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.
This is my 3 year old, Ella.
A.K.A. Ella Bella, The Puddin’ Pop or The Turd.
Thanks to Dora, Ella speaks alot of Spanish and that’s great because being bilingual will greatly enhance her employablilty later in life.
However, here in my Casa, we don’t speak el Spanish.
My Spanish vocabulary is limited to: Taco, Enchilada, Burrito and Tequila.
People, I have my priorities straight.
For the last couple weeks, Ella has been saying “Asshole” and every time she says it, I fuss at her, wash her mouth out with soap and tell her she is going to hell.
Well, not really. But I do fuss at her and tell her it’s not a nice word and to please not repeat it, especially in front of Nana.
PLEASE LORD, NOT IN FRONT OF NANA!!
Much to my dismay, she kept saying it over and over and over.
Yesterday while she was watching Dora, I overheard her repeat a word in Spanish…and it sounded just like “asshole.”
For the last two weeks I have been emotionally scarring my three year old for saying a Spanish word.
And if I knew what word she was actually saying it would be a whole lot easier to plead my case with her therapist in about twenty years but I guess I will just have to say, “NO COMP-RAY-HEN-DAY AMIGO.”
I used to daydream.
What I wanted to be when I grew up. Where I wanted to go. Who I wanted to be.
Like, in first grade, I wanted to be Dorothy Hamill.
Then I went ice skating and realized it was nothing like roller skating.
After falling on my butt a hundred times, I came to the conclusion that crap was harder than it looked, the Dorothy hairstyle made me look like a dork, and since I was well into my “chubby” phase of life, the leotards were not that flattering on me.
That dream went up in smoke faster than you can say Cheech and Chong.
Other dreams came and went.
Being picked to be in a music video…like Courtney Cox in that Bruce Springsteen video?
Yeah, that would be my one way ticket out of this one horse town.
Or being a Fly Girl on in Living Color?
But yet again, reality slapped me across the face when I realized I would never have a J Lo booty and my dance skills looked like a cat having a seizure.
So, I lowered the bar.
I came up with a dream that required absolutely no talent, just luck.
I started playing the lottery. Playing mainly when the Lotto reached gazillions of dollars.
Cause who wants to just win a mil? After taxes, it’s like nothing. I needed big money to fulfill my dreams.
Big house, big pool, cabana.
Yeah, having a pool boy was my ticket.
Finding the right pool boy would be my only dilemma.
And so after watching Ricky Martin sing Livin’ La Vida Loca at the Grammys years ago, I had my cabana boy picked out.
Dark, tall, handsome.
He could sing me songs while he was slathering me with oil.
Today, Ricky announced he was living his life as a “fortunate homosexual man.”
And though I’m happy for him, my dream has died.
I am 38 and have no hope for a Latin pool boy.
Rico has promised to sport a banana hammock and fan me with palm leaves when my winning ticket comes in,but it’s just not the same.
R.I.P Ricky the Pool Boy.
First of all, let me just start out this post by saying, hold yourself back ladies, he’s all mine.
After reading this post, I may have some serious competition.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can get right down to business.
There are many things about this man I don’t understand and perhaps those are the things that keep the spark alive. The mysterious things about each other that keep you intrigued, wanting you to learn more about each other and to grow closer.
This post isn’t about one of those things.
You see, my husband has a nice belly button.
It’s not an outie.
It’s not too big nor too small.
It’s akin to Baby Bear’s soup…just right.
However, there is one conundrum about said belly button.
It is always filled with lint. Like, every time he takes off his shirt. The amount of lint that comes out of this man’s belly button is astonishing.
I mean, I’ve had a belly button my entire life and not once, NOT ONCE, have I ever, ever had lint in there.
In amazement, I asked him, “Where does all that lint come from?”
“My shirt,” he replied, “my belly button gets hungry.”
“You mean you are trying to tell me your belly button gets hungry and tries to eat your shirt?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
At this rate, I’m getting worried his shirts are gonna start having ginormous holes front and center from said “hungry” belly button.
And what happens to all this lint? Where does it go?
Does it accumulate under the bed like dust bunnies?
Will I be overtaken at some point by the navel lint monster?
I told him I could be dutiful housewife, save said lint, spool it into yarn and knit him a scarf.
He told me that was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard.
I mean, Billy Bob wore Angelina’s blood around his neck…what’s a little navel lint?
The funny thing is he actually thinks I’m serious.
Which is why I’m gonna pretend to go around saving it and then wrap up some hideous, homemade, Angora scarf for Christmas and totally convince him it’s from his belly button lint.
Soon I will be attending my 10, 15 20 year high school reunion.
Holy Ritz Cracker.
Where did the years go?
Twenty years ago, my life was rather simple.
The only stressors in my life were:
1. What dress to wear to prom?
2. Which tanning bed would get me the best tan in time for prom?
3. Who I was going out with Friday and Saturday night?
4. How to tell my parents I had crashed yet another car.
5. Which college to attend based not on their academic accolades but which had the best social life.
Important stuff people!!
But looking back over the last 20 years and viewing 18 years olds these days, I can see I really was stupid. After marrying, divorcing, marrying again, having two beautiful daughters, living with a debilitating illness and just simply growing up, I wish I could have talked to my stupid self 20 years ago.
This is what I would have said…
1. Basking in the sun with baby oil and iodine sounds like a fabulous idea, especially when you lay out on the roof to maximize it’s effect while skipping school, but 20 years from now you will find freckles, age spots, wrinkles and that huge skin cancer on your back. It will cost you a fortune to remove the age spots and freckles, the wrinkles will not make you look sophisticated, and Botox/Restylene is expensive. Skin cancer can kill you. Please wear sunscreen everyday.
2. The really hot guys who really have no direction in life at 25 will also have no direction in life at 45. If his only ambition is to install car stereo’s in his momma’s garage, he’s not for you. Stay away from him and all the others like him unless you are prepared to support them for the rest of your life. They will bleed you financially and emotionally the rest of your life.
3. Most of the cool kids in high school that picked on the quiet nerds? Those nerds end up signing their paychecks. I bet Bill Gates loves going to his high school reunion. Those kids that were quiet and studious just learned early that being different is cool. You should try to have their self esteem.
4. Some of those quiet kids in school that no one understood were different because their home life was horrible and they needed you to reach out to them but you were to selfish to realize that. Realize that you are not the center of the universe. Realize that everyone is not as fortunate as you.
5. Being a cheerleader or a beauty queen never really gets you anywhere in life. No one will ever ask you in a job interview if you can do a back handspring. This I promise.
6. Studying and working hard gets you everywhere. There are no shortcuts in life. You may read the Cliff Notes but you still don’t know the whole story.
7. You may not know at 18 what you want to do for the rest of your life and that’s OK…you may not know until you’re 38 or 48 or 58. Sometimes you may never know. The important thing is you know who you are and what you stand for.
8. Not everyone can be doctors or lawyers and that doesn’t make you any lesser than a person. Blue collar workers are the backbone of our country. Not everyone can be great but you can be great at what you do.
9. Pick a career that makes you happy and fulfills you, no matter what the pay. If you enjoy what you do, the money will come.
10. You, yourself are enough. You don’t need someone else to make you happy. If you can’t be happy with yourself, you can’t be happy with someone else.
11. You can’t fix someone else’s problems, so don’t waste your time.
12. Always take time for yourself. Learn to enjoy time alone. Be happy in your solitude. You can be your best company.
13. Always take time for your girlfriends. Don’t flake out on them when a new guy comes along. Don’t forget about them when you get busy with your new baby. You need them and they need you. They will be there for you when your whole world falls apart and you will need them to help you pick up the pieces.
14. Tell the truth, even when it isn’t in your best interest. Even when it means everyone else thinks your crazy…or a bitch…or stupid. You will sleep well at night knowing you did the right thing.
14. Keep your word. Do what you say and mean it.
15. Before you marry you should experience three situations with your significant other:
A. You both should take care of each other during a bout with the stomach virus. Nothing brings out the worse in people than diarrhea and vomiting.
B. Go on vacation and work through a difficult situation like losing your luggage. Knowing how your partner handles the simple stresses in life will give you an idea how he/she will handle your relationship.
C. Let them meet your entire extended family, even the ones that you don’t claim.
16. Learn to laugh at yourself and don’t take yourself too seriously. It really does look funny when you fall down the steps. Laugh and laugh hard.Life is too short to be a stick in the mud.
17. Regrets are a waste of time.
18. Real love is fireworks. If you don’t feel it, it’s not right. Don’t let anyone tell you different and don’t settle.
19. Don’t let fear hold you back.
20. Stop using all that hairspray. You’re really destroying the ozone layer at break neck speed and big hair really doesn’t flatter you anyway.
But most of all, I’ve learned that love, family, friends and health are the cake of your life. The rest are just icing.
And my cake taste great.
First of all, I would like to thank you for bringing your company to my small town, A.K.A. Hooterville. It is a great convenience for me and other members of my village to have quick access to health care necessities without making the 25 mile drive to the Wally World in the neighboring town.
Although some of your items are pricey, I realize that’s the price of convenience and that you make up for it with the occasional 2 for 1 Maybelline Black Lash Mascara sale that the Wally World never, ever has…and this makes me happy.
‘Cause a girl always needs mascara, especially when she is a fair skinned bottled natural blond.
I am also very happy with the vast inventory your store keeps in stock.
Everything from Tylenol to hemmorroid ointment to tampons to denture cream.
Not that I need denture cream, mind you, but I am glad to know that if that day comes, it’s right here close to home.
You even carry the seasonal items that I overlook until the last minute, like Valentine’s Day cards. I would have had a very pissed off 11 year old had you not been there for me.
For that, I am eternally grateful.
However, last week when I was in your facility and standing in front of the pharmacy counter, I was put in a very awkward situation with my oldest daughter. Right at eye level was a plethora of adult… ahem, intimacy aides.
It looked like the Hustler store threw up on Hooterville.
So, I’m standing there with 15 people old enough to be my grandmother, humming Bridge Over Troubled Water, staring at the ceiling and sweating so profusely I think I may need to buy some maxi pads for my pits as my 11 year old is reading the label on every sexual aid product in your store.
But the one product that REALLY sparks her interest is this…
Although I’m sure Warm Lovin’ is a fantastic product, and feel free to include me on any free sample list, I do not feel comfortable purchasing this product in a display so accessible to my 11 year old.
It would be my suggestion to move said product to the feminine hygiene aisle or hemorrhoid aisle, as those are places she wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Hope you take the suggestions to heart as there are several products I’d like to try soon….like, maybe this weekend.
Your Loyal Customer,
School has been out again for inclement weather. This year has been loaded with days out of school. I think we are around eleven so far.
Snow Days are God’s funny way of weeding out the weaklings among us mothers. It’s a proven fact that there are more mental health admissions of women with children during inclement weather.
I already have my hospital bed picked out.
During the summer when the kids are home, I can send them outside and lock the door. Every now and then, I will throw them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and they can drink from the water hose.
Certain government agencies get all pissy when you do that in the winter. Something about frostbite, frozen water, child abuse and all kinds of other crap that is really a bunch of hooey. So, to stay out of jail, I keep them in the house.
After a while, I tend to get in the bed, assume the fetal position, cover my head and let the chips fall where they may. It gets to the point I can no longer break up the fights, pick up anymore bologna off the floor or fish toys out of the toilet. I simply raise the white flag and take a mental retreat to my happy place.
This is what I was doing last week when Ella decided to “brush her teeth.” And as I was drifting far away to that wonderful place of nannies and housekeepers and beach villas, I remember briefly asking myself, “What in the world could she hurt in the bathroom?”
After a few minutes I realized the house was very, very quite except for the sound of running water and I got a very sick feeling in my stomach.
I ran to the bathroom and found Ella has not only brushed her teeth but squeezed a whole tube of red toothpaste all over the bathroom…
Notice there is a pitcher and a big kitchen spoon in my bathroom? Apparently Ella thought they were necessary for proper dental hygiene.
Awwwww, children do the darnedest things.
Also note this wet roll of toilet paper. It was the LAST ROLL OF TOILET PAPER IN MY HOUSE.
It’s without saying that I totally lost my shizzola. I mean, I got the vapors and everything.If it wasn’t for divine intervention my youngest would have talked with a stutter for a long, long time.
As I write this post, it is snowing yet again. Mr. Happy Ass Needs to Be Run Over Weatherman says we are getting 4 inches. This means school will be out AGAIN for several days.
Lucky for me, I will be at Our Lady of Peace.
I lie to my kids.
Like, every other breath.
It’s become a necessary evil to make my life a little easier and because I hate being the bad guy all the time.
Why say “No” when you can come up with a creative excuse?
For instance, my kids ask to go to the Wally World every day in hope that I will buy them more useless crap to clutter my house. Ninety percent of the time I just flat out say no but the other ten percent is what I like to call Creative Solutions for Defusing Mother’s Meltdown in Commerce.
Everyone knows the superstore giant is closed only one day of the year.
However, my children are not aware of this.
Here are some excuses I have told my children as to why Wally World is closed:
1. They’re painting the walls in the toy section.
2. They’re having a mandatory in-service on their failure to open all the cash register lines.
3. It’s Sam Walton’s birthday.
4. They’re closed on all red letter holidays just like the post office.
5. The People of Walmart are taking pictures there today.
6. They’re waxing the floors.
7. Someone drove through the tire/lube department by accident.
8. The bank wasn’t open and they couldn’t get money to make change for customers.
9. One of the birds that flew around the ceiling was found dead so they have to make sure it doesn’t have bird flu.
10. Someone stole all the carts.
So far they’ve believed me because I am their mother and I am not supposed to lie.
(Cough, cough, cough.)
I’m pretty sure they’re gonna have pretty high therapy bills by the time I get them raised.