I love the Bravo channel. I mean...I Luh-uh-uh-uh-OVE the Bravo channel. The shows on there draw me in and give me something to look forward to almost every single night. It's how I keep track of the days, really. It's my calendar. Pathetic, right? I don't care. Bravo is my guilty pleasure...well, THAT and the "good chocolate" that I hide in my nightstand from the kids and the hubby.
From Top Chef to My Life on the D List, Bravo always delivers a dose of voyeuristic reality nirvana. Don't even get me started on The Real Housewives of --- series (Word Nene, Caroline rocks the NJ Mafia, and Bethanny - you are my GIRL!) I will sit for HOURS watching re-run after re-run after re-run of the Housewives, saying aloud the lines that I have memorized like one of those Stars Wars fanatics used to do back in the '70's ("I've seen it 437 times, man. I have several theories about the Dark Side. Want to come over? We can hang out in the basement and play the soundtrack and re-enact the fight scenes. BYOLS - Bring Your Own Light Saber.")
Anyway, my latest obsession is the Next Great Artist, not so much from the standpoint of enjoying great art and the process from which it comes, but from a purely comedic point of view. These guys KILL me! EVERYTHING is WAY deep and has suffocatingly heavy meaning. One of the more-hailed conceptual pieces was comprised of the artist taking a nap on a puffy, weird pillow between two concrete anuses (would two anuses be "ani"?) I can't remember what the piece was supposed to represent, but it probably had to do with Mommy-didn't-hug-me-enough or something. (Doesn't most great art come from having crappy parents?)
The absolute best part of the show, though, is when the artist is describing their art to onlookers and judges. It goes something like this (picture a very skinny, pale 20-ish guy with long bangs which he is constantly swishing to the left side so he can see, in my mind he also talks with a slow Valley-Girl-on-'ludes accent...which HE thinks makes him sound sullen and tortured...idiot):
"Uh...yeah...my piece is, like, representative of the separation of the classes in modern-day America, anti-capitalism...and society is, like, just not good and stuff...and, oh, yeah, and anti-existentialism, juxtaposed against the tyranny of, like, neo-apocalyptical greed and the beauty of pre-man Earth."
"Really, that's what you were going for?"
"Oh, yeah, dude. Can't you see it, man?"
"No. I can't. I just see a bunch of splashes and smears of paint."
"Dude......squint."
"Oh! Okay...oh, now wait a minute. I think I see a hippo wearing a Sh*t Happens t-shirt and a tutu...eating a triple-decker ice-cream cone...and standing on one foot in front of the Twin Towers?"
"Exactly."
"Uh hmmm.... Well...that certainly is an interesting piece. Tell me, how did you get that smear pattern? What kind of paint brush did you use?"
"My butt."
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Five Days of VBS
This chronicles the five days of taking my three children to Vacation Bible School. Set to "The Twelve Days of Christmas"...beginning at, say, Day 8.
The first day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Got new bill$ to donate,
15 minutes early,
Three ironed outfits,
FIIIIIVE DAYS OF FUUUUUN.......
Four home-cooked breakfasts
Three smiling faces,
Too glad to get there,
And a minivan full of glee.
The second day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Some cash and some quarters,
10 minutes early,
Fluffed clothes in the dryer,
FOOOOUR DAYS OF FUUUUUN.......
Scrambled eggs and hot toast,
Three smiling faces,
O, so glad to get there,
And a minivan full of glee.
The third day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Nickels, dimes, and quarters,
3 minutes early,
Well at least they match well,
THREEEEE DAYS OF FUUUUN......
Everyone had Pop Tarts,
Three sleepy faces,
"Geez, when will we get there?"
And I nearly drove into a tree.
The fourth day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Three nickels and a penny,
1 minute early,
"Does everyone have shoes on?"
TWOOOOO DAYS OF FUUUUUN.....
Powdered sugar doughnuts,
Three cranky faces,
"Do we REALLY have to go there?"
Crafts are piling up to our knees.
The fifth day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Pennies and a token,
Driving in on two wheels,
"Just wear your pajamas!"
LAAAAAST DAY OF FUUUUUN.......
Juice box and a vitamin,
Three resentful faces,
"Next year we're NOT coming!"
"How come the minivan smells like pee?"
The first day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Got new bill$ to donate,
15 minutes early,
Three ironed outfits,
FIIIIIVE DAYS OF FUUUUUN.......
Four home-cooked breakfasts
Three smiling faces,
Too glad to get there,
And a minivan full of glee.
The second day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Some cash and some quarters,
10 minutes early,
Fluffed clothes in the dryer,
FOOOOUR DAYS OF FUUUUUN.......
Scrambled eggs and hot toast,
Three smiling faces,
O, so glad to get there,
And a minivan full of glee.
The third day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Nickels, dimes, and quarters,
3 minutes early,
Well at least they match well,
THREEEEE DAYS OF FUUUUN......
Everyone had Pop Tarts,
Three sleepy faces,
"Geez, when will we get there?"
And I nearly drove into a tree.
The fourth day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Three nickels and a penny,
1 minute early,
"Does everyone have shoes on?"
TWOOOOO DAYS OF FUUUUUN.....
Powdered sugar doughnuts,
Three cranky faces,
"Do we REALLY have to go there?"
Crafts are piling up to our knees.
The fifth day of VBS was such a joy to me...
Pennies and a token,
Driving in on two wheels,
"Just wear your pajamas!"
LAAAAAST DAY OF FUUUUUN.......
Juice box and a vitamin,
Three resentful faces,
"Next year we're NOT coming!"
"How come the minivan smells like pee?"
Ode to a Bunny
Oh, little bunny,
How my heart hath adored,
Watching you grow,
Just out my back door.
Such a sweet, gentle creature,
With eyes wide and clear.
Such a delicate feature
Your sweet, tiny ears.
Oh, my heart hath warmed,
Watching you sprite,
Across my green lawn,
To my children's delight.
And now that you've grown,
I must say, alas,
If you keep eating my flowers,
I shall fricassee your A$$!
How my heart hath adored,
Watching you grow,
Just out my back door.
Such a sweet, gentle creature,
With eyes wide and clear.
Such a delicate feature
Your sweet, tiny ears.
Oh, my heart hath warmed,
Watching you sprite,
Across my green lawn,
To my children's delight.
And now that you've grown,
I must say, alas,
If you keep eating my flowers,
I shall fricassee your A$$!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I Don't Like Wire Hangers, Either!
Remember when Mommie Dearest came out when we were young? Everybody felt so sorry for those kids, what with the Mom screaming all the time and all those crazy demands and strapping them down in their beds at night. Remember the part where the girl wouldn't eat the rare steak and sat at the table all night long? I was so sympathic toward those poor, poor children. I remember thinking, "OMG....what a nightmare to have a mother like THAT!"
Now, as an adult and mother of three, I look back on that movie, as I stand in the kitchen, both hands covered in cake batter, phone ringing, children screaming "More juice! Change the Channel! We want Noggin! Bring us a snack! MOM CAN YOU HEAR US? MOM? MOM? MOM!!!!! IT'S BEEN A MINUTE ALREADY! WHERE'S OUR SNACK?!!!" and you know what...I'm kind of feelin' the Mom now.
Now, as an adult and mother of three, I look back on that movie, as I stand in the kitchen, both hands covered in cake batter, phone ringing, children screaming "More juice! Change the Channel! We want Noggin! Bring us a snack! MOM CAN YOU HEAR US? MOM? MOM? MOM!!!!! IT'S BEEN A MINUTE ALREADY! WHERE'S OUR SNACK?!!!" and you know what...I'm kind of feelin' the Mom now.
Monday, April 26, 2010
13 Years and Counting
So, today is my 13th wedding anniversary. Ah....I so remember the day. What fun. But I realized something this morning as Hubby and I sat together on the loveseat in the kitchen, I sipping my morning java (hair a wild mess, wearing an old nightgown and thick socks, yesterday's mascara smudged underneath my eyes), he changing the channels every 5 seconds while waiting for our daughter to get ready for school. (Okay...sidebar...WHAT is the DEAL with the CHANGING of the CHANNELS, fellas? DANG! Could you leave it on one channel long enough for the person on there to get out a complete sentence? But I digress...that's a story for another day.)
Back to the thing that I realized. I remember, being a young bride and full of self-doubt and all, that sometimes my hubby would stop the TV on, you know, some kind of Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition photo shoot with, let's face, completely hot bikini-clad girls on it, and I would kind of get the vibe that he was thinking, "Why isn't my wife like THAT chick?" Well...my how times have changed. This morning I got that VERY same vibe from him....but this time he was watching that saintly, soft-spoken, hair-always-just-so, house-always-clean, kids-never-fighting, I-just-ADORE-my-husband-ALL-the-time, I-wouldn't-say-"poop"-if-I-had-a-mouthful-of-it, baby-factory Duggar chick on "Eighteen Kids and Counting".
Back to the thing that I realized. I remember, being a young bride and full of self-doubt and all, that sometimes my hubby would stop the TV on, you know, some kind of Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition photo shoot with, let's face, completely hot bikini-clad girls on it, and I would kind of get the vibe that he was thinking, "Why isn't my wife like THAT chick?" Well...my how times have changed. This morning I got that VERY same vibe from him....but this time he was watching that saintly, soft-spoken, hair-always-just-so, house-always-clean, kids-never-fighting, I-just-ADORE-my-husband-ALL-the-time, I-wouldn't-say-"poop"-if-I-had-a-mouthful-of-it, baby-factory Duggar chick on "Eighteen Kids and Counting".
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Next Time Just Say, "The World Isn't Fair. Get Over It!"
I've always prided myself on being more one of those "glass half full" types and I'm hoping that my children grow up to be the same way. Any time one of them sees something as unfair or not right or sees that someone else has it easier than they do, I always try to take the opportunity to get them to look at things from a different perspective. This, of course, means, that I feel the need to over-explain everything to them in the most complete detail to the point that even the 4 yr. old will say, "Mom, just stop talking."
This is when you know that you've lost your mind and taken it TOO far:
A few days ago, my 11-year old and I were in the car together and she picked up the baby's Strawberry Shortcake coloring book. "I gotta give it to Strawberry Shortcake. That girl always has the cutest outfits."
"Yes," I said, "they certainly are different than the ones she wore when I was younger." (If you don't know, long gone are the puffy flower dresses of days gone by. Strawberry Shortcake has WAY cool outfits now...complete with the occasional ripped jeans and belly-button baring half-shirt. Great role model for my toddler.)(No, I didn't buy the coloring book.)
"Yeah. I wish I was Strawberry Shortcake. She doesn't have to go to school."
So then I said, completely seriously, "Well, sweetie, I'm sure she goes to school. Everybody has to go to school."
"No, Mom, she doesn't. They never show her in school, just out having adventures with her friends."
(And here is EXACTLY the point where I became a complete idiot.) "Well, honey, I'm sure she goes to school. They wouldn't show her in school on the cartoons because, well, who would want to watch a cartoon about a kid at school? I'm sure that, in real life, she goes to school."
'Real life' I said. 'Real life'....in a conversation....about Strawberry Shortcake. O....m....g.
This is when you know that you've lost your mind and taken it TOO far:
A few days ago, my 11-year old and I were in the car together and she picked up the baby's Strawberry Shortcake coloring book. "I gotta give it to Strawberry Shortcake. That girl always has the cutest outfits."
"Yes," I said, "they certainly are different than the ones she wore when I was younger." (If you don't know, long gone are the puffy flower dresses of days gone by. Strawberry Shortcake has WAY cool outfits now...complete with the occasional ripped jeans and belly-button baring half-shirt. Great role model for my toddler.)(No, I didn't buy the coloring book.)
"Yeah. I wish I was Strawberry Shortcake. She doesn't have to go to school."
So then I said, completely seriously, "Well, sweetie, I'm sure she goes to school. Everybody has to go to school."
"No, Mom, she doesn't. They never show her in school, just out having adventures with her friends."
(And here is EXACTLY the point where I became a complete idiot.) "Well, honey, I'm sure she goes to school. They wouldn't show her in school on the cartoons because, well, who would want to watch a cartoon about a kid at school? I'm sure that, in real life, she goes to school."
'Real life' I said. 'Real life'....in a conversation....about Strawberry Shortcake. O....m....g.
Monday, April 12, 2010
WTForty?
April 16, 2010
It's a sad day when, thanks to the preteen living in your house, you realize that 'losing your cool' no longer refers to losing your temper. You're losing your cool...and no matter how much you insert "totally" or "like" or "something'-zzle'" into a conversation, your kid will still look at you like you are pathetically behind the times. My eleven-year-old told me the other day, "Mom...you're so hard to talk to. You just don't understand this world." What? Oh, no she DIDN'T (snap my fingers three times in a Z-formation)! Well please enlighten me, Miss I'm-11-And-I've-Had-Everything-Done-For-Me-My-Entire-Life, please, please, please enlighten me as to what exactly I don't UNDERSTAND about this world, which, by the way WASN'T EVEN COOL UNTIL I GOT HERE!
I may NOT know all the new songs on the radio, I may NOT recognize some of the young starlets in Hollywood, I may NOT understand the new Middle School politics, I may NOT be used to hearing kids say "sucks, frickin', or screwed", I may NOT be able to abide bad manners, I may NOT be able to eat pizza after 7:00, I may NOT be able to read fine print, I may NOT be able get off of the floor easily, I may NOT be still be able to stay awake until Saturday Night Live comes on, but I'm STILL coo-...oh crap...wait a minute...
April 12, 2010
Thank you, hyste-WRECK-to-me, for throwing me headlong into MENOPAUSE!!! I want to send a Shout-Out (Holla!), though, to all those geniuses that came up with Premarin. Less than a week on it and already the hot flashes and night sweats are over! YES! SCORE! And, as an additional bonus, my tweezers will get to go back into the drawer in the bathroom instead of being at my beck and call beside the mirror over the sink for any time the light is good in the bathroom. His and Hers pillow cases...sexy. His and Hers luxuriously soft bathrobes...sexy. His and Hers shaving kits on the bathroom counter...not so much.
It's a sad day when, thanks to the preteen living in your house, you realize that 'losing your cool' no longer refers to losing your temper. You're losing your cool...and no matter how much you insert "totally" or "like" or "something'-zzle'" into a conversation, your kid will still look at you like you are pathetically behind the times. My eleven-year-old told me the other day, "Mom...you're so hard to talk to. You just don't understand this world." What? Oh, no she DIDN'T (snap my fingers three times in a Z-formation)! Well please enlighten me, Miss I'm-11-And-I've-Had-Everything-Done-For-Me-My-Entire-Life, please, please, please enlighten me as to what exactly I don't UNDERSTAND about this world, which, by the way WASN'T EVEN COOL UNTIL I GOT HERE!
I may NOT know all the new songs on the radio, I may NOT recognize some of the young starlets in Hollywood, I may NOT understand the new Middle School politics, I may NOT be used to hearing kids say "sucks, frickin', or screwed", I may NOT be able to abide bad manners, I may NOT be able to eat pizza after 7:00, I may NOT be able to read fine print, I may NOT be able get off of the floor easily, I may NOT be still be able to stay awake until Saturday Night Live comes on, but I'm STILL coo-...oh crap...wait a minute...
April 12, 2010
Thank you, hyste-WRECK-to-me, for throwing me headlong into MENOPAUSE!!! I want to send a Shout-Out (Holla!), though, to all those geniuses that came up with Premarin. Less than a week on it and already the hot flashes and night sweats are over! YES! SCORE! And, as an additional bonus, my tweezers will get to go back into the drawer in the bathroom instead of being at my beck and call beside the mirror over the sink for any time the light is good in the bathroom. His and Hers pillow cases...sexy. His and Hers luxuriously soft bathrobes...sexy. His and Hers shaving kits on the bathroom counter...not so much.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Fish Food
My kids have been bugging me fuh-evuh about getting a pet. I'm not really pet-friendly, so much poo and hair and cleaning and weird smells and food and sometimes they get expensive...I mean...I own a boy...is that not "pet" enough? Anyhow, I was cleaning the garage the other day and came across my Big Girl's old fishtank. Um...hello...I am so totally about to become Mother of the Year. Excuse me while I squint...I'm blinded by the lightbulb above my noggin. I have the tank, here are the rocks, I have the filter, and Sweet Lord in heaven I just found some filter cartridges! All I need to add is fish (and I'm thinking "of the Feeder variety") so what I am looking at? Ten cents a piece? Five fish (one representative for each family member). Total investment: $.15. Okay and a couple of bucks for fish food. Total investment for complete and utter adoration from my children: $2.50. I am a genius.
I call in The Boy and The Princess, "Hey guys....guess what? What do you think about (stretch out the anticipation).....going to the store (wait for it...wait for it)....and buying.... (smile and nod and wait for their little hearts to burst forth with happiness) some PET FISH! At this point, they completely lose their sh-tuff, jumping up and down, screaming, hugging each other, hugging me...utter delirium.
I show them the tank in the garage and they follow me into the kitchen to clean it out. They marvel at the little mermaid and the ceramic treasure chest and delight when I explain to them about the bubble wand and how the pump pushes the air...wait, where's the pump? Pump? Ugh...pump. Okay...so what's that gonna be a few more bucks? Mother of the Year status: $5.50? Still a good deal.
We get the tank set up, bubble wand on the counter waiting for said pump, and we pack up to go to the store, the thrill of pending pet ownership still buzzing in their little brains.
We drive to the store, I won't name it...let's call it PetStupid...to pick out our new found friends. I take the kids by the hand and we head toward to fish department. I, of course, head straight for the Feeder Fish goldfish tank because I am well aware that, as you go down the line, the fish get more fabulous and more expensive. Hmm...Feeder Fish are $.13 apiece, not $.10. Okay: $5.65. Still worth it. A sales associate, a lovely young girl, comes over as asks if we need assistance. "Yes, ma'am," I say. "We are getting pet fish!" squeals The Boy. "Yeah, fishes!" The Princess blurts.
"Aw, that's so sweet. How many would you like?" ask the associate.
"Five," I answer.
"Wow, okay, five? How big is your tank?" Her brows furrow with concern.
"Five gallons."
"Oh...see...I'm thinking you probably don't want to get more than two for a tank that size." (Okay...do you see where this is going?)
"I'm sorry?" I question.
"Yeah....see (and she says "see" for a really long time) they are going to get bigger and then they will outgrow the tank and that will be a problem (pronounced "praaaaahbleeeeem")."
"Okay....wait a minute...so what you (darling girl) are telling me is that you think (which I didn't ask you to do...catch fish...don't think) that these fish will suffer a crueler fate in a fish tank at my house with approximately one gallon each of free roaming fun through a squiggling wall of bubbles and fairly hot mermaid chick as their neighbor than what have in store for them if they stay here? Seriously, you're kidding right? I mean, am I crazy, you've got, like, a thousand of them in a 20 gallon tank, banging into each other, just waiting for sweet freedom, only to find out that, as soon as they get their new digs, they're gonna be big fish food?" (*Sigh*...and then I got the giggles. I was trying not to laugh AT her...but I was totalling laughing AT her. I mean, really, how stupid IS that? THEY ARE FEEDER FISH!)
Anyhow, she conceded, picked out five fish (yes...she PICKED out five fish. We stood there, like, five minutes watching her chase SPECIFIC fish around the tank! I was, like, "Honey, just dip the net and dump five in the bag already!) Then she explained, "I'm picking out the smallest ones so they'll last longer." Am I crazy, or this chick really this concerned about the living conditions of these goldfish? She actually looked a little forlorn as she handed over the plastic bag o'fish for me to take home. Gotta give it to those folks at PetStupid...they REALLY do love pets. I should have gotten her number so I could call later and let her know they made it home safe and sound.
Anyway, I'm thinking I won't be finding out if she was right or I was about them outgrowing their home. I've got a feeling these fish are gonna be short-timers. About ten minutes after I put them in their new abode, I walked out of the room while the little kid's were still marveling at them, only to return a few minutes later to find a whole Cheeze Doodle floating in the top of the tank.
I call in The Boy and The Princess, "Hey guys....guess what? What do you think about (stretch out the anticipation).....going to the store (wait for it...wait for it)....and buying.... (smile and nod and wait for their little hearts to burst forth with happiness) some PET FISH! At this point, they completely lose their sh-tuff, jumping up and down, screaming, hugging each other, hugging me...utter delirium.
I show them the tank in the garage and they follow me into the kitchen to clean it out. They marvel at the little mermaid and the ceramic treasure chest and delight when I explain to them about the bubble wand and how the pump pushes the air...wait, where's the pump? Pump? Ugh...pump. Okay...so what's that gonna be a few more bucks? Mother of the Year status: $5.50? Still a good deal.
We get the tank set up, bubble wand on the counter waiting for said pump, and we pack up to go to the store, the thrill of pending pet ownership still buzzing in their little brains.
We drive to the store, I won't name it...let's call it PetStupid...to pick out our new found friends. I take the kids by the hand and we head toward to fish department. I, of course, head straight for the Feeder Fish goldfish tank because I am well aware that, as you go down the line, the fish get more fabulous and more expensive. Hmm...Feeder Fish are $.13 apiece, not $.10. Okay: $5.65. Still worth it. A sales associate, a lovely young girl, comes over as asks if we need assistance. "Yes, ma'am," I say. "We are getting pet fish!" squeals The Boy. "Yeah, fishes!" The Princess blurts.
"Aw, that's so sweet. How many would you like?" ask the associate.
"Five," I answer.
"Wow, okay, five? How big is your tank?" Her brows furrow with concern.
"Five gallons."
"Oh...see...I'm thinking you probably don't want to get more than two for a tank that size." (Okay...do you see where this is going?)
"I'm sorry?" I question.
"Yeah....see (and she says "see" for a really long time) they are going to get bigger and then they will outgrow the tank and that will be a problem (pronounced "praaaaahbleeeeem")."
"Okay....wait a minute...so what you (darling girl) are telling me is that you think (which I didn't ask you to do...catch fish...don't think) that these fish will suffer a crueler fate in a fish tank at my house with approximately one gallon each of free roaming fun through a squiggling wall of bubbles and fairly hot mermaid chick as their neighbor than what have in store for them if they stay here? Seriously, you're kidding right? I mean, am I crazy, you've got, like, a thousand of them in a 20 gallon tank, banging into each other, just waiting for sweet freedom, only to find out that, as soon as they get their new digs, they're gonna be big fish food?" (*Sigh*...and then I got the giggles. I was trying not to laugh AT her...but I was totalling laughing AT her. I mean, really, how stupid IS that? THEY ARE FEEDER FISH!)
Anyhow, she conceded, picked out five fish (yes...she PICKED out five fish. We stood there, like, five minutes watching her chase SPECIFIC fish around the tank! I was, like, "Honey, just dip the net and dump five in the bag already!) Then she explained, "I'm picking out the smallest ones so they'll last longer." Am I crazy, or this chick really this concerned about the living conditions of these goldfish? She actually looked a little forlorn as she handed over the plastic bag o'fish for me to take home. Gotta give it to those folks at PetStupid...they REALLY do love pets. I should have gotten her number so I could call later and let her know they made it home safe and sound.
Anyway, I'm thinking I won't be finding out if she was right or I was about them outgrowing their home. I've got a feeling these fish are gonna be short-timers. About ten minutes after I put them in their new abode, I walked out of the room while the little kid's were still marveling at them, only to return a few minutes later to find a whole Cheeze Doodle floating in the top of the tank.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Dear Sarah
Dear Sarah,
I was in the shower just now and started thinking about your wedding cake cupcakes and how I said "invite me to the frosting party" instead of doing them all myself because I hate cupcakes. I don't know why I thought about them in the shower. Maybe it was the shave gel I was using. It smelled really sweet and then puffed up into a white frosting-looking blob. I think it was called Alluring Avacado...which made me think of your lemon cupcakes with green-tea frosting deal. Huh...that's really weird that they would use a food for shave gel....because nothing says "yuck" like food and hair. Oh, wait a minute...maybe they were appealing to the avacado as more "spa treatment" and less "ingredient". Hmmmm....wait...where were we? Holy, tangent. Oh....cupcakes, right.
So, I'm thinking that if you get the girls together for a "frosting party" like we talked about, there is going to be, at some point, alcohol involved. Again, let's face it, nothing says "cake" like a shot of Citron. Wait...that might just be me. Tangent! Anyhoo, as the night goes on those little cupcakes of your are probably going to start lookin' a hot mess! I'm sending you this pic of a cake I made for a little girl that wanted "a blue cake with a purple flower on it". I don't know what your colors are, but I can just imagine two or three rows of white or palest yellow petals (I'm trying for pale-est, but "palest" doesn't look right...hmm. Isn't it funny how sometimes when you spell out a word and it doesn't look right? I actually spellchecked "of" one time. I typed the "o" and the "f", but then I kept thinking there MUST be a "v". It just looked off to me...oh, now that's funny...'cause I said "off" and "of" is just one letter away from...Good God from Greensboro that pot of coffee is doing me NO favors this morning!) with a tiny, palest...um, very pale...chartreuse center. You could even do a few different color cominations...whatev. So, call me soon and let me know if you're still interested in hiring out the cupcakes. If you need me to do them, I'm in! Gonna go to the kitchen now. All this talk has me hungry for avacados and cake...and Citron. I know, I know...it's only 9:00 am, but it's cool, my kid doesn't have school today. Wait...it might only be 8:00 am. I'm not sure if I changed this clock forward yet. Like it matters.Saturday, January 16, 2010
Ah...The Power of The Easy Listening Rock Station
Isn't it funny how, as an adult, you hear songs from your youth and you finally understand what the singer is singing? Lo, these many years I have thought that Kenny Roger's wife left him with "four hundred children and a crop in the field". I remember as a child thinking, "Run, Lucille, run!" I've also come to realize that Steve Miller wasn't singing "Big Ol' Jed had a light on" and nobody was EVER "blinded by the light...wrapped up like a douche, another runner in the night."
Friday, January 15, 2010
City Girls Just Seem To Find Out Early...
A friend of mine was just posting the lyrics to "Your Lyin' Eyes" by the Eagles on her Facebook page...and it got me to thinking. You know, that whole "City girls just seem to find out early, how to open doors with just a smile" line used to give me a complex. What was I, about 7 when that song came out? Well, and I swear to God I did this, I used to sit on the bed and smile at my doorknob to see if I could make it open. And then I remember being REALLY upset that we lived in the country...because I couldn't do it and the CITY girls were learning how! Frickin' city girls...they get ALL the advantages! "Maybe I'm just not pretty enough" I remember saying to myself...at age 7...already with a complex...about not being pretty enough...nor telekinetic. Frickin' Eagles! And these guys had the balls to charge $150+ per ticket a few years ago. Sh*t, I paid more than that in therapy! I AM PRETTY ENOUGH GLEN FRYE AND DON HENLEY! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU JACKHOLES? I AM PRETTY ENOUGH!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Hell Hath No Fury Like A Toddler Scorned
It's a gorgeous, Carolina blue-sky day and I'm finally getting around to spring cleaning because, you know, it's October. I was cleaning windows on the front porch while The Boy and The Princess were riding bikes. She kept getting mad because he kept winning the race up the driveway. (It's only a race if he's in front already or it has been predetermined that he shall be the victor. Every time they get to the end of the driveway, he turns quick and starts heading back toward the house screaming, "I win! I win!" This reduces The Princess to a screaming puddle of girl standing in the middle of the driveway beside the crumpled bike that she has slammed to the ground.)
She ran up the steps, stepped inside the front door and yelled, "Mom...and you help me wock dis door!"
"Why Princess?
"'Cause I want wock Brother out!"
"Princess, you can't lock your brother out."
"FINE! Den I go up my woom!"
"Baby, that's not a nice thing to do."
"FINE! Den I hate you!" Stomp, stomp, ...stomp, stomp, ...stomp, stomp. (Stomping up the stairs is a painfully long process when you're three and you have to land both feet on every step before you go up to the next one. By the time she gets about half way up, you're over the shock of the stubborn, screaming toddler and you have to turn away to not laugh at her.)
"Baby Girl! That is a terrible thing to say!"
Stomp, stomp...stomp, stomp...SLAM!
O......M......G.
Yeah, she's cute now. But one day this is going to be the one that shows up with the long-haired boyfriend and takes the hubby and I out with a .38 for insurance money. Remember that I said this.
She ran up the steps, stepped inside the front door and yelled, "Mom...and you help me wock dis door!"
"Why Princess?
"'Cause I want wock Brother out!"
"Princess, you can't lock your brother out."
"FINE! Den I go up my woom!"
"Baby, that's not a nice thing to do."
"FINE! Den I hate you!" Stomp, stomp, ...stomp, stomp, ...stomp, stomp. (Stomping up the stairs is a painfully long process when you're three and you have to land both feet on every step before you go up to the next one. By the time she gets about half way up, you're over the shock of the stubborn, screaming toddler and you have to turn away to not laugh at her.)
"Baby Girl! That is a terrible thing to say!"
Stomp, stomp...stomp, stomp...SLAM!
O......M......G.
Yeah, she's cute now. But one day this is going to be the one that shows up with the long-haired boyfriend and takes the hubby and I out with a .38 for insurance money. Remember that I said this.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I'm Gonna Miss Stupid...
"Stupid is as stupid does." - Forrest Gump
stu-pid adj. 1. In a stupor; stupefied. 2. Slow to apprehend; dull; obtuse. 3. Showing a lack of sense or intelligence. 4. Uninteresting; trite or dull. -n Informal. A stupid person. - The American Heritage Dictionary
When exactly did "stupid" become the latest in a long list of words we can no longer use? Certainly, some words should have gone away long before they did...the "n-word", "colored", "retarded"(oh, I miss "retarded"), "faggot", etc....but "stupid"? What was the cataclysmic event that happened to cause all the hatred toward "stupid"? These other words indeed are derogatory toward certain groups of people that refer to something that they can't change about themselves...color, sexual orientation, mental handicaps....but, really..."stupid'? Honey...that's a whole other group of people altogether!
If nothing happens because of stupidity then we have to find a "real reason" behind doing stupid things. Everything has to have a meaning, an excuse, a cause and effect... I hate to break it to you....but sometimes "stupid" IS the reason.
"Johnny broke his arm because he tried to skateboard off the roof into the swimming pool."
"Why in the world would he do a thing like that?"
"Because....he's stu-....wait....because he was acting out against tyranny and oppression, the stress of eighth grade math, the-the-the destruction of the rain forests, arctic ice caps are melting, um...Daddy doesn't hug him enough, uh.....uh....and did you know that jellyfish are taking over the oceans?!!!"
Exhausting. Geez, wouldn't it be easier to just go straight to "stupid"?
And in case you haven't seen this, nothing gets a Mom up in arms like one kid calling another "stupid". Recently I witnessed the following:
"Dude...that was so stupid!"
"Johnny...you know we don't use THAT word in OUR house!"
"But, Mom...."
"Absolutely NOT, Johnny........"
Okay, now wait a minute. Wasn't that same little brat just screaming at his mom to buy him a "new frickin' Nintendo" five minutes ago? "Frickin'"....and "stupid" was the thing that put her over the edge.
Isn't it so funny that we get all caught up in the new Mom rules of the day that we forget common sense. So busy trying to measure up the new PC standards that we can't even see the stupid forest for the stupid trees?
"Stupid" is a great word. It's useful, succinct, and, usually, pretty accurate. I'm holding on to you "stupid"! I'll fight the "stupid" fight!!!
stu-pid adj. 1. In a stupor; stupefied. 2. Slow to apprehend; dull; obtuse. 3. Showing a lack of sense or intelligence. 4. Uninteresting; trite or dull. -n Informal. A stupid person. - The American Heritage Dictionary
When exactly did "stupid" become the latest in a long list of words we can no longer use? Certainly, some words should have gone away long before they did...the "n-word", "colored", "retarded"(oh, I miss "retarded"), "faggot", etc....but "stupid"? What was the cataclysmic event that happened to cause all the hatred toward "stupid"? These other words indeed are derogatory toward certain groups of people that refer to something that they can't change about themselves...color, sexual orientation, mental handicaps....but, really..."stupid'? Honey...that's a whole other group of people altogether!
If nothing happens because of stupidity then we have to find a "real reason" behind doing stupid things. Everything has to have a meaning, an excuse, a cause and effect... I hate to break it to you....but sometimes "stupid" IS the reason.
"Johnny broke his arm because he tried to skateboard off the roof into the swimming pool."
"Why in the world would he do a thing like that?"
"Because....he's stu-....wait....because he was acting out against tyranny and oppression, the stress of eighth grade math, the-the-the destruction of the rain forests, arctic ice caps are melting, um...Daddy doesn't hug him enough, uh.....uh....and did you know that jellyfish are taking over the oceans?!!!"
Exhausting. Geez, wouldn't it be easier to just go straight to "stupid"?
And in case you haven't seen this, nothing gets a Mom up in arms like one kid calling another "stupid". Recently I witnessed the following:
"Dude...that was so stupid!"
"Johnny...you know we don't use THAT word in OUR house!"
"But, Mom...."
"Absolutely NOT, Johnny........"
Okay, now wait a minute. Wasn't that same little brat just screaming at his mom to buy him a "new frickin' Nintendo" five minutes ago? "Frickin'"....and "stupid" was the thing that put her over the edge.
Isn't it so funny that we get all caught up in the new Mom rules of the day that we forget common sense. So busy trying to measure up the new PC standards that we can't even see the stupid forest for the stupid trees?
"Stupid" is a great word. It's useful, succinct, and, usually, pretty accurate. I'm holding on to you "stupid"! I'll fight the "stupid" fight!!!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Not Quite The Circle of Life
I was sitting at breakfast with The Boy this morning, enjoying a little "boy & Mommy time", which we seldom get to have. As we were enjoying our grilled cheeses, he said to me, "Mom, and you know what I dreamed 'bout this night?"
"What, little buddy?" (Oh, he's sharing a little picture into his soul...what a moment! The house is quiet and it's just my baby boy and me. Oh...this is sooo "Hallmarky".)
"Well, you 'member we watched that show the other (pronounced "udder") day and there was that jaguar chasing that baby reindeer (a baby antelope, but at my house anything with four legs and the possibility of having horns is called a reindeer)?"
"Yeah, little man, I remember that."
"Well, I dreamed last night that I was standing in front and I caught that little baby reindeer." (Ahhh, a hero in the making! What a kind, loving heart he has already. Taking on a jaguar! He's going to be such a lovely grown man...considerate, gentle, with a touch of heroic when necessary. I'm quite amazed at myself for molding this little creature into the kind of man he'll become. I wasn't raised around boys so I was nervous I wouldn't be able to pull it off, ya know? I chuckle and shake my head at doubting myself. I'm actually getting a little teary just thinking about it. I've got to set this grilled cheese down so that when he finishes this tale I can scoop him up and cover him with kisses. What an angel! A blond haired, blue-eyed angel!)
"Son, you caught that little baby reindeer? I'm so proud of you! You rescued that poor, tiny thing and saved it from that big, bad jaguar?"
"No, Mom. I let him eat it."
"What, little buddy?" (Oh, he's sharing a little picture into his soul...what a moment! The house is quiet and it's just my baby boy and me. Oh...this is sooo "Hallmarky".)
"Well, you 'member we watched that show the other (pronounced "udder") day and there was that jaguar chasing that baby reindeer (a baby antelope, but at my house anything with four legs and the possibility of having horns is called a reindeer)?"
"Yeah, little man, I remember that."
"Well, I dreamed last night that I was standing in front and I caught that little baby reindeer." (Ahhh, a hero in the making! What a kind, loving heart he has already. Taking on a jaguar! He's going to be such a lovely grown man...considerate, gentle, with a touch of heroic when necessary. I'm quite amazed at myself for molding this little creature into the kind of man he'll become. I wasn't raised around boys so I was nervous I wouldn't be able to pull it off, ya know? I chuckle and shake my head at doubting myself. I'm actually getting a little teary just thinking about it. I've got to set this grilled cheese down so that when he finishes this tale I can scoop him up and cover him with kisses. What an angel! A blond haired, blue-eyed angel!)
"Son, you caught that little baby reindeer? I'm so proud of you! You rescued that poor, tiny thing and saved it from that big, bad jaguar?"
"No, Mom. I let him eat it."
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Pestilence, Contamination, and Water Bugs...Oh, My
Funny, a rose by any other name would smell the same...but if you find a cockroach in YOUR house it's called a "water bug"!
Not too long after we moved into the new house, I opened the kitchen cabinet where I keep the kids' cups one morning and, lo and behold, what should be up on the top shelf...a ginormous, disgusting, creep-crawly "water bug"! Holy...total...contamination. Great. Now I'm going to have to bleach everything in the cabinet. You caught the whole "kid's cups" part, right? Water bottles, sippy cups and ALL those little pieces. What the hell? I've NEVER had a "water bug" in my house! I'm completely freakish about cleanliness in the kitchen. How could this have happened? OMG - I want to gut the whole kitchen and build a new one! After a few seconds of repulsive dry heaving, I knew I had to get up there and get the thing. Top shelf, mind you, so I had to get a chair. No one else was up yet, so it was up to me to handle the situation. I quietly dragged a chair over to the counter, yanked off one of my wedge-heeled flip flops, and slowly approached the thing, which was haphazardly perched atop a plastic water bottle. Ew! Didn't like that bottle anyway.
Anyhow, I carefully, timidly, silently came up behind the thing, lifting up my flip flop in my right hand like a sword ready to strike...preparing myself for the disgusting crunch sound of the kill...and so help me God, that thing FLEW off the cup and HIT me in my LIP nearly knocking me and my one flip flop off the chair and onto the floor! Holy, holy, holy complete and total contamination!!! I'M GOING TO HAVE TO BLEACH MY UPPER LIP! Um...for the FIRST TIME!
It flew (Yes...FLEW! They FLY! Gross factor just got multiplied by 10,000.) across the kitchen and landed, of course, on the top of the cabinet on the other side of the island. I grabbed a paper towel and a bottle of 409 and scoured my face, all the while keeping an eye on my "friend" on the other side of the room. Oh, it is SO on! You came into the WRONG house, buddy! After three attempts, nearly spraining my ankle, knocking stuff off the counters, and hobbling around the room with the chair(one flip flop still on and one in hand) I finally caught up with that damn thing and nearly gagged when I squashed it beneath my shoe. Oh *shiver* that is SO gross! (I failed to mention the part about when all the racket woke the kids up and they came downstairs and said, "Mommy, don't kill it. Catch it and put it outside." Oh, go hug a tree you little hippies. This is war...and war is ugly! Grab a PopTart and go find a cartoon or something. Put it outside...geesh...)
As soon as it was over and I reclaimed the kitchen as MY domain, I grabbed the phone book and called the exterminator. "I don't care what it costs...get here now! I HAVE A SITUATION!" I've heard that if you see one bug, there are a hundred. I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for them to start dive bombing me from every direction, seeking revenge for their fallen comrade. I had my flip flop. I was ready.
David the Bug Man, my new best friend, arrived and went all around the house, inside and out, up and down, and assured me this bug was a lone ranger. He also said that most people don't know this, but it is very common for cockroaches, I mean...um..."water bugs", to come into your home at night, scurry around, and leave out the same place they came in before dawn. Oh yeah...and EVERYBODY has them.
So sleep well my friends. Rest peacefully thinking that your house is quiet, clean, and "water bug"-free. But, apparently, no matter how completely OCD you are about cleanliness, cockroaches are up all night and they are probably doing a conga line down your kitchen counter.
Night, night. Don't let the "water bugs" bite.
Not too long after we moved into the new house, I opened the kitchen cabinet where I keep the kids' cups one morning and, lo and behold, what should be up on the top shelf...a ginormous, disgusting, creep-crawly "water bug"! Holy...total...contamination. Great. Now I'm going to have to bleach everything in the cabinet. You caught the whole "kid's cups" part, right? Water bottles, sippy cups and ALL those little pieces. What the hell? I've NEVER had a "water bug" in my house! I'm completely freakish about cleanliness in the kitchen. How could this have happened? OMG - I want to gut the whole kitchen and build a new one! After a few seconds of repulsive dry heaving, I knew I had to get up there and get the thing. Top shelf, mind you, so I had to get a chair. No one else was up yet, so it was up to me to handle the situation. I quietly dragged a chair over to the counter, yanked off one of my wedge-heeled flip flops, and slowly approached the thing, which was haphazardly perched atop a plastic water bottle. Ew! Didn't like that bottle anyway.
Anyhow, I carefully, timidly, silently came up behind the thing, lifting up my flip flop in my right hand like a sword ready to strike...preparing myself for the disgusting crunch sound of the kill...and so help me God, that thing FLEW off the cup and HIT me in my LIP nearly knocking me and my one flip flop off the chair and onto the floor! Holy, holy, holy complete and total contamination!!! I'M GOING TO HAVE TO BLEACH MY UPPER LIP! Um...for the FIRST TIME!
It flew (Yes...FLEW! They FLY! Gross factor just got multiplied by 10,000.) across the kitchen and landed, of course, on the top of the cabinet on the other side of the island. I grabbed a paper towel and a bottle of 409 and scoured my face, all the while keeping an eye on my "friend" on the other side of the room. Oh, it is SO on! You came into the WRONG house, buddy! After three attempts, nearly spraining my ankle, knocking stuff off the counters, and hobbling around the room with the chair(one flip flop still on and one in hand) I finally caught up with that damn thing and nearly gagged when I squashed it beneath my shoe. Oh *shiver* that is SO gross! (I failed to mention the part about when all the racket woke the kids up and they came downstairs and said, "Mommy, don't kill it. Catch it and put it outside." Oh, go hug a tree you little hippies. This is war...and war is ugly! Grab a PopTart and go find a cartoon or something. Put it outside...geesh...)
As soon as it was over and I reclaimed the kitchen as MY domain, I grabbed the phone book and called the exterminator. "I don't care what it costs...get here now! I HAVE A SITUATION!" I've heard that if you see one bug, there are a hundred. I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for them to start dive bombing me from every direction, seeking revenge for their fallen comrade. I had my flip flop. I was ready.
David the Bug Man, my new best friend, arrived and went all around the house, inside and out, up and down, and assured me this bug was a lone ranger. He also said that most people don't know this, but it is very common for cockroaches, I mean...um..."water bugs", to come into your home at night, scurry around, and leave out the same place they came in before dawn. Oh yeah...and EVERYBODY has them.
So sleep well my friends. Rest peacefully thinking that your house is quiet, clean, and "water bug"-free. But, apparently, no matter how completely OCD you are about cleanliness, cockroaches are up all night and they are probably doing a conga line down your kitchen counter.
Night, night. Don't let the "water bugs" bite.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
How Y'alls Guys Doin'?
Northerners listen up. I'm just going to say this one time. People that are born and bred in the south NEVER refer to one lone person as "y'all". "Y'all" is plural. It's not that we mind you mimicking the talk when you are down here visiting. We know. It IS cute and it IS fun to talk this way. But when you refer to one person as "y'all", it's as wrong as Renee Zellweger's accent in "Bridget Jones' Diary" and you ain't foolin' nobody, sugar. It'd be like if one of us headed up north, walked up to you in a deli and said, "How y'alls guys doin'?"
Sunday, August 9, 2009
You Might Be A Redneck...
If you've ever ordered a cake in the shape of a pound of bacon for your best friend's 40th birthday...you might be a redneck.
Add this cake to the many reasons why I love living in the South. Not too many folks up North would order up a bacon birthday cake.
No, it wasn't bacon flavored, but I wonder....
Monday, August 3, 2009
Hope It's Not Lost In Translation
This is how they REALLY say them...and they correct me if I say them the "right" way.
God is great. God is good.
Lettuce thank 'em for our food.
By his hands, we are Fred.
Give us, Lord, our daily bread.
Amen.
Now I weigh me down a sweep,
I pray da wormie soul a keep.
And if I die before I wake,
I pray da wormie soul a cake.
Amen.
God is great. God is good.Lettuce thank 'em for our food.
By his hands, we are Fred.
Give us, Lord, our daily bread.
Amen.
Now I weigh me down a sweep,
I pray da wormie soul a keep.
And if I die before I wake,
I pray da wormie soul a cake.
Amen.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Are You There God? It's Me, Xanax.
(Mommy Disclaimer: My Big Girl is getting her feelings hurt because, to date, I have mostly just published posts about the two little ones. I explained to her that this is because I pretty much only post things that will later be completely embarrassing to them and they will probably hate me for it. She's all about the drama and, therefore, any press is good press. I write the following with her permission...and she chose the picture, too.)Since My Big Girl is about to turn 11, I pretty much stay in a nervous Aunt Flow mode waiting for her "Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret" moment to arrive. (Boys, you're not going to get the reference unless you've spent at least some portion of your life as a fifth grade girl.) Every time she yells from the bathroom, I run at break-neck speed across the house only to find, to my relief, that she just forgot to get a towel before she got in the shower or something to that effect. I'm really dreading the day. Such unfortunate business and I hate for her to have to deal with it. (I have Yankee family members that practically throw a party for the lucky girl when she starts her "lady's days" and then they go on and on to her about how "wonderful it is" and "you're a woman now." Are you people serious?)
My Big Girl has picked up on my fear and is now starting to toy with me. She ran into the office the other day in a panic and screamed, "Mom! Mom! I started my period!"
I nearly jumped out of my chair, "What? What? What!"
"Just kidding," she smiled. "Can I have some ice cream?"
Sigh. Fan myself. "It's in the freezer."
Takes One To Know One
To maintain my good standing with all my Johnston County friends referred to in "You Say Tomato.....", here is a picture of my kids' very own Redneck Water Slide.
I said I had Rednecks in my family, too. I just didn't tell you that I was one of 'em.
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