I had several things I wanted to post about tonight.
How Rico almost got arrested in New York City. How I have finally caught the Houdini mouse.
Funny things. Silly things.
Those things are not important. It’s seems so trivial to talk of things so lighthearted.
The tragedy of Newtown has touched me so deeply. I know there has been many other events like this. Too many events like this.
Newtown is everyone’s town.
These were babies. Innocent children learning reading, adding and subtracting, coloring and pasting.
Babies the same age as my Ella.
I think of my 6 year old and her innocence. I think of her excitement to go to school every day. I think of her only concern is that she is not going to like what they are having for lunch or that someone will not want to play with her at recess. I think of her growing and learning so many new things each day.
I don’t want her to ever be concerned that a mad man will enter her school and kill her. Or that she will be afraid and I won’t be there to comfort and protect her but this is our new reality.
It can happen. It has happened.
As I pulled in the pick up line at school Friday afternoon, I cried because there were so many parents who would never have that privilege again. I cried because mothers and fathers will never get another hug, another smile, another birthday party, tooth fairy visit, Easter egg hunt or another Christmas.
I cried for the father of the shooter because the only thing that could be worse than your child dying would be knowing a child you brought into this world could be capable of such an evil act.
I cried for the police and first responders and the horrible images they will carry in their minds for the rest of their lives.
I cried for my own children and the fears they have over this tragedy. Fears they should never have to consider.
I cried for a loss of their innocence.
I cried for our country and what is has become. For the society we live in and the children we are raising. I cried for a loss of morals. For parents making excuses for their children when they’ve done wrong instead of letting them suffer the consequences.
I cried and I cried and I cried.
I cry still.
People will argue we need more gun control or better mental health intervention or better safety measures at school and all have valid points.
People will argue that the schools are to blame for taking God out of our education system but it’s not the schools job to teach my children about religion or faith or morals. That’s my job.
Until we, as a society, make a conscious effort to bring morality back to our children and the media stops glorifying these horrific tragedies nothing is going to change.
We have to change.
Rico and I went to NYC for an adult getaway to celebrate the birthday of a dear friend. It was fun weekend of sight seeing, shopping and eating at restaurants where I didn’t have to cut anyone’s meat nor take anyone to the bathroom to poop.
Any meal where I don’t have to take anyone to poop is a good meal. I have pretty low expectations at this point. Really low expectations. At this point if I can eat at McDonald’s without kids it becomes a 5 star dining experience. No joke.
So anyway, we arrive in the Big Apple and get a taxi to our swanky hotel and I have to tell the Pakistani cab driver three different times our address. The man speaks marginal English and I speak expert Southernese and it becomes quite the cultural exchange. Rico starts a conversation with him (which he does with EVERYONE) about where he is from, when he came to America and if he came over in a boat. Why he asks everyone about the whole boat thing is beyond me. I think he believes immigrants are incapable of buying airline tickets and can only get here stowing away on a boat. I mean, really, even Al Qaeda can get on Expedia. We finally get to the hotel in a ride I can only describe as “life changing” as people in Pakistan apparently don’t have laws for driving and the horn honking was so frequent I developed a tic.
The woman at the desk of our nice hotel was very helpful. We couldn’t do express check-in as we had reward vouchers and were too stupid to figure out how to accomplish that on the speedy check-in computer. So Rico is explaining our situation and the first thing she asks is “Where part of the South are you visiting from?” which is code for “Do people really speak like that? I thought that was just in the movies?”.
We tell her we are from Kentucky and she immediately starts laughing and ask if we eat a lot of Bar-B-Que.
”Why yes we do, ma’am” and then Rico begins to tell her how often we do Bar-B-Que and at times even Bar-B-Que whole rolls of bologna infused with jalopenos. It’s the “poor mans steak,” he says.
Lord, I was about to DIE!!
The night of my friends birthday party I had a stern talking to with Rico.
”Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t talk politics. Don’t talk about the economy. Don’t slap me on the butt in front of everyone. Just don’t open your mouth. I will tell everyone you have laryngitis. Just nod when spoken to and smile a lot. O.K?”
He promises to be on his best behavior and I feel confident that we will make it thru the evening without looking like the Clampett’s.
Dinner is at a fabulous restaurant in the West Village. We are seated in a private room with 15 of her closest friends who are from either NYC or LA. It is a warm, intimate environment and her friends are friendly and gracious.
My first feelings of apprehension are when I realize Todd and I aren’t seated together. I mean, he is close enough where I can hear what he’s saying but not close enough I can kick him under the table. Sweat starts tricking down my back.
“Please be good”, I plead.
The night goes well for the most part. There were only a few instances where I felt like he was acting like the guy from Sling Blade. We were clearly out of our league as her friends were hedge fund managers, a Today show correspondent, very successful business owners, physicians, etc.
There were even some Louboutins in the house.
I only overheard Rico make one major guffaw when one of the guest passed around her beautiful engagement ring which was the size of a Cadbury egg and he he nudged her husband and said, “Where you get something like that? I bet it’s a CZ!!”
Swear on my kids eyes. I about died right in my chair.
On a serious note, it was a great night. Despite our differences, we were warmly welcomed by her lovely friends and by the city itself.
I LOVE NYC!
Last April, we added another addition to our family.
His name is Boudreaux.
We named him after a Cajun shrimper we met on the coast because obviously, when I imagine him being able to speak it’s certainly with a Cajun accent.
“Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez!”
Feel free to send baby gifts.
We accept credit cards, personal checks and most importantly, gift cards for dog food.
Boudreaux comes from a long line of champion dock jumpers…which means for us, he can jump over my head while I’m trying to feed him.
He started out cute, cuddly and had sweet puppy breath. Within a week he became a 100 lb, foul smelling, voraciously chewing ding dong of a dog on crack. There is nothing on the outside of my house he hasn’t demolished…including outdoor electrical plugs. This long list of items includes water hoses, an expensive set of wicker patio furniture and cushions, and various toys. He also feels the need to dig up plants and shrubs and proudly destroy them at my back door.
I no longer plant flowers or decorate the house.
I have considered putting log chains on my tires.
On top of this, he has a strong affinity for smelling everyone’s crotch…or as Ella says, “crouch.”
The dog is possessed.
Around the age of five months, he began humping everything…and I do mean everything. He had a special affection for my daughters folding Spongebob chair. He humped for days and days until got pissed off and ate it.
He pooped yellow Spongebob particles for days.
This week he discovered the neighbors 20 lb mix breed. The multicolor hair, the petite frame and the ever constant presence of a female rear in his face was more than he could handle.
Picture if you will, Kristen Chenowith and Dennis Rodman.
Welcome to my world.
Rico and I have an ongoing discussion/argument about whether to cut his nuts off.
Obviously, I am all for it. Rico, uh, not so much.
It seems men have an aversion to cutting off nuts even when they are not the owners of said nuts.
I mean, I am pro-castration for any male who runs off and sleeps with the bitch down the road…man or canine. Agreed?
I haven’t blogged for awhile now…alright, so I haven’t blogged for several months. It’s not that I didn’t have any nonsense to add to the world wide web it’s just that between my health issues, things going on with the kids and my families hell bent mission to send me to the nuthouse, my brain was fried.
My husband likes it when I channel my creative side/neurosis on my blog because frankly, it whittles down the number of crazy phone conversations I have with him during the day….”Honey, did you see that drunk moose in the tree on the news? How do you think a moose opens a beer can cause like, they don’t have thumbs? And do you think if he had Patron does he want to take his antlers off? ” Which then leads me to signing that crazy song “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Come Off” for the next several hours and it’s not really appropriate to sing around a 4 year old. I speak from experience. They always repeat that crap at the most embarrassing time.
In an effort to get me blogging again, the hubs bought me a desk and a new computer and placed it in a semi-quiet place in the house. However, no place in this house is sacred enough to be free of Kool-aid or “wipe my butt” requests…but I will try.
After all this time I wondered if anyone even came around to this site to visit in my absence. I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Several of you are checking in periodically…sending me emails to see if I died, etc. I also discovered that a lot of people are clicking in via google searches for different things that are just down right hilarious. Seems if you search different phrases you will be directed here for related content. Here’s some of the searches that brought people to my neurotic site and my response to them….
1. My Sugar Daddy wants me to wear stripper heels…Yes he does honey. You are a gold digger. It’s your job to do what he wants in order to receive your gold. Did you honestly think he wanted you to dance on that pole with orthotics? It’s just not a good look. And honestly, all men want us to wear the stripper heels. They don’t have to be rich.
2. Southern Girls gone wild…Similar to the regular Girls Gone Wild but with girls lifting their camouflage and rebel flag t-shirts to show the goods. The girls that are kissing each other are really first cousins and the stripper pole is waxed with lard.
3. Ear Wax Fetish…Seriously, if you have an ear wax fetish you will not find what you need here. Try hanging out at the ENT’s office or a psychiatrist. If it was a belly button lint fetish I might could do something for you. Sorry.
4. Southern Sasquatch…This I can help you with because I have seen the southern sasquatch. It was yesterday in the parking garage of Vanderbilt Medical Center. I was waiting at the valet parking counter and there it was. It went by twice. Once with a sweater covering it’s belly and once just baring all. It must be some type of mating signal.
5. So Many Chicks so little time…I’m pretty sure I know who wrote this. I have a friend who is a lifelong bachelor and aficionado of woman. His job requires him to travel the world. Maybe he needs some help with time management. The only advice I have for him is one woman at a time. You are getting older. I don’t think your heart can take it anymore.
6. Confucius Boobs…Seriously, a search for a wise woman with large breasts or an actual picture of Confuscious’ boobs? I am confused. Whoever searched this, you are a freak.
7. Hot wife Sex Slave…Alright, you caught me. That is who I really am. Especially when you find me plunging one of toilets or taking out the trash in my yoga pants and stained t-shirt. I am sex-say….and probably stinking from being hot.
8. Person with full diaper….People really searched for this and found me. Is it because I am a pro at diaper changing or that I am basically full of shit. Probably both.
Sometimes. Mostly all the time.
Me? Hardly ever.
But that’s beside the point. Why else would I write a post called “Men do stupid stuff” if I wasn’t a turd?
And since both my kids are turds and have different baby daddies….I have to be the only common factor, eh?
Anyway, I need to get back on track.
Where was I?
Stupid Men Stuff….Oh, yeah.
Several years ago, someone wrote a book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
Duh. Someone give that ding dong a Nobel Peace Prize. I could have told you that AND saved you $19.95.
I think all men do strange, unexplainable nonsense but I think Rico has them all beat…
For instance, this is my husband’s loading bench. It is located in the very old, very unfinished basement of my house. It’s where he plays with his guns, loads his own bullets, scratches his manly parts and all other kinds of weird, testosterone filled nonsense.
I stay out of here as much as possible.
From afar, nothing looks amiss.
Don’t be mistaken.
There is a whole bunch of nonsense going on here. Stuff so unexplainable all I can say is, “What the…”
BLACK FINGERNAIL POLISH!!!!!
First and foremost, here is my missing black fingernail polish which I have been looking everywhere. I have accused my oldest daughter of “theft of a beautification product” which in my house is punishable by water boarding.
You don’t mess with Mom’s makeup people.
Notice to the side of the photograph is my four year olds Play Doh. This is an excusable theft as Play Doh is the root of all evil.
Did you know Saddam had Play Doh in with his WMD’s?
CUTE CHRISTMAS WRAPPING SCISSORS!
Is there even any words? At least they weren’t my Breast Cancer Awareness Pink scissors.
This WAS a piece of my nice cutlery. WAS being the operative word.
Who knows what in the hell he was doing with it. When I asked why he had it, he just replied, “I needed it.”
BIG CANDLE FROM WALMART CIRCA 2002…AND A BONUS
Seriously, I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought that candle fifty ‘leven years ago from the Walmarts. My house must of smelled really bad or I was on a compulsive shopping spree.
The added bonus to this hot mess is the can of 3M Dust Remover beside the candle covered in 10 years worth of dust.
THE ONLY BOWL LEFT IN MY HOUSE THE KIDS HAVEN’T THEIVED TO MAKE MUD PIES AND LEFT IN THE PASTURE
Again, no words…and no bowls in my cupboards.
LIPSTICK…..OH, AND SPIT.
I am not too worried about the Clinique “Simply Gorgeous” because it is simply not in Rico’s color wheel. However, it is in mine and water boarding will have to ensue for this infraction.
I get the spit thing…but WHY LIPSTICK???
OUR WEDDING PICTURE???
Is it to gaze lovingly at a photo of that wonderful day or to laugh mockingly as he picks up my damn lipstick and smears it on some gun part???
Even though most of you will not believe this, I graduated 20 years ago.
Yes, 20 years ago.
As in, 1990. The year of the Milli Vanilli scandal, the Simpsons and Seinfeld television debut, the freeing of Nelson Mandela and the start of the Persian Gulf War.
I turned 18. My parents bought me a brand new car, a white Dodge Shadow, that was then dubbed by my friends as “A Freak of Nature”…cause there is no such thing as a white shadow.
It was a time of tanning beds, tight rolled jeans, sequined prom dresses and Aqua Net hair spray.
Now, if there was one thing I was focused on in high school, it would be the whole hair situation. Lord knows I wasn’t worried about my SAT’s or college admission applications but the big hair thing…well, that was important. Hello?
And so the majority of my high school years were filled with hot rollers, a can of Aqua Net and a blow dryer…cause only maximum hair height could only be achieved with the aid of a dryer.
I never made senior superlatives, but 20 years later, they regretted that crap and bestowed upon me the accolade I should have recieved back in the day….”Biggest Hair.”
Yes people, read it and weep!
I had the biggest hair in high school and it has been confirmed 20 years later by my peers.
To reward me for all my effort and their lack of acknowledgement then, they bestowed upon me the most fitting prize, a can of Aqua Net Hair Spray.
I know you be jealous.
I have to confess that I have very little patience, especially for time wasted.
I have things to do. People to see. Kids to beat. Dinner to whip up. Laundry to wash.
People, do not be wasting my time.
This past weekend, Rico and I were going out to celebrate our anniversary. He had called and made overnight arrangements for Ella and since Rachel was gone for the evening, that meant we were actually going to have a whole evening out. A night to include an adult beverages, no cutting anyone’s meat, the wearing of a push-up bra and lots of stripper smelling lotion from Victoria Secret. I even threw in a pair of heels for good luck.
Someone was getting lucky tonight.
Before we could leave on our rendezvous, we had to make a trip to a large home improvement store to purchase blinds.
Sounds easy enough? But NO.
You see, Saturday was rumored to be the last nice day of the season and apparently a lot of said home improvement store employees called in, ehhhmmm, “sick” Saturday thus creating an overload of work for the remaining few employees that actually showed.
It was like Senior Skip Day in high school…but like with sick days and retirement.
Anyway, I needed blinds. Custom cut blinds. And since I was raised Southern and polite and all that crap, I asked for help and waited. Smiling sweetly….cause that’s what us southern girls are supposed to do…ladaladaladalada…..yes, ma’am and all that baloney.
I waited….and waited. I politely asked again and waited. I smiled and said things like “thank you” and such. Employees kept walking by, occasionally trying to call for help. After awhile they just started to ignore me.
30 minutes….tick, tock, tick, tock.
I am still smiling sweetly but there is steam coming outta my ears.
Daylight was wasting and I had to come up with a plan.
What to do???
And then it came to me! You know how they have a gazillion security cameras in that place like someones gonna try to put a table saw down their britches, well, I figured if they saw me all sprawled out in the aisle like I was dead or having some kind of convulsion, someone would come see what was wrong with me and get my blinds fixed…PRONTO….because I am either very medically ill or very mentally ill, either way, they would want me gone.
So I did it. I sprawled my sweet southern ass right there in the window treatment aisle of the large home improvement store aisle.
My husband thought I had lost my mind.
After telling me to get my you know what outta the floor, Rico let me know that he didn’t think it was to funny…seems he doesn’t share my sense of humor/intelligence/wittiness/charm/mischievous attitude.
It was still worth making him blush.
Thanks for 5 amazing years, I promise I will embarrass you even more on our 10th.
Since Blogher has removed my advertising and because I am getting accosted by the locals due to my hiatus, I have returned to the blogging world.
And since I have returned, surely this is worth a free 6 inch Cold Cut Combo at Subway?
This summer has been trying to say the least. There are many things going on health wise. We are also are in the middle of a home remodel, which I will expand on in some later post…cause you all know Rico had to put his own little flair on it just to drive me nuts.
I am just glad to be back! I plan on blogging at least two, if not three times a week. I will post links to my Facebook page to keep you all updated or you can join my RSS feed above and be notified in your email box.
So, you ask? What was I doing all summer that I couldn’t take a couple minutes to post on my blog??
1. I decided to take a sabbatical to master the art of cooking the perfect homemade pizza. I have succeeded. It is one of the reasons I have gained 10 pounds. I will share the recipe with you soon but your hips will curse my name forever.
2. I had to wear a Nacho Libre suit most of the summer to break up the wrestling matches between my two heathen daughters. And let me be the first to tell you, girls fight dirty. I only had to tap out twice to Rico and that was for a pee break and a ham sammich.
3. I went to watch a Roller Derby match and I instantly knew I missed my calling in life. If I was only 10 years younger, I would change my name to Blondie DaButcherKnife and it would be on like Donkey Kong.
4. I saw Jimmy Buffett in concert and have spent the rest of the summer trying to persuade my husband into selling all our earthly possessions and becoming beach bums in Key West. I have it all planned out. He can bartend and I will open a hot dog stand on Duval Street called “I Dream of Weenie”. How could it not work?
5. I have also spent the summer arguing with my husband that I do not have delusions of grandeur, that I do not need medication and that I am stable enough to drive and keep the children by myself. I also do not know why he always feels the need to smell my drinks. Seriously, he gets on my nerves with all this responsibility crap.
6. I almost converted to Catholicism in an airport in Rochester, Minnesota. I would spill the beans about this story but it is too good not to make it into a regular post. All I will say is that is involves a priest, a cell phone, David Beckham and me.
7. Since my children have argued about everything this summer from who has biggest booger to who has the most marshmallows in their cereal, I have built a shrine to my now defunct uterus and sing praise and worship hymns to my sterility.
I have lots of fears.
Driving across large bridges.
My daughters becoming strippers.
The demise of MAC Cosmetics.
Parallel parking my SUV.
Forgetting to renew my subscription to People Magazine.
Some are relevant but most are silly.
However, they are real to me and since this is my soap box, I get to share my neurotic symptomology with all of you.
Yesterday, Glenn Beck announced he was suffering from macular dystrophy and would likely be blind within a year.
Now I have a new fear.
I don’t want to go blind.
Never, ever, ever.
Most of you probably think it’s because I would be unable to adapt, because I wouldn’t see my girls beautiful faces or be unable to drive.
Well yes, that would be part of the fear, but I know I would adapt and my memory would serve me well in remembering faces, colors, landscapes and navigating.
The MAIN reason I am scared to death of going blind is my husband.
He would then be in charge of the task of dressing me.
Holy Crap. (Shudder) It makes me just nauseous thinking about it.
I mean, he’s a great dresser. He has good taste in his own clothes.
But for me…..eehhmm, well, not so much.
You see, I like to dress like this…
And he would like for me to dress like this…
Not just in the privacy of our bedroom…but out in public.
You see my concern?
I can NOT be walking around in stripper heels, wearing a trashy outfit from cheapstrippers.com while trying to read the braille version of Garden & Gun Magazine.
It just can’t happen folks.
Tonight won’t you all join with me in prayer to the patron saint of eyesight, Saint Lucy for the preservation of my eyesight?
Thank you Jesus.
Derby week in Kentucky is a fabulous time. Everyone is trying to figure out which horse they’re betting on, which hat they’re wearing, whose Derby party they’re attending and making sure they have all the ingredients for a Mint Julep.
It has been pouring rain here in the Bluegrass since Friday but for a few minutes on Saturday afternoon, the sun broke through and we all got to sing “My Old Kentucky Home” with a little sun on our faces.
This Derby has been bittersweet for me in that severe flooding has occurred in Kentucky as well as in Tennessee.
Many people have died. People are stranded due to flooded highways and interstates. Homes have been evacuated.
Kinda puts things into perspective.
My husband has been out since early this morning….working claims, helping people move furniture out of flooded basements and tonight, helping a good friend salvage his belongings before his house is taken over by the Green River.
The water is so high they had to canoe to his house.
Things can be replaced. Houses can be rebuilt.
People can not.
I pray tonight that all these guys are safe…especially mine.