash of my choice and the total ended up being quite a bit higher than the quote. I knew I'd eventually get my way. We'd been getting along fabulously lately. And by gettting along, I mean, he'd been gettin' some (wink, wink). Sure, I'd have to do some fancy footwork to get that back splash, but I'd earn every square inch of it, oh boy!

So, we're wrapping things up at Chuck E. Cheese and we have a few tokens left. I say to him, "whaddya say we make this interesting. Winner of Skeet Ball makes the back splash decision". He tells me no. I rub his back and play attentive wife. A while later, he propositions me. I won't get into the proposition because it involved a darling skirt (now tainted) and some open toe heels that tie up at the ankle. Next thing I know, we're standing before our respective lanes and we're shaking hands. May the best spouse win, I tell him. I blew out my final breath. I (air) kissed the germ infested ball and we were off! Needless to say, I rock the Kaz ba. I won 20,000 to 18,000.

Of all the games & rides at CEC, the thing my kids love most is the ticket muncher. How many tickets will he eat this time? What on earth will I buy with all these tickets? Will I be able to choose from the first, second or third row? The possibilities are endless. While my babies were hemming and hawing over their precious prizes, Jason was wondering if we could pay for our new back splash with the kids tickets. Surely, behind the counter were the really good prizes...can't you just look in the back?? He's a good sport, God bless 'em.

Definitely the most expensive trip to Chuck E. Cheese he'll ever be on, but oh-so gratifying. 1, 2...6, I'm calling up the decorator lady and the back splash is being installed Monday.

Voila! And that, my friend, is how it's done.

God, Lindsey, I thought I killed her!

My husband Jason and I had been planning our upcoming trip to Colorado forEVER! His best friend was finally tying the knot. This was the most anticipated wedding, since Luke and Laura's. I literally planned potential pregnancies around this wedding. With the exception of over-nighters here and there, we hadn't been away on vacation together in almost 7 years. We were due.



I'd been counting the days 'til we left. I took all the necessary precautions, ie. new dress, babysitter, dog sitter, rental car, fake tan, etc. etc. So, to say we were anxious for this trip to happen was an extreme understatement.



The "day of" came and we giddily (is that a word?) said good bye to our kids and sped down the driveway, leaving skid marks. We chatted (uninterrupted) and laughed (with each other not at each other) the whole way to the airport.


MISTAKE #1: We stopped at Four Winds Casino on our way to Chicago because...well, why wouldn't we? So, we leisurely had lunch, confidently played a few hands of black jack (lost) and we were on our merry way.



After driving for what seemed a bit longer than expected, my husband announces that we should have been at the airport by now. He's starting to panic because we only have about an hour buffer at this point and we're not even near the airport. Mind you, he JUST made this exact trip (same airline, same flight, same airport) 3 months ago for the bachelor party. So, we're driving and driving and he's freaking out. I call a few friends who know their way around the windy city fairly well and they assure us that we're absolutely heading in the right direction to O'Hare. Jason politely thanks them and then mutters that they don't know what they're talking about because he insists that we weren't going the right way.



MISTAKE #2: He sneaks his blackberry out of his briefcase and very surrepticiously begins to type in our flight information. I ask him, 'what are the chances that we fly out of Midway and not O'Hare'? He says '1%'. Then, what he fears the most is upon him and he whips his phone across the car. "&^%$!#$....WE FRIGGIN' FLY OUT OF MIDWAY". Yeah. Midway was about an hour and 20 minutes ago. We now have about 30 minutes to make our flight. Nevermind parking and checking our bags and such. He asks what we should do and I tell him to pull over and find an attorney because I'm leaving him.



We drive through Chicago's mid-day traffic (in a stick shift) for about an hour and half and I say nothing the entire time. I'm fuming. We finally get to Midway and we obviously miss our flight, but the ticket person assures us we'll get on stand by because there's 30 available seats and we're number 6 in line. So, once I realize that I have 3 hours to myself (which never happens) I exhale and decide to forgive my husband. I immediately walked into the nearest bookstore and began piling up books into his arms. He suggested that perhaps I don't have to buy all of these hardbacks, but wait and then check them out from the library. I glare at him and he lovingly walks up to the register with books in tow. Pretty much the same scene goes down at the jewlery store and when I've decided that I've gotten enough mileage out of his huge snafu, I sit down with my new books and begin to read.



It's about an hour before we're supposed to board for our stand by flight and I'm basically sitting on the ticket counter waiting for the ticket person to show up. When she finally does, I'm all but crawling over the front of the counter to get her to notice me, but she just keeps typing away pretending she doesn't see me. I'm absolutely certain that she was typing "I don't see you, I don't see you" over and over. I jingled my keys, I sighed loudly....nothing (you could hear crickets). Then she walks away. Finally comes back and I pop up from under the counter, "HELLO....Hi, can you help me"?? Her: (sigh...eye roll, glare) I shove my ticket in her face and she tells me that she couldn't possibly tell me if I've gotten on the stand by flight or not, it's far too early to tell. I look around, there's basically 12 people sitting there. So, she proceeds to call up the people who need assistance, then the people from the back of the plane and forward, then she calls up the stand by people one by one. She was like, "Ummm, ok, anyone..... anyone at all who aren't these two annoying people standing in front of me looking like toddlers who are about to pee their pants can board the aircraft. Finally, she sighs, nods her head and allows us onto her precious airplane.



Jason and I fought the whole way onto the plane about who will sit in the middle. I hate the middle, but I always give it to him because he's 6'2" and I don't want to hear him kvetch about it the whole way to Denver. I shove in next to what seems to be a very normal man. He was anything but. First of all, he mumbled to himself from the moment I sat down until we landed in Colorado, which ironically ended up being 3 times longer than it needed to be---but I'll get to that momentarily. He had this non-sensical, unaudible way of speaking which at first concerned me, but then really grated on my nerves. He had a comment for every single thing that was said within his earshot. Very annoying.



We're 8th in line for take off. We're 2nd in line for take off. We've sat idle for about 30 minutes when the pilot announces that the airport has temporarily closed down due to a thunderstorm. Oh....and they don't serve booze while still on the ground. The plane erupts into panic. And there we sit, for the next. 4. hours. I was getting dangerously close to losing it.



The guy. You know, the one next to me? Well, he has a ritual of sorts, see? It goes like this: Toiletry bag out. Place on lap. Unzip. Take out--in the following order--asthma inhaler, skittles, plain M&M's, chapstick. Use each one. Zip. Put away toiletry bag. Dig in pocket for 5 minutes (which is very pleasant for the person sitting next to you--which would be me). Finally retrieve wallet. Count 1's and 5's. Count credit cards. Put wallet back. Adjust ear phones. Get out phone. Scroll thru his peeps. Sit still for 2 seconds and..........then it starts. all. over. again. I was clawing Jason's thigh like a wildebeast. I was going mental. He wouldn't sit still. It was like sitting with my 3 year old, except my 3 year old is handsome...and funny. This guy was fat....and very un-funny. Plus, he kept breathing through his nose onto my hands and it was sending me to the moon. At one point I actually text messaged Jason the entire ritual and while Jason was reading it, the guy was doing exactly what I had written at that very time. Jason thought I was a magician of sorts, bless his heart. Oh, and another thing about this guy that I think is note worthy is that I find him to be a bit of a liar. He would scroll through his phone, dial and then say to the person on the other line, "Oooooh, you answered???? I was playing with my phone and it accidently dialed your number. I didn't want to be rude and just hang up. Me, oh, I'm alright, I guess. (Sigh) Except, I'm sitting on this plane in Chicago......" He did this to THREE different people. I couldn't believe it. Lying like that, in front of me, when I had already formed my awful opinion of him. I soooo badly wanted to grab the phone from him and "out" him. "he's lying...he's LYING--he didn't accidently dial your number--it was very deliberate--he's a liaaaar"!!!!



So, we finally land in Denver. It's 12:30 A.M. there (2:30 A.M. our time). We still have to get our bags, our rental car and get to our rented house, where 15 of our closest friends have been staying for several days prior to us getting there. Surely, there won't be anyone else at Hertz, after all, it is 12:30 in the A.M. Yep. Jason is 27th in line and there's one person working. A slow person at that.



I'll use this time to go into my description of the people with whom we're about to spend our weekend. The Rossi family. Ahh, the Rossi's. The Rossi's 3rd child, Chris, is Jason's best friend in the whole entire world. We named our oldest son's middle name "Ross" after these people. Since Jason grew up with Chris, he's long since become an honorary member of their family. And because I'm so charming and witty, they've taken me on as an adopted daughter as well. Between you and me and the rest of the world, I feel closer to these people than I do my own family. I love spending holidays with them. Not the boring ones, like Easter and Christmas, but the really fun ones, like Memorial Day and 4th of July...and Saturdays. So, you get it, we're very close and so forth. Mr. & Mrs. Rossi (Joe & Irene), their 4 kids +spouses (who are mostly our age-ish) Joe & Irene's best friends the Dushane's (Ron & Linda) plus Jason and I all in a 10,000 square foot palatial mansion. This house is on the market for 2 mil and we all got to stay there. We're fancy that way. Now, the Rossi's and the Dushanes are drinkers. Their kids grew up together, there's a lot of history there and they're a riot to watch when they've had a few. Irene with her bloody mary's....Joe with his manhattans....there's no telling where the fun will end. Here's a whimsical little side story to depict the Rossi's.



I'm about 12 hours pregnant and attending a friend's wedding. Jason and I are seated with the Rossi's. Joe asks me what I want to drink, I tell him a long island. He whistles for the waitress and calls her "toots" and tells "toots" to get me a long island. His wife, Irene, screeches, "Jooooeeee, for God's sake, she's pregnant"!!!!!!! J0e looks at her as if to say "....and..???" So he says, "Irene, you drank with all 4 of our kids and they turned out fine". Irene comes back with, "Nooo, not Nick, I did NOT drink or smoke with Nick". Joe replies without hesitation, "Yeah, and he's our dumbest one. Toots, bring this young lady a long island, pronto"!!!! Me loves the Rossi's. And yet another story:



We're all sitting around the Rossi's patio (very typical) and Chris is a newbie attorney and he's telling us about some case where they had to use a NIT kit on someone. That's code-ski for Narcotics Indicator Test. Mrs. Rossi walks into the conversation and says, "what...what...a Nick test.....so, Nick smokes it and reports if it's good pot or not..."????? We laughed for hours about that one. Poor Nick. He's the baby of the family and they all called him Kato Kalin for a while because he'd be known to get drunk and pass out in the pool house on occasion.



But I digress. Back to our trip. So, fast forward a few more hours and we're finally at our destination. Our amazingly, beautiful rented castle which is currently housing some of my most favorite people, who all suck because they've fallen asleep awaiting our arrival. We pull up to the house and there's one lone light on in the kitchen. Out walks Irene (Mrs. Rossi) in all her glory. She's in her 60's, it's well after 2 AM and she's still clutching her glass of wine, God bless her. She greets me at the door with a beer and an Atavan. God, I love these people. Irene knows I love my pills. After we've beat up Jason a little for all of our traveling debacles, we retreat to our fancy schmancy guest room (one of 6) to pass out for the night. Of course, I think my 2nd wind has kicked in and I fight the sleepies. One beer and one Atavan later and I'm all, "I'm not even tir--...zzzzzzzzzz"

The next morning, Jason has an 8AM tee time and he leaves me two $100 bills on the end table. He tells me to have a nice day and gestures to the cash. I tell him that I feel like a whore. He tells me that I must not be a very good one for only $200. I laugh and fall back asleep.

Hours later there's a knock at my door. Mrs. Rossi is standing there with a very nervous look on her face. As it turned out, she just wanted to make sure I was still breathing. I've gotten the rest of the story from Linda Dushane, but this is how it was reported to me.

Evidently Irene has a habit of covering her mouth with her hands to relay a secret, especially if it's a secret that she thinks she'll get into trouble for. So she wearily walks up the stairs and finds Linda sitting on a barstool at the island. She sits next to Linda and leans into her. Linda says, "what the hell has gotten into you, Irene"? Irene places her two hands together like she's praying and then pinches her lips with her index fingers and looks around the kitchen, all shifty-like. "God Lindsey, I thought I killed her"! Anyone who knows me it takes much, much more than a beer and an Atavan to kill this old bird. I've racked up quite a tolerance to the pharmaceuticals.

...for the record the rest of the weekend was a hoot. No further drama to report. Oh, except when I was visiting a friend in Denver, who did we see on the streets of Cherry Creek while window shopping? None other than my seat mate on the infamous flight from Chicago. Just to prove it to Jason, we did take a picture of him leaning into a car window, probably annoying someone, or lying to them. I'll have to work on getting that picture.

mcGruff the crime fighting dog

My family and I moved to Pleasantville U.S.A about 4 years ago. And it is pleasantville in every sense of the word. Neighbors look out for one another. Multi-family bbq's take place at least weekly. Children wander fearlessly through each other's yards. Joggers & bikers always wave or stop to say hello, whether you know them or not. Colonial-era carolers visit our home to sing inspirational hymns a capella. OK, that's going a bit too far, but you understand.



We had our dearest friends in town for a visit recently. They're from the East side of the state and although they live in a posh neighborhood, it still seems light years away from me....what with the city lights, locked doors and Starbucks on every corner. They think we live in the middle of nowhere---Butt F*ck Nowhere to be exact. I'll admit, it's a bit small town and yes, I'll even go as far to admit that a few weeks after we moved here, I was scanning radio stations and darned if I didn't hear "Baby Got Bible" on a Christian radio channel. As in, "Oh My Gosh, Becky, look at her bible...it's so big, she must think she's one of those preachers daughter's or something....". I almost put our house up for sale that night. Kids, pack it up, we're outta here. But, after a while this darn place grew on me and we've grown accustom to our small town ways.



That being said, we excitedly welcomed our out-of-town guest with open arms and looked greatly forward to an evening of fun. Fun, indeed. Once we convinced our dear friends that we do, in fact, house electricity and running water, the beers began to flow and laughter ensued. At approximately midnight a threesome of hoodlums came barreling through our backyard, followed by a man yelling, "did you see those kids, they broke into my garage"?!?! Well, that's all the ammunition our husbands needed to play cops and robbers. Off they go, leaving my girlfriend and I to sit roll our eyes at the situation. After about 20 minutes they still hadn't come back yet, so we went around front to investigate. Her husband was huffing and puffing up the driveway and demanded that I call the police. "POLICE"?, I say to him..."Really---is that necessary"? He gets all mad and so forth and tells me that my husband has the hoodlums 'in custody' and I need to call the police immediately. So, I'm in no condition to be speaking to the authorities, but I do as I'm told. Here's how the conversation went down:



Dispatcher: 911, where is your emergency

Me: Well. See, there is no emergency per se, but some kids just ran through our yard and another neighbor claims they broke into his garage.

Dispatcher: Where is that other neighbor now?

Me: Not a clue, musta gone home.

Dispatcher: Where are the boys?

Me: Oh, my husband has them contained.

Dispatcher: CONTAINED???? WHERE??

Me: Over there (I point over there)

Dispatcher: Ma'am, I can't see you through the phone

Me: oh, right...ummm 2 doors down from me....in the yard.

Dispatcher: Ma'am describe your husband please.

Me: OK, he's 6'1", about 230, maybe less due to his recent weight loss, he's Hispanic and is wearing a grubby red shirt.

Me: Oh, wait, I know where you're going with this. He's not holding the kids in a violent way, he's just making sure they don't run. Scaring them, if you will.

Dispatcher: Uh huh.

Me: Seriously.



I'm imagining that my choice of words will most likely land my husband in jail for the night. I imagine our conjugal visits.



Finally she tells me she'll send a car. At this point my girlfriend is doubled over in my front yard, dying laughing. We're crying, when all of a sudden 2 Sheriff cars come whizzing up my driveway. I put down my brewski and walk up the car. One cop stops me and tells me to wait right there. (Like I'm the perp or something) FYI, perp is code-ski for perpetrator. We explain the story again when my friend's husband comes huffing and puffing up the road again and he takes over and explains the situation to the police. At this point, I grow bored with the whole situation and walk back to the deck to enjoy more beers. The guys finally join us and things die down. As it turns out, the 'two youts' weren't stealing out of garages, but ding dong ditching. I called the police on 3 boys who were ding dong ditching. Do you have any idea what that does to my karma? I have 2 boys of my own. Not to mention the fact that I did much, much, much worse than that at their age.



As we all sat there and pondered our own troubled pasts our guest says to us, "nice friggin' place you guys live in....what is this the ghetto"????

the new pediatrician

I found a new pediatrician after our old one chastized me for calling her after hours number for something as mundane as a cough....Anyhoot~

It took blood, sweat and tears for me to get my boys into this highly recommended, highly regarded practice. By the skin of my teeth, I finally got accepted as a new patient, so for no good reason, I felt I had to have the boys as clean and shiny as a new penny for their appointments (not entirely easy to do during the filthy Summer months).

I was in such a hurry to get there (first impressions, you know) when I finally looked down at my children in the waiting room, I was amazed to see that Ben had purple popsicle all over his grubby hands and Gabe's red popsicle had melted all down his arm (albeit 3 hours earlier) and wound up all over the back of his khaki shorts. He went to bed with his hair wet last night, so it was sticking up every which way and his bare legs were revealing a myriad of cuts, bites, bumps and bruises, also consistent with the Summer months.

Again, I'm trying to frantically clean up the boys before our new Dr. comes in. He shows up and he's all polite and so forth. After he goes over the logistics (height/weight, etc) he begins to ask my 6 yr old about bicycle safety. For the record, my Benny is a helmet geek. He even wears his helmet while riding his bike through our plush, grassy yard. So, doc asks if he wears a helmet and Ben answers, "well, only on the really, really busy streets".
Doc: Heh hem....ummm you should really wear it all the time, Ok Buddy?
Doc: What kind of milk do you buy?
Me: Skim
Doc: Do they drink much of it?
Me: Oh yeah, all the time, they are huge milk drinkers. (For the record, I wasn't even lying...they ARE milk drinkers)!
Ben: We love pop, LOVE IT! (Ok, my boys only drink pop when they're with their Grandmother and even then it's rare). So, he continues to go on about Stranger Danger, Sunscreen, Car Seats, etc. I assure him that our motto is "safety first". On cue, Gabe tells him that he loves fireworks, they're soooooo loud and soooooo pretty and very hot! What could I do? I just pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. So, then Doc wants to check the bottoms of their feet. WHY??? WHY??? What do you think, that I made them walk on hot coals before we came? Why, in the middle of June, when the boys did NOT have a bath last night and they're both wearing black flip flops would a doctor choose then to check the bottoms of their feet? I contemplated faking my own death at that point, I was so embarrassed.

Me: Oh, uh, yeah, those darn flip flops make their feet appear sooooo dirty, but they aren't, I swear....I SWEAR...WHAT?????

Doc: uh huh. Ok see you in about a year.

Now, I'm wondering if I should go back to the old doctor.

I met a gay.

I've waited most of my adult life to befriend a gay and it finally happened. The most charming fellow works at TJ Maxx. He's darling and he likes to chat me up. During some of my futile shopping trips, we've discussed, Kathy Griffin (love her), Barbara Walters, John & Kate plus 8, Little People, Tori Spelling, dog sitting for his vacationing friends, the fact that my 3 year old calls me by my first name (Leslie), etc. etc. He humors me, I humor him, it's mutual. I get his advice on manly things and the like.

On my way home from the store, I began day dreaming about the two of us becoming close friends. We'd go out for drinks, my husband wouldn't even care, because after all, he's gay. Although, my new friend refers to himself as "Happy", not gay. Now, I don't know him from anything, but I think he's kinda bitchy, which is most favorite attribute. I'd imagine he's the critical type who would judge everyone in our line of vision. He shall be a bridesmaid in my next wedding, because he's got flair and all.... I'd even bring him to Bunko with me, to show him off to my lady friends.....he'd be my "show & tell". Awe!

I'm off to clear a space in the basement. He might want to become roommates, once we get to know each other a tad better.

food for thought

Secret, secret...I've got a secret! Here's something I'll bet you didn't know about me. As much as I love cucumbers, I loathe buying them. I imagine that there are creepy, lurking men who are peering at me from all angles of the produce aisles thinking to themselves, "oooohhhh, she likes the long, firm, green ones...uh huh...I'll give you a long, firm green one, honey....". Then I imagine them going back to their caves where they're holding a Senator's daughter against her will and will inevitably tell her to 'put the lotion on it's skin, or else it gets the hose'. I usually won't be too choosy about my cucumbers, because the longer I stand there and jerk off all the cucumbers, the creepy men have already jimmied their way into my car and are waiting to drag me back to their dungeon, where I'll bravely wait for Jodi Foster to rescue me.

what not to wear and other fashion don'ts!

I've never claimed to be a fashionista and no, I'm not trying to rip off Stacy London. However, I do own a mirror and that alone gives me authority over what works and what doesn't.

1. Nude nylons. There should be a law. I'll take it a step further. Nude nylons with open-toe sandles. Never, ever, under any circumstances should you ever wear nude nylons and/or with sandles.

2. Long, air brushed acrylic nails. Nope, sorry. Say good bye to your mini sunsets and your little flamingos.... NO designs on your nails! The only exception to this is if you're 4 and your mommy paints a daisy on your little piggy, but that's about it!

3. Jeans that show camel toe. You do own a mirror, do you not? And you are aware that you are revealing a perfect silouette of your labia, are you not? Ladies, ladies, the higher up you pull your jeans, the bigger your camel toe will become. It's basic science. Furthermore, typically these types of jeans have a double whammy because not only are they atrocious from the front, but they're also horrendous from the back, because often these are the types of jeans that have really small back pockets and the pockets are placed too far apart. Another no-no. These are what we call "mom jeans". All they do is make your butt look big. Go for the big pockets, ones that are close together and with some sort of cute design on the pockets. It's all about the pockets.

4. Please, for the love of the land, stop letting your kids wear their pajamas to the grocery store. Just dress them. Is it really that difficult to get them out of their pajamas and into actual street clothes? Also...babies dressed only in a diaper. No shoes, no shirt....just sitting in a germ infested grocery cart, walking down the freezer aisle which is somewhere around 4 degrees.... you've all seen it.

5. Parents, grandparents, etc.. STOP BUYING CLOTHES AND SHOES WITH CHARACTERS ON THEM. I'll just leave it at that. No need to elaborate. Nothing screams 'white trash' like a Lightning McQueen tank top, that's all.

6. Scrunchies. Throw them away. Nothing good will come from you wearing a scrunchie. Trust me.

7. Boys with unmanicured nails. Yuck. Not that I'm suggesting that you man-up and get mani's & pedi's, I am suggesting that you scrape the dirt out from under your finger and toe nails, and take a nail trimmer to them. I'll throw up in my mouth if I see a guy with long nails. The bagger at my grocery store often has long nails and I can barely stand it.

8. There's no polite way to say this..... men & women....shave your curlys. They're gross, they make you look like an amazon-bush person and it's ugly. Soft and smooth is sweeping the nation, believe you, me! (men---it'll also make your pee pee look bigger)!!!!

I can't think of anymore right now. But I'm taking my kids to a carnival later tonight, so I'm sure I'll have more to add.

Ciao!

Things that baffle and intrigue me.

Here is a compiled list of things that baffle and/or intrigue me. And for the record, I become intrigued very easily. Some might call it Adult ADD, I call it being hyper aware. Tomato/toe-mah-toe

1. Carnivals: (and all that that entails). There is so much to take in at carnivals, it's hard for me to absorb it all. My kids could get kidnapped and I'd barely notice because I get fixated on the people watching. Everything from the barefoot babies, to the couples with matching t-shirts, to the morbidly obese lady sitting on a bench eating an elephant ear. And the carnies, for Heaven's sake, the carnies could take up a blog of their own. At what point do you realize you've hit rock bottom? Is it when you're actually filling out the application to become a carnie, or is it when you're sitting on your little stool, very authoritatively-like, with a ciggy hanging out of your mouth waiting for one ride to end and another to begin? It's a lonely life for the carnies.... life on the road, barely any time to get acquainted with a nice carnette before you're back on the road again. When they lay their sweet, greasy heads down at night, from inside their small trailor, I wonder if the only sounds they hear is the whirling of the rides, the climactic screams of children and the festive music. Ain't that America?

2. Lesbians: I'm fascinated by lesbians....not the attractive, curious, lipstick-lesbians, but the mullet wearing, hands shoved down in the pocket, honest to goodness dikes. I could watch 'em for hours, but I have to be careful, because if I make myself too conspicuous, they'll either kill me or sodomize me. I can't figure it out, why, WHY do they look so much like men, if they prefer women? I don't understand. I would think that if I were attracted to women, I'd be attracted to womanly things. If they're into looking like short, stocky ladies with bad haircuts, why don't they just date really ugly men. Maybe that's what their seeking and they just don't realize it. Thank God for this blog---I can shed some light on the lesbian community. You're NOT GAY...you just like UGLY MEN!!!

3. Polygomists: Why are polygomists so homely? What is it about the mormon religion that breeds such ugly, ugly people? And how on earth does the husband do it? My husband would hang himself if he had to deal with multiple me's. Sometimes I'd like to imagine what it would be like if I were casted for a reality show and I was dropped off in the middle of some sect in Utah where I had 29 sister wives with one husband. I like to think I'd have fun with the situation and that I'd rattle their cages a little. I'd teach the sisters how to line dance, we'd look so darn cute in our denim jumpers and long pony tails...doing the electric slide. I wouldn't be real popular among the men, but eventually, I'd win the sisters over and they'd be sorry to see me go. Maybe I'd smuggle a few of the really homely ones home with me. They could tend to the child rearing and the mending. But inevitably, jealousy would ensue and I'd have to go all Tonya Harding on them if they tried to seduce my Jason. It was just a thought...

4. Home Schooling: I'll just say it. What the F.? Do you love your children thaaat much, that you can't possibly bear the thought of spending 8 hours a day away from them? How egotistical of these people to think that no one in the world could possibly do a better job of teaching their children than themselves. I say, send them to school, expose them to life's experiences, socialize them, prepare them for adulthood, etc. etc. etc. How prepared is little Mary Alice going to be when you ship her off to college after being home school for 12 years? I'll tell you how prepared she'll be. Prepared to be the biggest ho on campus!
Girls gone wild, FO SHO! Good luck with that!

So many things in this world make me cock my head like a dog. Like I said, it doesn't take much to spark my interest. Pretty much if you start a conversation with, "Did you happen to notice the lady with the......" I'll be foaming at the mouth before you even make your point. So, with that said, as people continue to baffle me and situations continue to intrigue me, I'll add to my compilation.

Ta ta for now.