Monday, December 27, 2010

F - This!!

So, I had a brilliant idea over the holidays for a business. Admittedly, I have a few kinks to work out, but really, I think it could take off.

I'm going to open a store, in the mall, right next to Macy's. It's called F-This! The F is not what you think. It's short for "fake".

And it's going to sell many fake things....why not? There's this obsession with these trendy items that cost an arm and a leg and people are willing to pay! What about those that want to look as cool but can't afford the price. I have the answer.

I won't sell Uggs, but Fuggs.  Mine won't cost $140, they'll only be like $19.99. And they'll be just as comfortable.

I'm gonna sell FiPads, FiPhones, FiPods. Let's not stop there...Foach Bags, Fandora jewelry, The Forth Face jackets. Fanolo Blahniks. The opportunities are endless.

My husbands all, "You won't pull it off, you'll get sued in a second." Downer. I don't think they sound the same at all.

I brought this up at Christmas dinner and although my niece and nephew loved the idea, they questioned where I was going to get the products. "Who makes a FiPad?" they asked. Okay, like I said  I have a few kinks to work out.

My brother asked about art. Sure!!! There could be a huge Fart section.

I'd love to hear any of your ideas if you have them. We could all go in on this together. Interested??

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

A Bagger's Revenge

I understand that you take your job very seriously, I do. I was a cashier once and, truth be told, it was an awesome job. I sometimes had to bag orders. I was an amazing bagger. If they had awards (which would have been too freakin' ballsy), I would have won! Let's see if I remember: frozen foods in one bag, eggs on the top, meats separate from anything else, not too many cans in one bag, cleaning supplies have the plague - bundle them up several times and don't even think about putting them with anything edible. Um, you get the picture. It's not difficult.

((I bet most people think I am going to write about how he messed up that little grocery packing lesson I just wrote about. I wish.))

As my items came flying down the ramp (I say flying because Monica was whipping my food, even my chips), he stood there watching and waiting. I could easily see several items he could have started with, but I was powerless and bagless to help. He contemplated his next move like this was a chess game he needed to win because the very lives of his family hung in the balance. Then he began. Slowly. One item at a time. Searching for a compatible food item to share its ride home with cat food.

Did you think there were social problems you had to worry about? You stared at the pasta and bread crumbs for like :30? Did you think they'd mate like rabbits or kill one another like two male rats.

So, while he was contemplating my array of goods like he was on the finale of Survivor and this puzzle of fitting my groceries in perfectly, was the difference between $1,000,000 or nada - and trust me if that were the case, me and the 30 people behind me would have been rooting you on - I could only smile (what else could I do? It's almost Christmas, after all) and hope that Monica would help. Monica? Will you help? Please help Edmond. Nawww... she's to busy talking to the cashier next to her. I start listening in. What else could I do?

Monica's almost done Christmas shopping. Yogurt fits in nicely with the cheese and eggnog (they have sugar cookie eggnog, BTW, most excellent). She was going to get her boyfriend an iTunes gift card but that's so impersonal (big word from Monica). Broccoli goes in with peapods. No. Broccoli comes out and carrots go in with peapods. Sure, they are better suited to each other, I understand. Poor broccoli, I wonder where he'll end up. The other cashier (can't read her name. To. Far. Away) is getting her boyfriend an PS3, ha. She has no idea what she has done. I won't tell.  Mac 'n Cheese (don't judge) goes in with pasta and a couple jars of tomatoes. Oh, I see where he's going with that...and on ...and on... he goes.

So I get home and pull out my groceries. Everything has fallen over and out of their bags since I had to slam on my breaks for some loser who wouldn't go through a yellow light, I know...loser!!! So I pull out the last bag and there's the broccoli, which has managed to escape its plastic cocoon and is now getting to know, and intimately I might add, the soap and laundry detergent. Really? Really, Bagger!!

I know you are sitting in the break room laughing? I hope you are enjoying yourself.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

I Hate When This Happens!!!!

Someone left the cake out in the rain. I think it was my daughter. I told her to put it in the fridge and I saw her heading for it, but then the cat cried to be let in and, well...she must have been distracted.

I don't think that I can take it. Really!! 'Cause it took so long to bake it. I started around noon. Stopped just to make dinner and then went at it again. There was all this funky stuff with a real vanilla bean and whisking egg whites. Do you see all those freakin' flowers? Those aren't easy and they're all edible!  I finished at like 9:00  (I even missed the first 3 hours of Biggest Loser).

Why did it have to rain last night??? Crap. Why didn't I remember to put it in my beautiful cake holder from the Container Store. Shit!

And the worst part is... I'll never have that recipe again. Not sure why? I think it was one of those disappearing ink recipes. It lasts for one day and then, poof! Gone. I tried Googling it but nothing. The person that gave it to me said theirs vanished, too. I'm pissed. Damned it all!!!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

I'm A Red Light Texter

Wanna make something of it?

Yah, that's me - sitting behind my wheel just cruisin' for a bruisin'.

I don't care if a cop pulls up along side, let him watch.

My kids are sitting in the car, too. What of it?? I can handle it. Sometimes I even ask them to keep an eye on the light - yup - doin' momma's dirty work.

I like to live on the edge. You betta hope we don't cross paths!!

Oops, gotta go - light turned green.

Monday, December 6, 2010

We Wish You A Merry Christmas???

[[To my son...I know you said it was too long and no one will read it, but you know what? You and I laughed together while I wrote this and that is the best!! This one's for you... Merry Christmas my little boy!!]]



So my husband and I were having a nice relaxing dinner of chicken pot pie the other night. Just as I was about to sip my Cabernet, the doorbell rang. The children were all in various parts of the house so they weren't going to answer the door.  As my husband was sliding his chair out from under him, we heard a lovely harmonized humming from out front. I decided to join him as I suspected carolers.

We were pleasantly surprised to see a group of 6-7 men and woman standing at the bottom of our stairs humming quietly. It was beautiful and with the glistening snow behind them, it was simply a peaceful, charming scene.

As they started, my husband grabbed my hand...

"We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy New Year."

So awesome. I screamed for my kids but when one of the women cringed, I decided I'd better hunt them down. I didn't want them to miss all this Christmas cheer. 

The kids begrudgingly joined us at the door and were horrified to see grown men and women singing to us. I gave them the evil eye signaling to keep quiet and look as if this is the most magical thing in the world they've ever seen. They obliged.

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

Awww...so sweet. Although I think the little woman on the end is freezing. But my husband's getting into it and is smiling and swaying and I'm smiling but also wondering how cold my dinner is getting.

"So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
Please bring it right here!"

I'm sorry. What was that? I look quickly at my husband and mutter so they can't hear me, "What did they just say?" He has terror in his eyes as he responds, "Not sure, something about fruity pudding - do you have any jello?" "Maybe we misunderstood. Just keep smiling."

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

"Ah, that's better. " We both think to our selves. The snow starts to gently fall. The kids are even getting a little into it. It's so picturesque that the chicken pot pie is actually forgotten. The wine, not so much.

"We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
So bring it out here!"

I glance at my husband again. He shifts his eyes at me, then quickly back to the group. Surely we misunderstood.  But they just keep repeating this.

"Bring what?" I ask him.
"Not sure? Maybe that fruity pudding stuff."
"It's figgy pudding, dad," my daughter pipes up.

"So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
So bring us some figgy pudding
Please bring it right here!"

"Yup. It's figgy pudding alright," I say. Still smiling.

"We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
So bring it out here!"

An hour and  a half later. They are still at our door. Switching between so bring us some of that fig crap and we ain't leaving until we get some. My husband's all "Maybe we should call the cops." I cleaned up our dinner dishes, got the kids in bed and while I was folding the laundry, still they went on and on.

CRASH!!!   WTF

"Oh my God, honey! One of them just threw a rock at our door," My husband comes flying into the bedroom with a crazed look on his face. "What the hell are we gonna do?" Do you know how to make figgy pudding?" He screamed. "Maybe if we just make some and give it to them, they'll leave."

"Honey, I don't even know what the hell a fig is. Can I make them chocolate pudding? I have that."

"NO!" He screams, grabs his hat and coat and amidst snowballs being hurled at warped speed at his car, takes off for the store."

Some how I fell asleep to the lulling sound of people demanding milk based desserts. And woke to the blender whirring away in the kitchen. I stumbled down the stairs, hearing them telling us they still ain't leaving. Oh my head!

"Are you serious? Are you freakin' making figgy pudding?" I asked my husband, who at this point looked possessed.

"Honey,"  he's whispering, "they are not leaving" they won't leave until the get some, can't you HEAR them? If I don't get this made," he's panting now, "they may never leave. I fear for the kid's safety. Holy shit. What was that?"

"Nothing. Honey, your starting to lose it."

"Pass me that flamingo egg," he yells.

Seriously, where the hell did he find that?

With a quick whisk of the egg, a plop into 6-7 bowls, it was done. All I kept thinking was, what if it sucks and they won't take it? What if they want whipped cream? I don't have any. God. Hear our prayer. Make them go away!!

With what can only be described as pure unadulterated fear, we opened our door. There they were all red faced from singing, lack of sleep and toilet facilities, I imagine, glaring at us. My husband, like Oliver asking for more food, offers up the bowls.

They pass the bowls around. As they begin to eat, the sun starts rising in the East and all might just be right for the world. We hold our breath. And wait....

"Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin;
Glad tidings for Christmas
And a happy New Year!"

Do I dare breathe. Is that a smile on one of their faces?

We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
We wish you a Merry Christmas
And a happy New Year."

And like they were never here, they left. Not even a thank you. Really? But there was silence.  The only sound...my husband licking his fingers.

"Damn this stuff is good"

I ran inside, called my neighbor. "DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR!!!"

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

What's Wrong With The Doll??

On the Island of Misfit toys there's a train with square wheels, a gun that shoots jelly, a Charlie-in-the-Box, a bird that likes to swim,  a cowboy that rides an ostrich, a boat that sinks, a spotted elephant and even Hermey is an elf who wants to be a dentist. But what is wrong with the doll??!!!

According to misfittoys.net, "Arthur Rankin, producer, says the Dolly's problem is more psychological. As it is never mentioned in the script why in particular the doll is a misfit, some offer this: Charlie-in-the-Box tells Rudolph, Hermey and Yukon when they arrive on the Island of Misfit Toys that King Moonracer flies over the earth each night and brings unloved toys to the island of Misfits. Dolly is perhaps there because she feels she is unloved and perhaps the the little girl who once played with her is now grown up and Dolly now sits in a box, unwanted, waiting to be loved by another little girl again."

Awwwww...too, sad...she is an unloved Dolly.

Hmmmm....I'm thinking I would not want to receive a doll that had psychological problems.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Sweetheart, Sugar Pie even Love Lumps

But when was the last time you called your honey...Darling??

What happened to that one?

It does seem like such a pretentious pet name. Maybe only the rich can get away with it. Although, Karen Carpenter got away with it in that "Chestnuts" song.

It really does sound very funny when you say it. I'm gonna call him darling tonight!

That's all I'm thinking about on this unseasonably warm end of November!

Saturday, November 27, 2010

One Hit Wonder...NO WONDER

I'm driving down the road and Lonely Boy comes on by Andrew Gold. A blast from the past. I'm all excited, I know every word and I'm blaring it and singing it and....then....it.....hits....me....WTF? Do you hear these lyrics?? Was this really a song?? Did we all sing this back in 1977 (which explains everything, I was 13 and had no clue what I was singing about).  I laugh. What if my 16 yo son heard me singing this? He already thinks my songs are lame. Talk about fuel.

Read

Lonely Boy Lyrics

here.

Shall we examine this closer??? You know you want to...

He was born on a summer day, 1951 - So far so good.
And with the slap of a hand - Ouch...guess they did that back then.
He had landed as an only son - Well...first borns usually are the only child. Remember that.
His mother and father said "what a lovely boy" - Yes, we said that when our first son was born, right before, we were smacked by the doctor and told "He has a penis".
We'll teach him what we learned - We'll also leave a lot out.
Ah yes, just what we learned - Nope. Sticking to leaving a few things out. We don't want to. screw. him. up.
We'll dress him up warmly and - Oh, and we'll feed him, too, right?
We'll send him to school - After a few years of homeschooling, though.
It'll teach him how to fight - 'Cause we're sending him to a bad, bad school.
To be nobody's fool - Yeah, not my lovely boy!
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - Well, like I said, this is how that first child thing works.
Oh, what a lonely boy
Oh, what a lonely boy

In the summer of '53 his mother - Okay, here we go, another child. A lot of people do this you know?
Brought him a sister - Awww...I wonder if they called her handsome?
But she told him "we must attend to her needs" - yes, like being warm and sending her to that bad school you go to.
"She's so much younger than you" - Again, you're two and she's zero. Got that? You really need some math.
Well, he ran down the hall and he cried - Wait. What's the deal? Your friend Roger has two younger siblings, right? She'll be a friend and you won't be lonely anymore. We were just thinking of YOU!!! "Think he bought it?"
Oh, how could his parents have lied - Guess not. We never told you we were only going to have one child! And why the hell would we discuss this with a two year old, anyway?
When they said he was an only son - Oh, I see the miscommunication now...well, we meant you were the only one at this point. When we add another child that makes two. You would understand that if you took a math class. BTW, we still think you're lovely.
He thought he was the only one - Well, you were. Christ sakes, do I really need to effin' explain this again?
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - Enough of that...go to your room!
Oh, what a lonely boy
Oh, what a lonely boy
[Instrumental Interlude] - la la la la la
He left home on a winter day, 1969 - He's 18, I did the math. Guess he's not going to college. Well, all he knows how to do is fight and not be a fool. Maybe he should to into the army. No fools there.
And he hoped to find all the love - Yah, he's such a catch. Poor momma's boy!
He had lost in that earlier time - Just what some poor girl wants...to give him the love he never, ever got from his mommy and daddy.
Well, his sister grew up - They do that.
And she married a man - They do that, too. Well, some opt for a professional career and then get married and some of course, marry women.
He gave her a son - He did? Was this a wedding gift?
Ah yes, a lovely son - Oh, grandma!
They dressed him up warmly - She learned something from her mom,
They sent him to school - For reading, writing and arithmetic, right?
It taught him how to fight - WTF? Really? You didn't learn anything from your brother?
To be nobody's fool - Good grief, maybe not a fool, but a sniveling brat fo sho!
Oh, oh, what a lonely boy - See? I think he should call his uncle and the two of them can go rent a cabin, cuddle their blankies and throw darts at their mom's photo.
Oh, what a lonely boy - Oh, gimme a break, we don't care! Just don't call your  mom. She's now an alcoholic-manic-depressive because of you. And she'll end up telling you about your sister who's also an alcoholic-manic-depressive. Such lovely boys, you two!
Oh, what a lonely boy - Nobody gives a shit anymore!!


Okay, he redeemed himself, he wrote "Thank you for being a friend".
Love me some Golden Girls!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Happy Thanksgiving!!!



 May your stuffing be tasty,
 May your turkey be plump,
 May your potatoes and gravy
 Have nary a lump.
 May your yams be delicious.
 And your pies take the prize.
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
 Stay off your thighs!


Have a wonderful Thanksgiving all my new bloggy friends!!!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A Little Pink Washcloth

When I was pregnant with my fourth child, many of my friends had suggested that this time I not find out the sex of the baby. I had found out with all three of my boys. I loved knowing the sex, but we decided, "why not?" we'll wait.

Throughout my pregnancy I kept looking for signs,  Was I carrying differently? A little. Was I more ill this time around? A little. Someone had mentioned that girls suck the life out of you - ha. So, they all assumed I was carrying a boy, because I looked fabby.

Looking for the signs was actually obsessive fun. It was exciting not knowing what I was having, but at the same time, driving me nuts. Were these things in my mind, or were they "signs" from the other world? 'Cause we know all my deceased relatives have nothing better to do, then play head games with an expectant mom. They're all up there, sipping coffee, nudging each other "Look, she thinks that sign on the mailbox that says "It's a Girl" is for her" Bahahahah! "Let's have an 'Its A Boy' balloon float into her yard," Hahaha, LOL, ROCLMAO (Rolling on cloud...) and all that stuff. Well, let them laugh.

But there were some weird things that happened during my pregnancy, or was I just looking for them - 

When I'd go in for my monthly appointments the nurses would record the baby's heart rate. It was slightly higher than the boys (someone told us that girls are higher).

I was due after Thanksgiving but since all my boys were ridiculously late, I was preparing for a Christmas baby (my third was 13 days late). Anyway, I was making out my Christmas card list, and called a girl friend. When I told her I needed a "couple addresses," she misunderstood and started screaming - wahoooo!!! I was completely confused until I realized she thought I said "a couple of dresses." Simple misunderstanding?? Perhaps!

During one of my appointments, my OB asked me what birth order I was, I told her I was fourth after three boys, she said she was too.  She told me that was very interesting. I think she even scratched her chin. This was a new OB.

Right before I was due. I had a dream. Now I don't put a lot of stock into dreams, I'm very pragmatic in my thinking that dreams are simply our subconscious trying to work out the problems of the day or in our life. I had a dream that my uncle, who had passed away, was smiling at me holding the hand of a little girl who, in my dreams, was my daughter. He stroked her cheek and sent her off. I didn't know where, but I wasn't worried. I woke up and smiled, but really only because my uncle had never before, or has since, shown himself to me in my dreams. We know the other side can manipulate dreams. Ever watch Medium?? Huh??

When my third son was born, I was given a wash cloth set. They were tiny, terry and had different colored boarders. I took the pink one out and placed it in my closet under my turtlenecks. I was going to save this particular one, you know, just in case. One evening, I was in my closet, checked under the turtle necks and it wasn't there. I searched the entire closet, but it was gone. Later on, I had brought my basket of laundry up to my bed to fold and when I was folding my pink (extremely worn) pregnancy nightie, I felt something inside. I reached in, and because of all the static cling, the little pink washcloth was stuck inside my pink nightie. Hmmmm. Strange. How did this little washcloth get stuck in the laundry? My laundry basket is kept in the bathroom not my closet.

When I was about to deliver, we still didn't have a boys name. We just couldn't decide, we had used up the ones we loved. We had a girl's name. I was really starting to panic. When they took the heart rate it was extremely high and my husband was just all calm and said, "I don't think we have to worry about the boy's name." And here I thought it was high because I was panicking.

The big reveal!!

When I delivered, I was so excited that I beat my 9 minute pushing record (7 minutes, thank you very much), I forgot all about the thrill of hearing what sex the baby was. No one yelled "IT'S A WHATEVER" like I had imagined 100 times.

I forgot that I didn't know. I was just happy it was out. But asking what the sex was, was just never a question I had to ask before. After they had sucked the nose, someone mentioned it being a girl. I was all, "Say what??" I will admit that when they handed her to me, I did peek to make sure.

So any sure signs? Naw...but you gotta admit, the little pink washcloth makes you wonder :)

Oh, BTW I called my friend back and told her I needed a couple of dresses and yes, I used the little pink wash cloth on my new little daughter.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Really? She Had To Remove Her Breast??

(((We interrupt this regularly scheduled silly blog....)))


I really don't like to get involved in anything too controversial. And I will keep myself completely unbiased where the scanning and pat downs at airports are concerned. But WTF?????

This poor woman, opted to be patted down at the airport instead of being shot with a bunch of radiation. I completely understand. Radiation scares me too.  I am always fighting my dentist about sticking that thing on the side of my head. But this woman is a cancer survivor.  She's sensitive for a good reason. So, she goes for the ol' touchy feely.

The attendant, with her hand cupped around this woman's breast, thought it felt a little strange and asked for an explanation. The woman told her it was a prosthetic breast. The attendant then asked her to remove it. Say, WHAT????

Read the article here. I got nothing else to say.

(((We will now resume the silliness!)))

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Planning My Parent's Funeral

Awww don't feel bad. They aren't dead or anything. As a matter of fact, I went with my mom. Something about spending down some extra money and pre-paying her funeral expenses. Would that we all had everything we needed in our life, that we could start buying the things we'll need when we're dead.

Anyway, I recommend this for anyone who wants a real bonding experience with a parent.  I had her in stitches and she me.

Disclaimer: Because I hate to offend anyone, I need to warn you: I am about to make fun of funerals, funeral homes, funeral home workers, and a tiny bit of the rituals that are wrapped around death.

Still with me? Great.

First off, the funeral home is nice. Not in a Good Housekeeping kind of way, more of the Victorian Era meets the 21st Century (sure I noticed the 60" flat screen).  What wake is it that allows you to watch tv?  What are we watching, the game? Or better yet, Millionaire Matchmaker? I'd attend even if I didn't know the deceased.

So, the woman who opened the door, scared me a little and only because my hackles were up and I was a little creeped out at what we were there for. She was short, wearing all black (obvs.) and looked as though she had suffered a stroke (I can make stroke jokes, right? 'Cause my dad's had one. I'm in the club). No, she didn't have a hump  - although I looked. I wished she had answered the door "Goood Eveeening". But it was daytime.

She directed us to a room that was sparse and looked normal except that you noticed one of the walls had a big indent in it. Enough space for a coffin casket and some flowers I'm guessing.  So, this wasn't regular home turned funeral home. Not unless it's so old that it was built in the time that people had wakes in their homes - like my mom did. How convenient to have a built in spot just for Grandma's body.

If it wasn't for that small detail, the room would have looked totally normal. We waited for our funeral worker, I was praying for Michael C. Hall (how awesome would that have been??). No it was a she, and she was pregnant and she was all in black - really? Not one tiny bit of color. Does color offend the dead? When we die are we all like, "NO MORE COLOR! I couldn't stand for you to wear happy clothes." Jokes on them, tho 'cause I look awesome in black. Orange would be so much more depressing.


Where were we - yes, Ms. Goth was explaining the line items as if we were purchasing an automobile and there were features we could get or not, depending on our style and budget. It was going all fine, my mom was awesome and cheaping out and I don't blame her. We don't need a limo.  A hearse, yes! But we can throw my mom in the back of the Hyundai. She agreed, love her! We argued about the open casket vs. closed and she's all old school and wants to see my dad and thinks her siblings will be mad if they don't get to see him "one last time," good grief. I said fine and promised we'd keep hers open, but I had my fingers crossed the whole time.

We laughed when there was an additional $100 extra for her because she'll need to have her hair done. She doesn't spend that kind of money now. She's always complaining about her thinning hair that no one knows what to do with. I told her this hair dresser might be the one!

Then came time for casket shopping. I paused by the urns. Found one that was 50 bucks and said. "This will be fine for me." Goffarina said, "That's for an animal." I said, "So, I wouldn't fit in it?" She was not amused. We went for the cheapest caskets but mom didn't like the look of the light birch. "It looks like it's the cheapest one," she says. Don't want that. So, we got the walnut vaneer stain. Just like their kitchen cabinets. We picked out blue lining for dad, cream for mom - awww....I tried to get her to put an etching on the inside lid of the casket (I guess the departed will want something to look at throughout eternity) that said something about "Going Home", but she wanted the Harley Davidson -  Oh, I wish!! ((Mental note: Tell hubby to put a picture of Sting on the inside of my casket.))


Back in the room.  Gothella asked us to look through prayer cards while she tallied the amount. I asked her to please remember the pre-paid discount. Flipping through all those cards was crazy. Mom was all, "No one cares about these things, they just throw them away." Yes, indeedy they do. But she thought one would be nice to do as a reading. So I copied part of it down the back of one of my check stubs to Google later. I asked her the name of it  and she said "Afterglow." We were both howling with laughter, when our friendly funeral worker arrived and told us the damage. We abruptly stopped laughing. Apparently there is no pre-paid deal. What gives? And certainly no "buy one get one 1/2 off" deal, like Payless Shoes. So, $22,000 later - we can all rest in peace!

Wait 'til I tell dad. It's gonna kill him!

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

OMG There Is Something More Wonderful Than The Real Housewives...

Oh, I'm sorry is my flashy 13,000 karat diamond baubley thing too much for this page? Well, go to hell...I've earned it!








Matchmaker, Millionaire Matchmaker, make me a match!

Has anyone had the pleasure? Oh. My. God. Quality television!!

I don't know where to begin. Yes, I do.

You put an idiot, self-centered millionaire in a room with 8-10 money grubbing idiots. And the magic just happens! It brings a tear to my eye.

I wish they would run back to back to back to back to back episodes on Bravo!

Saturday, November 13, 2010

"Waste Of Our Lives"

This is the same brother that calls my Barry Manilow (Barely Man Enough). But is it fair to sink to the levels of calling my daytime soap a waste?

Okay, so none of the characters have day jobs. Wait. Bo and Roman are  police officers and I know damned well, they are working to solve Arianna's case. They are just really bad at it (case in point: Sefano is still hanging around his mansion drinking brandy). Yes, a lot of them sit around Brady's Pub or Maggie's kitchen (what happened to her restaurant Chez Rouge?) or the two mansions in town. I always just imagine that they are on their way into the office or on a lunch break...Okay, EJ does nothing but isn't he a millionaire? And Sammi, she's just looks for her meal ticket in various boy friends so she can take care of her four children, which are never around. Kate works. She runs a multi-million dollar kitchen something or other business. But, she has her gay assistant do all the real work. She looks amazing, tho, right?

Yes, I know it is impossible for 70 year old restaurant owners to gain access to the hospital's records and switch DNA results to prove paternity. I KNOW!!! I'll give you that this one does teeter on the brink of believability, but come on, Caroline was very concerned for her grand daughter's happiness. I know my grandmother would do this for me.

Okay, tricking out a sarcophagus (yes, they are calling it that) with video, audio, food and water is a tad ridiculous, I'll give my bro that.  I mean they've really upped the ante with the whole burying alive scheme. I know you wanted to torture poor Maggie. Too bad the tables were turned on you, huh Viv? But I do have one burning question, I need to know dear Vivian, how did you go the bathroom? Number one, I just used my imagination, but #2? Woah!

And Yes, I know that children age rapidly. Sammi is technically only 24 and yet she has a 16 yo son. Sometimes, they acknowledge this. They'll say "my how you've grown". I only wish they would wink into the camera when they said this, though, so they know we know and are all in on the joke.

So a waste? Naaahhh.....I get a lot of value from my "Waste" "Days".  Like, I learned that you should switch your pocket book 3 times in a day for each outfit. Do it all the time. It takes :30 to get across town. It's possible. There is always time for daytime sex. No job and no children so WTF.  It is possible to COMPLETELY recover from being shot point blank into the base of your skull  in a couple weeks. But they shaved EJs head, so it's all believable.

AND, and this has saved me more times than I can count, never whisper about your affair, or that you are concerned about the paternity of your baby (well, I have gramma's help for that) or the poison you just baked into brownies because Someone. Is. Always. Listening.

In the words of my brother... "I think it's time to Mo Vaughn."

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Power of (maybe not right) Now

I think I'll write this blog tomorrow.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Toe Cleavage Makes Me Gag

And other equally disgusting, gross foot things that maybe only gross me out.

Toe cleav....Ewww...can't even write it again...I can't stand that little "Y" peeking out  at the tops of lady's shoes. Yet, I can't help staring at it. Put it away. It's bad enough I have to stare at your actual cleavage, on your feet it's just wrong.

Cracked heels. Now I have cracked heels all winter. It's gross and I'd like to tell you that I scrub them in the shower with a hard piece of coral until I build up little piles of crusty skin. But it's winter so, NO I don't care, much like my hairy legs.  I don't even care that my sock snag on them as I try to put them on (the heels and the legs). But in the summer? If there is any sign of a crack even thinking about showing it's ugly head, it is scrubbed and lotioned and vaselined to within an inch of it's little crappy, cracky life. But for some women, this grossness alludes them. There all talking and I can't concentrate 'cause all I hear is     c    r     a     c     k.  GROSS....

The least offender of the pod is the chipped toe nail polish. I get it, we're all busy. We all run out of time. But somewhere between that little chip that came off and that little chip that is left, there's a lot of time. Get on this! It's not like your feet aren't staring you in the face each day. You really can't miss them.  Or, don't do it at all. NO!!! Scratch that. That's another thing that kinda grosses me out. Unpolished toes. I don't even like looking at my own unpolished toes, but it's winter, so no one can see. Ewwww!!!

Let's not leave the men's feet out 'cause if truth be told, they should all just be chopped off....

Oh, help me Lord if my husband accidentally brushes up against me with one of those things.  Gag.

Long toenails - gag! And if they are discolored - gaaaaggg!!!! And if he's wearing sandals so I have to look at them - help me!!!!!   And if they try and carry a conversation with me? (the man, not the toenails, but really it's the toenails I hear). Great, I think I'm gonna throw up my power bar!

And Holy Mother of God if my husband ever gets too old that he can't cut his own hard, yellowish toenails,  it's off to the vets. And you can bet,  I'll be gagging the entire way.

(Maybe I was a misunderstood podiatrist in other life.)

Monday, November 8, 2010

Fear Of Commitment

I. Cant. Hit. The. Purchase. Button.

On  iTunes.

I just can't commit to a song. I will hear a song on the radio, run home, stick in in my shopping cart (oops, sorry, that is so last week, my, um, wish list) and I just leave it there. And thank God. Cause when I go back a couple months later, I am like "what was I thinking?" My husbands all, "it's only a buck, just buy it." Then he laughs at what I actually put in there.

At one point I thought I was being all contemporary and I put a song from Hoobastank in there. Do you see what I mean? I like Blink 182 but will I tomorrow?


It has taken me 3 years and I still haven't used up my $20 gift card.

Is there a support group for this?

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Smells Like Teen Something Or Other

Oh, yes it does. All over my house. Axe, Axe, Axe!!!! I have three boys. God, give me strength or at least  5 years of nasal congestion. I don't need an alarm clock to get me up in the morning, no siree Bob. My sons get the gentle berating from the buzzer to wake them up, I get the wafting aroma of Kilo. It is so not gentle, it's an assault!! It is not the best part of waking up, I assure you.

I am like a canine following the scent of a killer. I can track their exact whereabouts. They start in the bathroom, then head to their bedroom, then down the stairs, to the family room, back to the kitchen, back up to the bathroom and back down again and finally, out the front door, down to the mailbox. Yes, oh yes, I can continue to follow their scent to the mailbox and I am sure if was brave enough, I could follow it onto the bus. But that would be stupid because I know it would just be drowned out with the other killer's, I mean teenager's scent. How does the bus driver stand it?!

Around 2:15 it starts to dissipate. I have 15 minutes of fresh air. I can almost smell my cookies baking and  then WHAM they are back in at 2:30. It is still clinging to them. Did they reapply on the bus?

My sons both ran out of Axe at the same time, I know, crazy right? It must be like when girls get their period at the same time if they all live in the same household. (or, perhaps when a mom goes out into the woods and holds down the spray button, jk). And it was a couple of days before I could replace it. Okay, I wasn't running right out, maybe I was going to enjoy my scented candles for a day, maybe I just needed a break. Is that too much to ask???!!!

Here is where I eat a little crow, scrape the egg off my face - not sure which of these is correct but...

Good Fah-ree-kin' Heavens!!!! Bring back the AXE!!!!

It really took just two days. That was all it took. Two little ol' days...my flowers wilted, food didn't taste the same, my hair straightened all by itself, my husband stopped smiling, my daughter stopped dancing, neighbors began to fear the worst, we all lost our zest for life, neighbors began to worry, did I mention that? I think they called 911. I can imagine that call...

911: What is your emergency?

Mrs. Kravitz: Um, I'm not completely sure. But there's an odor coming from my neighbor's house and we are REALLY concerned. We are beginning to think the worst.

911: Have you seen anyone go in or come out of the residence?

Mrs. Kravitz: Well, yes, that's the strange part. I did see the father leave yesterday, actually, he ran to the car, rolled all his windows down and sped away. It's so very strange. But that smell. You don't think..? They were such a happy family. No one would have expected this.

911: We'll send help right away.

Mrs. Kravitz: You may need to bring an Axe!

Friday, November 5, 2010

Dear Ozzy,

You don't mind if I call you Ozzy do you? I mean we have been close for, what? Well, I guess somewhere around puberty we met, right? That's many, many moons ago. We have been close that's for sure and at first when you arrived, I was horrified. How could I explain your presence to my friends? I mean you hung out with my older brother and although I know it was hard for him, he was a boy and that's a little different.

I read that you like to hang out with kids that like sports. Ozzy, why me? I mean, I dabbled in gymnastics, but sports was really not my thing. So many jocks to choose from - even the popular girl would have been a better choice for you? She probably would have enjoyed your company.

"A gift from your grandmother," my mother would tell me. I wish I had known that you knew my gram. She might have been able to give me some advice about having you around. And although you weren't that bad during the day, you reminded me nightly of your presence and that hurt. But I grinned and tried to bear it, as they say. Just another growing pain.

But then as I got older and wanted to wear short skirts and look all sexy, you always stuck out. You always had to come with me and make me more self conscious than I already was (remember, I wouldn't see a flat iron for another 20 years).

Always trying to remember to cross my legs a particular way to make you less noticeable, it was crazy! One time I forgot and someone called you by name.  I guess you aren't really a stranger to many people. You get around, Ozzy!

The point of this letter, Ozzy, is that I hope knowing me is enough for this family. Two of my children seemed to have escaped you but I have two more and it seems that the jury's still out. But, I do understand genetics, so Ozzy, if you have to pick one, pick the boy.

Diane

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

"What's Your Favorite Movie?"


This is writing prompt #3 but I didn't like seeing that as the title.  I think this is my last prompt, for now. It's been fun and I made it a whole 3 days. I think I have writing ADD - need to move on to the  next thing. I will, however, revisit these from time to time....

So, what's my favorite movie?

This one's hard because I have many. I can, however, narrow it down to two:

The Shawshank Redemption based on Stephen King's short story Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. I have seen this movie 9,000 times because I am powerless to change the channel if it's on. And it is always on.

Love, love, love Tim Robbins and love, love, love Morgan Freeman.

And any man who can spend 17 years digging a hole in his prison wall each night, then emptying said wall out onto the prison yard the next day, THEN crawl through a river of shit to "come out clean on the other side", deserves to maybe, just maybe, be free!

Somewhere in Time with Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour. Sappy as all get out. But the time travel thing has me every time - which came first??? Did she hand him the watch and then he went back to find her? No, cause she got the watch from him when he went back in time, but he got it from her in the present...ahhhh!!!!

I have watched it with my kids and freaked them out, too. Well, only #3, he's the only one that would really get or not get the whole time travel thing.

It's really is just a wonderful, romantic movie. But damned if each time I find myself praying he doesn't whip out that penny! Oh, and can I tell you Christopher Reeve is one nice looking, tall glass of water!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Writing Prompt #2

"If you could go back in time and meet your 16-year-old self, what three things would you tell yourself?"


1. Spend more time this last year with Gram. Tell her that her sauce is amazing and no matter how hard you try, you'll never make it as good.

2. Invest in Microsoft - I mean c'mon.

3. Get a flat iron. I don't know when they were invented, girl, but don't walk...run!



Can I tell her a couple more....please!!! Don't bring the camera to the beach on your honeymoon. Kiss him.  Ask for another anesthesiologist for your third child. DO NOT start playing Tetris.

Okay, I'm good.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Writing Prompt #1

Okay, so I came across this blogging site and they are encouraging people to write a blog a day for a month. Could I do this? Well, they give you writing prompts and  I'm thinking, I'm a little stuck right now - why not? A whole month? Maybe not, but let's see what happens...

"Japanese lore suggests that if you fold 1,000 paper cranes, your wish will come true. What would your wish be, and what would you be willing to do 1,000 times to get it?"

Well, I wouldn't fold 1,000 cranes because then I would end up murdering my family and that would land me in a host of trouble. Soooo...what would I be willing to do 1,000 times to get my wish? Make out with Sting? No? Oh, it has to be something tedious and awful? Of course it does 'cause you wouldn't get a wish if you had to do something enjoyable.

I would watch 1,000 episodes of iCarly. No. I take that back. I would paint 1,000 little girls' fingernails. Oh, that's just absurd. I would - wow this is hard. I would listen to 1,000 Biggie Smalls' songs? NOOOO!!!

I have a question. Are these lame wishes like a new car or vacation or an addition on the house? Or can we bring someone back that left us too early? 'Cause if we can...

...I WOULD eat 1,000 live worms!

Saturday, October 30, 2010

"There Must Be 8 Uninspiring Ways To Leave Your Lover"

I'm not one to gripe.

Yes I am, what the hell am I talking about.

Anyway, I was driving home and this song came on by Paul Simon "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover". And I start thinking. Am I an alcoholic? No. That's not what I was thinking.

How old is this dang song anyway? Let me Google that. 1975. That was easy. Love me some Google. Even though it always sounds so dirty. I'm gonna go Google him. Oh, yes! While I was Googling him, my husband walked in and...oh no!!

I'm not even going to say "I digress", because I think this post might be the digression and I should really just write about how Googling is awesome, and have you ever googled yourself? You have.  You know it. Lordy be.

Back to Paul. What is up with this song? He tells me there are 50 ways to leave your lover and then only hands out 8. And they're lame!!! Lame I tell you!!!! Where are the other 42 ways??

Shall we look at these 8 ways a little closer? (you had to know that was coming).

"You just slip out the back, Jack." Just leave without telling her. Not bad. But I hope he's got a plan. Otherwise, he's going to be calling about the crap he left behind and the money she owes him and who gets the dog. 

"Make a new plan, Stan." Hmmm.. see what I mean? You need a plan. We are talking about the get-away plan, right?  Paul, this is where you help him figure out exactly what that brilliant plan is. That's why he's listening to your damned song.

"You don't need to be coy, Roy." You really think if Roy wanted to end things, he'd be, of all things, coy. I just am not buying it. And that's a stupid piece of advice. Tell him what he should say, at least.

"Just listen to me."
All ears Paul. All ears. Paul? Paul? You there Paul?

"Hop on the bus, Gus."  Is this after you've slipped out the back? Or are we waking her up early one morning and waving the bus ticket in her face? So many questions, Paul.

"You don't need to discuss much."  Sure, why drag it out with discussion? Just go. 'Cause if you start talking you might be coy, and then we're back to square one.

"Just drop off the key, Lee."  Yes, Lee, go to her house, hand her the key and leave . This one might be the only piece of actual advice he gives. There's decisive action and like he says next...

"And get yourself free." Wow, Paul, you could have saved us both a lot of time. You should have called this song "There's Only One Way To Leave Your Lover".

Drop off the f'in key!

How's this Paul... I'm gonna mail you the new book I just wrote. It's called "50 Ways to Google your Lover."

Thursday, October 28, 2010

One Child Left Behind

This is a humor blog so this post is actually meant to be a little funny. It may, however, come across as sad and pathetic and a terrible tribute to my high school English teachers. I do apologize in advance for that. Or maybe I don't!

Anyway, my first year in college, I took an English class. I can't remember which one it was - I am thinking it was simply a general English course. We didn't get to the good stuff as English majors until later.

I had passed in a writing assignment and was really nervous about the grade I was going to receive. I remember my friend turned to me and said he thought he had failed. (I can't remember how you would fail a writing assignment, but this one apparently you could). I told him, "No way, I am sure I did way worse than you," and a bet was made. I totally wish we had bet on something really good, but I fear it was just bragging rights on who did the worse. It's the simple things that matter, no? So, he goes up to the teacher, gets his paper and sure enough he walks back to his seat, waving the F as if it was the Nobel Prize. I figured we'd tie. He figured he'd won. My name was called and I went up to her desk confident in my failing ability on this assignment. Confusion and a little shock was the only thing I could feel. I walked  back to my seat waving MY paper in HIS face. I had won. I didn't think it was possible. Neither did he. The bragging rights were mine.

Oh, the grade? The ever popular NG, of course. The teacher said my writing was so bad that she could not give it a grade, hence, No Grade.

Here comes that uplifting music when the main character changes her life around.

I was so saddened by this grade that I felt I needed to "teach" myself how to write. No thanks to my high school English teachers. The question remains: How was I able to pass English or even high school? I was a B student. Um, a B student that apparently didn't know how to write. One child left behind.

Learning to write well became a passion of mine. It was only one year later that a teacher gave me not just an A+ but an A++ for my work on "The Yellow Wallpaper" (an interesting read, by the way) and an A+++ on something else I wrote.

Did I ever take those papers back to the first English teacher? You know I didn't, that would have just been too awesome.

That would have been the perfect ending to this little Lifetime Original Movie.  I would waved those papers in her face, flashed that grade, maybe even kissed the paper...SMACK, the school would be lined with other kids left behind clapping and cheering me on as I jumped down the stairs holding my A+++ and kicking my heels.

In your face high school English teachers!!!!

Oh, and if you find a typo, keep it to yourself, I'm still a work-in-progress!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

"Honey, Not Tonight"


Sing to the tune of "Here You Come Again" 
 
Here You come again
Just when I’ve begun to feel a whole lot better.
You waltz right in my brain.
Just make me feel insane.
And wrap your pain around my right side only.

Here you come again
Just when I’m about to clean and do the dishes.
You  flash before my eyes,
And lie on my right side.
And pretty soon I’m wonderin’ how much Advil will stop this!

All I gotta do is wake in the morn'
And there go all my day’s plans.
Just leave it up to you and in a little while,
You’re messin’ with my day and screwin up my night time.

Here you come again
Makin’ me feel like shit so I can’t get out of bed.
You’re rattlin’ in my head, oh, I wish that I were dead.
Would you do me a little favor,
And let him know...

All I can really do is lay in the dark,
And think about his big plans.
If I leave it up to him, he’ll think in a little while,
He’s gonna make his move, but I feel like I’ll puke!

Here he comes again
Thinking he’s gonna get a little piece tonight.
He’s shakin’ me awake, go away for freakin' sake!
“Cause here you come again… 
Phew! And there he goes… 

Here. You. Come again..
Phew...and there he goooooeeess!!! 

Hey, that was kinda fun - thanks for indulgin'!

Monday, October 25, 2010

Will You Live To 100??

So I'm flipping through the pages of Famous Footwear's popular Mind Body Sole magazine - not because I subscribe, 'cause you can't,  but because it was thrown into my bag by the cashier at Famous Footwear, where, if I might add, I purchased a pair of awesome boots at 1/2 off (Go me!).

I came across an article entitled 20 Signs You Might Live To 100. I was intrigued. Then I was pissed. Then I just laughed and sipped my coffee.

I know this looks long, but I think it's an easy read...here we go: 

1. You eat purple food.  Hmmmm...Purple food? Usually, when food reaches that other worldly color, I employ the Old Wive's Tale: "when in doubt, throw it out."  Do purple gummy bears count?

2. You have been a college freshman. As in for Halloween? Does it count if I dropped out of college as a sophomore from a heroin addiction? Oh, that's fine? Great.  Well, I'm good, not only have a "been" a freshman, I actually graduated from college. Maybe this one will counter the whole purple food thing. 

3. You have a drama-free marriage.  Hahahahah! Wait. They're serious? I think marriage is synonymous with drama. We play the parts that we are assigned each day, acting on a stage for some imaginary audience. I swear I've even heard an applause a time or two. They can't be serious. Okay, this one's out. I have four kids, drama we got. 

4. You enjoy good friendships. Nah, I hate good friendships. Give me the backstabbing, husband stealing, dumps all over me kind of friend. Alright, we got this one. I do enjoy me a good friendship (and a nice Merlot on the side).


5. You have strong legs. (I am NOT making this up). What am I a horse? Do I need to be pulling things with these legs somewhere in my 80s. No, I don't have strong legs.

So far, so good... maybe I'll live to 90.

6. You set goals. Yes,  I do. Like writing a blog about this stupid list. 


7. You feel 13 years younger than you are. That would be 33. I was a leaky, chubby, postpartum mess at 33.  No. I feel more like 7 1/2 years younger.


8. You have a positive outlook on life. Well, I am positive I won't live to 100. So that's one for me.


9. You're outgoing.  Nope. Shy as they come until you get to know me. So, do I get 1/2 credit for this one?

10.You've got skinny friends. Now. I don't mean to be mean. Remember, they're making me answer this! My dear friends, although I did enjoy our "good friendships," I understand we can't be friends anymore. Hold on...what exactly is the definition of skinny? I might be able to get off on a technicality, here. But if not, I want to thank all my "friends" for costing me several years of my life!

I guess I'm down to, what? 80? And friendless at this point. Where can I get me some skinny friends. Not the gym, remember? I voted her off.


11. You don't have a housekeeper. OMG as we speak, she is cleaning my kitchen. I kid you not. She's not live-in mind you, and it's my one indulgence...really! Shit. Apparently, I need to clean my own toilets to live longer - that sucks!

12. You often walk instead of drive. I do NOT - let me repeat this - DO NOT live in the city, this one is NOT my fault. Everything is at least 15 minutes away. I haven't brought home hot Mac Donald's fries in 15 years.


13. You do aerobic activity 5 hours a week. Well, I do step class once a week. Um, I run up and down my stairs a....lot.....okay, I can't even fool myself that I can get to 5 hours.

14. You don't like burgers. I actually don't. I'll take the turkey burger any day.

15. You skip cola including diet. YES! Except once in a while when I get my Burger King, I must get a Coke to go with it. I'm giving myself this one.

70's still old, right?

16. You love tea. Love is a strong word. I like tea. He shows up on cold afternoons makes me all warm and fuzzy, rubs my feet, listens to me complain. It's nice. Now...why couldn't they say coffee? I love coffee? We have an amazing relationship. It can be exciting and dangerous sometimes (think drinking and driving). He's very dependable - he shows up each morning and gets my engine going!


17. You limit calories to 1, 400 to 2, 000 a day. Does that include liquid calories? No? Then, definitely.


18. You don't snore. I DO NOT snore. Wait. How would I know this? My husband is too busy snoring to notice. Nope, I can't imagine me snoring, so I don't.

19. You weren't overweight as a teen. I was not.

20. You have a flat belly. Okay, what is the definition of flat? I have had 4 children. This is not fair.  What is this flat belly shit! Let me ask my husband. Yes, he says it's flat.

Let's see I answered 10 out of 20 the correct way. Does this mean I'm gonna make it to  50?? I'm pissed.

Dear Mind Body Sole magazine people,

I like to make a comment about that stupid list you have in your magazine on living to 100. You know the one with skinny friends? I would like to know if you guys have ever seen Willard Scott's centurions on The Today Show? Yeah, those people on the jelly jars. Um, they ain't eatin' no purple food and drinkin' tea. Half of them say it's alcohol, chocolate and sex that gets them to 100. I'm gonna go with their list, thank you very much.

Your list sucks!

Respectfully,

Diane

Friday, October 22, 2010

My Guest Blogger's HERE!!!!

Yes, she is!!! I've been waiting for this all week!!!

The always hilarious Sara has agreed to be my partner for the assignment given to us by the blogging site SITS (notice the badge on the bottom left). They paired us humor bloggers up to guest blog on each other's blog.

I have been sooo lucky to be paired up Sara! Since this is my first guest blogging experience, Sara has been an absolute doll. Thank you, Sara. We're now bffs.

So, without further ado...the lovely Lambwhore and Goatslut leader...Sara...Oh, and for more of her hilarity. please visit Sara's site here!



Sometimes being crazy is ok. But I'm fully qualified to being your leader. 

I will be the first person to tell you that I think I have a wee bit of crazy in me. And I'm ok. I'm also sometimes selfish yet more giving than I'm able to be, I'm a complete bitch yet I can be the nicest person you'll ever meet. I'm organized to the point I drive others crazy but I feel cluttered and overwhelmed with crap.

I can't even figure myself out.

But I have a lot of things about me that make me...unique. My husband would insist I have obsessive compulsive disorder but I disagree because I am nothing like those people you see on shows. Sure, I have to be massaged equally on both sides of my body. I can't step on a crack with me left foot without doing it with my right. I like the fringe on rugs to be straight. I like everything in groups of three if they are used for decoration. Anything else needs to be even numbers. I'm freaking out because I have three cats and I feel like I need to get another one so we have an even number. You can't touch me on one side and not the other because I'll feel lopsided the whole time.

I mean, little stuff like that. That's totally normal.

Here's some Sara fun facts:

1. My husband and I are not a great match. We actually barely get along and we have almost nothing in common. I have actually no good reason for an answer when someone asks me what made me fall in love or want to get married to him. I can't even think up a good lie to that.

2. My kids are adorable. Everybody loves cute kids. Mine are cute, can sing songs from the radio and have attitude. My daughter also has a pooping problem that drives me insane and you'll get to see me gag when I clean up poop. My son likes to play with his "dangly parts" as my daughter says. He also roars for no reason.

3. My house is falling apart. My husband is skilled and capable of fixing these things but is unwilling. So in the meantime I watch HGTV with fierce jealously and secretly hope a natural disaster comes and destroys it all.

4. I have a strained relationship with most of my in-laws. My sister and brother in law are awesome and fun but my husband's parents hate me. And it's pretty much mutual. It's fun times. I am often alone on holiday celebrations because it's better to just eat Spaghetti O's and watch Teen Mom then endure hours of being in a room full of people who don't like you. Not many people can say their mother in law tried to pay off the groom the day of the wedding.

5. My cats are crazy and I'm not sure why. Lenny is gay and humps blankets but has now moved onto towels and sweaters. Stumpy eats toilet paper and drinks out of the toilet. Batman hisses at things that aren't there.

6. I have an awesome job at a college bookstore. But I've worked in places that should have been filmed for The Office. Or Office Space 2.0. Complete with Catholics, incompetence, and egos.

7. I have a strained relationship with my own family and while I try to balance the line of being myself and being who they think I am... I often fail miserably and it always ends with me being an asshole and ruining everything. Christmas is usually fun.

8. I often have what my husband calls "diarrhea of the mouth" because I say things long before I even think I should think about it before I say it. I often embarrass people without even realizing it. I will say the most inappropriate thing every time. (I'm available for parties and private bookings. Call me.)

9. I'm useless in emergency situations. If someone cuts them severely (like when my husband's hand was sliced open requiring a lot of stitches) you won't find me looking for bandages or calling 911. Nope- I'm laughing hard and trying not pee myself. You also don't want me to help you move. I can unpack and stuff but carrying anything? You don't want me. I'll be laughing the whole time and probably drop it. Sorry.

10. I'm going to be famous someday when my memoirs are published. You'll want to know me now. Just sayin.

So that? Is why you should be my lambwhore. Oh- and you should buy my stuff (http://scrapinsara.etsy.com).

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Me vs. Man vs. Food

Well, here's my lovely family all gathered around the t.v. watching Man vs. Food like any respectable, All-American family. Have you seen this? I don't know - I guess this guy travels the country and eats a lot of big, disgusting food. Or attempts to anyway. That's the draw, that's the exciting part. Will he eat it? Will the food win? Hell, I watch this show every night when I serve my family dinner. Will son #2 eat this tonight? How can he disguise the food so it appears that he's consumed it? My daughter's in on it too, she'll start telling me a story to distract me from son #2? It's a painful show that I wouldn't subject their own grandmother to. So, now I'm forced to watch a grown up battle the food on his plate? Yipee!

The show starts and this particular episode is all about how Adam has to eat an enormous pulled pork sandwich (seriously, it could feed a family of 8). BUT this isn't just any pulled pork sandwich, no, this has a bucket of coleslaw on it and 6 oz. of Shut Up Juice (this means it has the juice of some really spicy pepper, equivalent to 200 jalapenos) slathered all over it.. 64 people have conquered. Adam has to get it all down, and hold it down for 5 minutes. Gross.

But the kids are all excited and my husband is out of his mind, 'cause it's BBQ and hot and I'm actually in the room about to watch this with him. Well, maybe the last one he could care less about.

"Does he realize how bad this is for his health? Not the hot part but the amount fat that's in that sandwich?"

"Honey, usually his food is like 15 lbs. Just watch."

"He is just doing this for the money," I say. Incredulous that someone would risk their life for money. Oh wait, I watch Wipe-Out and Real Housewives.

 "Well, no, honey, he loves going up against big food or hot food and sometimes, sometimes the food wins."

"Yes, but what about his cholesterol? He doesn't look as if he is in that good of shape. Didn't he watch Super Size Me?"

"What?"

"This could kill him. Does he have a doctor monitoring his heart?"

"Huh, oh look, he's perspiring all down his face - he might lose this time."

"I don't understand. He has to eat a lot of food and people cheer him on, really? Haven't we learned anything about portion control. OMG his face is as red as my hair. Someone needs to step in. I hope he carries a defibrillator with him."

"No one can step in. What are you talking about? Look, he's gonna do it...okay, now he has to hold it down for 5 minutes."

"What, like he loses the game if he throws up? It is possible that his body may be a tad smarter than he is and feels it is in his life's best interest to purge this mess!"

"5,4,3,2,1" My family is all counting down now. Good grief. "Wow - that was awesome." They all agree. "Now he's drinking some milk to cool his burning mouth."

"What about his heart burn, agita, can you imagine the sodium level in that? Is he married?"

"Why?"

"Cause how can his wife let him do this? He is going to end up 600 lbs. and on a Discovery Channel show about the morbidly obese that can't get out of bed, and I'll be helpless to watch (shameless plug for my upcoming guest blog). Do you think they pump his stomach after these shows?"

"No. Honey, relax, he wouldn't do this if it was dangerous. Can you be quiet for 5 minutes?"

"5,4,3,2,1" My family began counting down.

"I really just don't see..."

Man vs. Food - 1 Me - 0

Monday, October 18, 2010

I'd Live In Cougarville!

First let me say that I am a happily married woman! 20 years in, a bunch of kids, a happy, satisfied life. So when The Today Show aired the 50 hottest bachelors (1 per state), I wasn't expecting the fantasy side of my brain to go on overload..hmm...would I like to own a small cape in Cougarville? Hell-to-the-yes!

But, because I am a freak-a-nellie, I can't just let my imagination run with my life in Cougarville. Nope. I have to set the stage and make sure everybody is happy before I can go off and enjoy my fake life. Why??? Well, there's the hubby and kids to think about. For me to leave and be all happy in my little cape house, they need to be out of the picture...but how??

I know, I have to work on my fantasy skills. I suck at it.

How's this...hubby up and left me, took off with a bimbo from the office. Trite, sure - but it might just work. I couldn't have him die from cancer (wahhh) or take a job in Singapore to support us (awww).  No, we'll settle for the fact that he's a bum - makes the fantasy that much more sweeeeeet!!!

Okay, hubby's gone. Kids...crap. I don't want to be a cougar with my kids hanging around. They'll be all like, "Gross mom." And I'd be all, "Really? You think he's gross?"  And they'd be all, "No, mom it's wicked gross that you're with him." So the kids gotta go. But where? Um, maybe they're are all in prison. No, I wouldn't be able to be happy with my boy toy (BT) if I knew all my children were in prison. I mean come on, I have four. What  could they all have done? Planned and executed a robbery? Well, my oldest would have been too lazy to do anything but sit and drive the get-away car, my second would have to be the actual robber since he's all sly and likeable. The third would be the mastermind as he's the thinking man, but my daughter? What would she do? Be the one they hoist from the ceiling into the vault. She is small, it could work.

But no, they can't be in jail. Maybe they have all graduated from college and are old enough to not think it's so gross.. Hmmmm..daughter is too young, we are talking 10 more years. That would be gross. I'd be like a mid-fifty cougar. Forget that. It has to happen now!

Maybe the kids become actors and they're all on a Disney show and are living the Cali life and are like, "Mom who?" and I'm all like "Hey, I'm your mom, what about me?" And they'll be like, "Mom, go off and have a life for yourself will you? We can handle our finances, we have brother #3." And I'll be all, "Fine, I'm moving to Cougarville."

Okay, that seems bloody unlikely. Whew. This is getting exhausting. Um, maybe I really am a hot 56 year old (I do work out) and the kids are all in college and working their jobs and having their own lives. Yes, let's go with that one.  Now the fantasy begins.

I move down to Cougarville and get a little cape (on the ocean, of course). Do I take all my furniture from my old house? Do I sell my old house? Is this a permanent move? Sure. Too many bad memories here. Okay, moving day. I'm all yelling at the movers to be careful. Hey, I'm mid-fifties and probably going through menopause, so I'm pretty pissed at them, I'm sure.  Some of this stuff is very meaningful. Those candles were given to us on our wedding day 30 years ago. Yikes. Would I even still care about shit like that? And where's the BT? Isn't he supposed to be carrying something, flexing some muscles or something? And the house needs a paint job. Does my BT paint? Will he fix my flat iron when the cord develops a loose connection? Oh this is too freakin' much! I need a glass of wine!

Here's what probably, most likely, definitely happens.

On the way to visit colleges, hubby and I are in the car with the four kids in the back. They are all plugged in to various electronic devices, completely ignoring us and each other. The wind is whipping my newly straightened hair as hubby puts his hand on my knee. "We got here together," he says and smiles.

I look up and see a sign "Entering Cougarville - Population 6" (cause really, not many of us live here). As we drive quickly through, I catch the look of one of the women, she's alone on the street and  looks like hell (I guess getting letters from all your kids in prison can do a job on a woman), she catches my eye and with a very sad, almost weary gaze, she tries to smile and gives me a little wave.

As we drive by - I wave back.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Small Pleasures

When I was eating a Whopper Jr. from Burger King ($1 on the value menu), I contemplated have a glass of wine with my meal.

It seemed rather sad and so unlike a wine-worthy meal that I didn't. But it got me thinking. Am I an alcoholic? No - that wasn't what I was thinking.

I was thinking so what if it seems a little sad and desperate. Small pleasures, of which wine and BK are two of mine, add up to a very enjoyable evening.

And isn't that what we are trying to do on this little spinning ball? Find pleasurable moments. Some of my small pleasures (feel free to add some of your own):

Wine...Unwinding pleasure.
Whopper Jr...With fries. Salty pleasure.
Kicking a stone down the street - Pleasurable until you kick it into the woods.
Sitting by the ocean - Calming the mind. Pleasing the spirit.
Slipping naked between the sheets - I'm talking about walking over naked, lifting the sheets naked and slipping in naked. Naked.Naked.Naked. (Seinfeld pleasure)
First cup of coffee in the morning - Pleasurably waking up.
Perfectly cooked (medium rare) Filet Mignon - "It's what's for dinner" pleasure.
Turning the first page of the novel you've been dying to read - Pleasurable anticipation.
An email from a close friend - Sentimental pleasure.
Raw cake batter - Salmonella pleasure.
Mosaic of leaves scattered on the ground - Crunchy pleasure.
Staring up at a starry night -Pleasurably awed.
Chocolate - A creamy, heart racing, savory pleasurable experience.

...imagine slipping naked between the sheets with wine AND chocolate?!

Not desperate. Happy.

Friday, October 15, 2010

L'eggo My Laundry

I love to do laundry. From the dirty, smelly start to the folded, April fresh end. I don't want you anywhere near the laundry room when I am working this magic. I want to organize, separate, fold....ALONE!!

I know there are many women and/or men out there that are crazy, crazy, crazy about a certain type of housework. And they alone want, nay, need to perform these chores alone thus they go completely beserk! I know I am not a freak. There are those of us that love to vacuum, or wash dishes or make beds or dust (wait, those people are freaks).

My husband can not understand this adorable personality trait of mine. And really, why would any husband complain? I could see complaining if I never did the laundry. Why does he horn in on the one thing I'd like to do alone. Well, there is maybe another thing, and he horns in on that too. Hey!!! I'm talking about watching my soap. Jeez...

Back to my laundry. I have my little system (it has now gone beyond separating reds and whites, we can thank Dateline for yet another wackazoid documentary that's freaked me out). But, even when my husband tries to get it right, invariably he fails. Like when underwear ends up being washed with the towels (crap, just gave that one away...it is a valid concern, look it up!)

"I'm just trying to lighten your load," he giggles at his laundry humor. Sad, I know.

"Yeah, well, how 'bout if I go to the garage and organize your tools?" He would hate that. Aren't you impressed that I even know where his tools are?

"That would be awesome! I'd love to watch you separate my nuts," he winks.

I got nothin'.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Where Would I Be Without You, Roxie?

It's seems so silly really, this admiration I have for you. And I am no stalker but honestly, I would follow you to the ends of the earth. You're so level headed, so calm in any emergency. Sometimes, when I am ready to panic, I hear your voice, and it's as if a cloud has lifted and a way out is so perfectly clear to me.

I think about the years before we met. How did I ever get along? How did I make it from one point in my life to another? Well, it's clear things were very messed up for me for a while, and I must have been just wandering aimlessly until our paths crossed. When my husband introduced us that Christmas morning, never did he think you would be the answer to my prayers. Is he jealous? Oh, Roxy, you know him, he's just so happy it's you that helps me find my way home and not  Clare. I won't get started on her. You were so funny when I was going off on how her bucket of crazy had just exploded and I was not going to help mop it up. You just kept saying something about the miles we've traveled and you're so right. Clare and I have been through thick and thin and sometimes it just takes an outsider to pull you back in line, set you on the right road, so to speak.

Oh, ha ha...Roxie..remember when I was telling you all about that guy and that crazy relationship we had? I remember, it was that long drive from my house to the Cape. You were telling me it was so obvious he wasn't my destiny or destination or something like that. Then we stopped at Burger King and you were like "Destination on right," hahaha...yup...Burger King can be way better than men sometimes. Love your sense of humor.

Sigh. And when my grandmother passed away, your comfort knew no bounds. Telling me how things go round about. You're so right. Life is funny like that. Man, you have been there for many of the tough times in my life. You with your lovely British accent. And every time I hear your favorite song, "Life Is A Highway", I think of you, Roxy.

Okay, Roxy, well, I'm going to go. I know you need several hours to charge up for your next big adventure. So have a safe trip. And thanks for always being there.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

First off...I Apologize To The Woman Behind Me In Power Pump Class Today

I do and she knows why.

The Real Post Is: Why I Think My Power Pump Class Is A Hidden Reality Show 

I do think my power pump class is a hidden reality show. It has to be. It would make such bad TV. Although we aren't supposed to know about this "show" we are on, we are all aware of the hidden cameras behind those mirrors, at least I am.

Yup, it's official I definitely have an issue about being secretly taped (see my other blog "I Blame Dateline" - I'd link but I don't know how).

The Jeff Probst of our little aerobic room is Susie. She's a love but I can never understand her with that contraption around her head that is supposed to be a microphone. I swear one time she told us that there were brownies being given away right outside the door. I ran outside thinking this was a challenge, but of course there were no brownies. But, I definitely won the challenge.

Some of the challenges include things with glides and body bars and bender balls (jsyk me and my bender ball are now dating. I mean, come on something that knows you that intimately deserves "dating" status - BTW...I made up my own acronym - this one is "just so you know". Think it'll catch on?).

The cast of characters changes each week because the sane ones talk themselves out of going each morning. But each week you are surely to find...

...the over achiever with her 27 lb. bar, step on the highest block, 20 lb. hand weights. She scares me. She's always breathing heavy and sweating. No one will vote her off. I bet she can make fire by just rubbing a couple sticks between her beefy thighs.

...the underachiever with her 2 lb. hand weights, no bar and no step. Clearly the reason she was picked to be on our island is that she is so annoying and it is well documented that everyone loves a pain in the ass. She boosts ratings. She's the Johnny Fairplay of our tribe.

...the prom queen - oh, come on...every gym/island has one or 22. The make-up (really?), the coordinating little outfit, the little blond ponytail - what evs. She will be getting my vote. No need for me to be subjected to that little midriff each morning. There are no men on the island and I know the other women agree with me...so it's a sure bet.

..the dedicated older woman (no, it's not me...yet - but I'm praying that it is one day). She's in the back desperately trying to keep up and taking all the low impact options (God bless her, really!). She's the mom of the pack, we know her days are numbered but we cling to the fact that she is around us, cheering us on, pushing us to be better than we really are.

...the mom's. Here's where I fit in. We really don't want to be here. We are only here because we know we should. Diet and exercise, The Biggest Loser and all that, right? We moan when we hear the word curtsy lunges and we fake doing our push-ups (those girly, on-the-knee ones and you know we never go all the way down). Our weights could probably be heavier, but God forbid we end up looking like a WWF heavyweight champ (as if). We are biding our time, praying there's a fire drill, monsoon or our instructor pulls something. It's sad, really - but it is the truth. We don't care. We are just here so we can justify the triple layer chocolate cake tonight. Being voted off is really something we hope happens.

Actually, I write my friend's name down each week and I know she's doing the same for me.