Why did God make me so undertall? If I were taller then my weight would be fine. But I am a short, and I must suffer. Who said losing weight would make you feel better? I feel like shit--I have a constant headache from caffeine deprivation, my stomach is rumbling one hour after I eat, and I am peeing constanly from all this fucking water!!
Why does everything healthy taste like complete crap. I have to choke down my lovely salad with fat-free dressing and my chicken breast with no condiments. Dammit!! And why do all fat-free dressings taste like I am drinking the blood of a three-toed sloth?!
And my family doesn't help either. The kids are driving me crazy with their constant whining--"Mommy, we want breakfast. We want lunch. Are you going to feed us, Mommy?" Why can't they just give it a rest?! And naturally Alan has to piss me off too saying things like, "Honey, I know it's hard, but you'll get through it. You can do it." Instead of being so damn supportive, what would really help me is if he would get his bitch ass in the kitchen and make me a very large fricking cheeseburger. OK?! Do you understand? I am suffering here.
In fact all of you out there eating whatever you want, with your chewing and swallowing, you can all kiss my ass. And do not let me see any skinny ass size 2 bitches today or I will sit on them and break them straight in two. What have I done to deserve this, God?!
Diet day one complete.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The South Park Diet
Well, I got the letter last week. My 20th high school reunion is coming up at the end of June. So that means I only have about 3 months to lose weight. I need to lose 30 pounds but I will settle for 20. My friend said "Oh, don't worry, everyone will be in the same boat as you. Most of them will look just like you." I told her that I want to look better than they do. I want them to think I am more fabulous than I used to be.
I have a great life and I want my body to reflect that too. I know it's unfair but people do judge you on how you look. Even though I have a great husband, wonderful kids, a supportive family, a house and neighborhood I love, and a job I love, I know people will still look at me and think, 'Too bad she's so fat and looks horrible in her clothes and even worse in pictures.'
So now that all of the Girl Scout cookies are gone and I have had my farewell meal at McDonalds, it is time to get started. I really don't care how I lose it, I just want the weight gone. I have considered many diet options--herion, smoking, anorexia, bulimia--anything as long as I don't have to exercise. There are some people that are born loving exercise and I am not one of them.
Well, after careful consideration I have decided on The South Park Diet. Everytime I want to eat something I shouldn't I will think to myself, as they say on South Park, "G#@ DAMN, THAT'S A BIG FAT ASS!!" Hopefully that will motivate me to shut the pie hole! I have also decided that if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by the deadline, that I will post a bathing suit picture on this blog. A healthier me just doesn't cut it, I need the threat of public humiliation to get me going. I will let you know how it goes. And for your sake and mine, let's hope I lose that 20!
I have a great life and I want my body to reflect that too. I know it's unfair but people do judge you on how you look. Even though I have a great husband, wonderful kids, a supportive family, a house and neighborhood I love, and a job I love, I know people will still look at me and think, 'Too bad she's so fat and looks horrible in her clothes and even worse in pictures.'
So now that all of the Girl Scout cookies are gone and I have had my farewell meal at McDonalds, it is time to get started. I really don't care how I lose it, I just want the weight gone. I have considered many diet options--herion, smoking, anorexia, bulimia--anything as long as I don't have to exercise. There are some people that are born loving exercise and I am not one of them.
Well, after careful consideration I have decided on The South Park Diet. Everytime I want to eat something I shouldn't I will think to myself, as they say on South Park, "G#@ DAMN, THAT'S A BIG FAT ASS!!" Hopefully that will motivate me to shut the pie hole! I have also decided that if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by the deadline, that I will post a bathing suit picture on this blog. A healthier me just doesn't cut it, I need the threat of public humiliation to get me going. I will let you know how it goes. And for your sake and mine, let's hope I lose that 20!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Survival Skills
When a girl sees this video, she will squint her eyes, flap her hands around squealing "Eeeeeeeewwwwww!!" and run away. Leave it to my boy Sage to try and think of a way to work this into a life skill. Sage is very proud of the fact that if he were in some extreme survival situation, he could drink his own pee.
Boys are definitely a different breed!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Chemo Kitty
In the interest of saving money I tried to do a little self-service this past weekend. I attempted to wax my own special purpose. I usually go to the spa and shell out 60 or 70 buck for a good Brazilian. I love the results but I didn't think it lasted long enough to justify spending that much. However, I have managed to prove myself wrong.
I went to the drugstore and picked up some wax made with natural products. I was very proud of myself--saving money and going 'green.' How good of me. So I took it home, stared at it for 3 days and then decided to go for it. My hoo-ha wasn't going to wax itself, now was it?
I followed the directions perfectly, really I did. So how could it have gone so horribly wrong? I started with the left side, applied the wax in the direction of the hair, place the strip on, held the skin taut and pulled in the opposite direction of the hair growth. I screamed in pain for a while. I wasn't lying there in front of Claudia, the Brazilian waxer, so I didn't have to be brave and suffer in silence. When the screaming stopped I looked down at the strip only to find a ton of wax but only about 5 hairs there. Well, I'm not a quitter so I kept trying. Apply, rip, scream, apply, rip, scream and whimper, etc.
The hair seemed to be coming out one at a time--I might as well have been using tweezers. I decided to lie down on the bathroom floor and try it. But that was no more successful than standing. I was so afraid my screams would bring the kids running. I kept imagining being caught lying on the floor with both my legs in the air, wax everywhere and only waxing strips to cover my goods--not a memory I want burned in their brains. With visions of therepist bills dancing in my head, I decided it was time to give up. I am sorry to say my results were not good. There was redness, bumps, some bald spots, and some patchy spots. My crotch looked like a chemo patient.
So this was the scene as we were in the bathroom preparing for bed that night...
Alan, "What is this sticky stuff I just stepped in?"
Me, "Oh, that's just snatch wax. Don't worry, It's organic."
Alan, "You waxed? OK, let's see it."
So I lifted up my nightgown for him to take a peek. First he burst out laughing, then when he saw my glare said, "Oh, poor thing."
Me, "So what do you think? Do you want to do it?"
Alan, "Ummm, sure. Can we turn the lights out?"
I called the spa, I have an appointment next month.
I went to the drugstore and picked up some wax made with natural products. I was very proud of myself--saving money and going 'green.' How good of me. So I took it home, stared at it for 3 days and then decided to go for it. My hoo-ha wasn't going to wax itself, now was it?
I followed the directions perfectly, really I did. So how could it have gone so horribly wrong? I started with the left side, applied the wax in the direction of the hair, place the strip on, held the skin taut and pulled in the opposite direction of the hair growth. I screamed in pain for a while. I wasn't lying there in front of Claudia, the Brazilian waxer, so I didn't have to be brave and suffer in silence. When the screaming stopped I looked down at the strip only to find a ton of wax but only about 5 hairs there. Well, I'm not a quitter so I kept trying. Apply, rip, scream, apply, rip, scream and whimper, etc.
The hair seemed to be coming out one at a time--I might as well have been using tweezers. I decided to lie down on the bathroom floor and try it. But that was no more successful than standing. I was so afraid my screams would bring the kids running. I kept imagining being caught lying on the floor with both my legs in the air, wax everywhere and only waxing strips to cover my goods--not a memory I want burned in their brains. With visions of therepist bills dancing in my head, I decided it was time to give up. I am sorry to say my results were not good. There was redness, bumps, some bald spots, and some patchy spots. My crotch looked like a chemo patient.
So this was the scene as we were in the bathroom preparing for bed that night...
Alan, "What is this sticky stuff I just stepped in?"
Me, "Oh, that's just snatch wax. Don't worry, It's organic."
Alan, "You waxed? OK, let's see it."
So I lifted up my nightgown for him to take a peek. First he burst out laughing, then when he saw my glare said, "Oh, poor thing."
Me, "So what do you think? Do you want to do it?"
Alan, "Ummm, sure. Can we turn the lights out?"
I called the spa, I have an appointment next month.
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Fairy Exposed
Alan calls me into our room last night saying, "Come in here, Sage has made a discovery!" So I happily walk toward my room thinking that Sage has done something great--he's found a lost item or made an exciting intellectual breakthrough. I walk into the room to find Alan with a blank stare and Sage holding the small gray ring box that I use to save his teeth after 'The Tooth Fairy' spirits them away. With a sly smile and a sing song voice Sage says, "Mommy, I know your secret!"
Thoughts are flying through my head--How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I hide them better? Wait a minute, they were under a false bottom of a gray ring box that was hidden under tons of junk in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. How did he find that? He's been riffling through my personal stuff, the little terrorist! Crap, how am I going to explain this, should I deny any knowledge of the box or should I tell him the truth? Hell To the NO! I am not going to outsmarted by a little 7 year old snooper. This Fairy will not be outed until I am damn well ready to be outed! This is WAR!!!!
So after going from shocked and speechless to angry, locked and loaded in 3 point 2 seconds, I tell him, "Those are not your teeth. They were my teeth when I was little that I saved." He counters, "But Mommy, there are 5 teeth in here and I have lost 5 teeth." Here's my brilliant comeback...wait for it, wait for it...."SO?!"
"Look Sage, I don't care how many teeth you've lost, those are my teeth. You can ask Grandma if you want and she will tell you that I saved some of my teeth in a gray box when I was little." (Note to self: Call my mom and get her on board with Operation Enduring Fairy.) Giving me a suspicious and reluctant stare, he turns starts walking away and muttering "I can't wait to tell my friends." Oh no he didn't! I was forced to pull out my last weapon and I called after him, "You know, boys who don't believe in The Tooth Fairy don't get any more money!"
Naturally my fury turns toward Alan. "Thanks for the blindside and how could you have let him go through my stuff?!" Alan sputters, "I didn't know what to do! I was in the closet I didn't know he was going through your drawers!" I say, "I guess we better watch where we hide stuff from now on." And I see the color drain from his face when he thinks about the contents of his bedside table, or more specifically 'The Naughty Drawer.' I can imagine the scene he is thinking---Daddy, what's this thing?...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I suggest to him that maybe he should get a Naughty safe or bury the stuff in the back yard.
I know one thing, Santa and The Easter Bunny better watch their backs. Sage will be gunning for them. Alan and I have had our wake up call. We need better communication, better planning, and most importantly, better hiding places. From now on we must think 2 steps ahead of him at all times. This is serious. We have a clear and present danger, people--He's going to be 8 soon!
Thoughts are flying through my head--How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I hide them better? Wait a minute, they were under a false bottom of a gray ring box that was hidden under tons of junk in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. How did he find that? He's been riffling through my personal stuff, the little terrorist! Crap, how am I going to explain this, should I deny any knowledge of the box or should I tell him the truth? Hell To the NO! I am not going to outsmarted by a little 7 year old snooper. This Fairy will not be outed until I am damn well ready to be outed! This is WAR!!!!
So after going from shocked and speechless to angry, locked and loaded in 3 point 2 seconds, I tell him, "Those are not your teeth. They were my teeth when I was little that I saved." He counters, "But Mommy, there are 5 teeth in here and I have lost 5 teeth." Here's my brilliant comeback...wait for it, wait for it...."SO?!"
"Look Sage, I don't care how many teeth you've lost, those are my teeth. You can ask Grandma if you want and she will tell you that I saved some of my teeth in a gray box when I was little." (Note to self: Call my mom and get her on board with Operation Enduring Fairy.) Giving me a suspicious and reluctant stare, he turns starts walking away and muttering "I can't wait to tell my friends." Oh no he didn't! I was forced to pull out my last weapon and I called after him, "You know, boys who don't believe in The Tooth Fairy don't get any more money!"
Naturally my fury turns toward Alan. "Thanks for the blindside and how could you have let him go through my stuff?!" Alan sputters, "I didn't know what to do! I was in the closet I didn't know he was going through your drawers!" I say, "I guess we better watch where we hide stuff from now on." And I see the color drain from his face when he thinks about the contents of his bedside table, or more specifically 'The Naughty Drawer.' I can imagine the scene he is thinking---Daddy, what's this thing?...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I suggest to him that maybe he should get a Naughty safe or bury the stuff in the back yard.
I know one thing, Santa and The Easter Bunny better watch their backs. Sage will be gunning for them. Alan and I have had our wake up call. We need better communication, better planning, and most importantly, better hiding places. From now on we must think 2 steps ahead of him at all times. This is serious. We have a clear and present danger, people--He's going to be 8 soon!
Monday, March 03, 2008
Parenting is so rewarding!
Sage had a homework assignment in which he had to pick an adjective and illustrate it. Here is what he came up with...
Isn't it cute how he put me in UVA colors? How thoughtful. I also love how my eyes are huge black holes like they are the pits of hell. I seem to have the biggest and most menacing pitchfork. I kind of like that part.
Isn't it cute how he put me in UVA colors? How thoughtful. I also love how my eyes are huge black holes like they are the pits of hell. I seem to have the biggest and most menacing pitchfork. I kind of like that part.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The F-Word
Sage says, "Mommy, I am going to say the F word." I said, "Ok, go ahead" and he says, "FART!!" Then he laughs and does a little dance. I, for one, have never like the word 'fart.' It just sounds nasty. So I have always insisted that the boys say 'pass gas' or 'poot' instead of 'fart.' But I have to admit that there are some words that, though they sound bad or make me feel uncomfortable, are just the most appropriate word for the situation. Fart is one of those words. And though I may not like hearing it, there really is no other word that does the act justice.
Another word that fits the bill is 'retarded.' This word is a hot button one at the moment. In fact, the GA in my state is trying to pass a bill that will abolish the future and past use of this word in their documents. I can see the point of discontinuing the use of the word going forward. But to go back and change every document of the past seems a bit like PC run wild, not to mention expensive--it will cost the tax payers about $70,000. As a nurse I have cared for many (and loved some) mentally challenged patients. I don't want to offend them or their families but come on, when dealing with the mentally challenged or men, it captures the essence of the situation so much better than the alternatives.
As far as expressive words go, sometimes there is no better feeling than to let the real F-word fly. Since becoming a mom, I have had to quell my use of this word or use substitutions. Saying 'Flibber-di-jibit', 'Flipper-flu', 'Frick' or just plain 'Oh, F!' may be better around the kid but is not as satisfying as a good, loud "F-U-C-K!" It's such a versatile word too. Not only is it an expletive, but it can be a noun, verb, and adjective as well. So many uses--Fuck you, Fuck me, Fuck that, Fucking-A!, I don't give a flying fuck!, Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!, Fucking fantastic! (or Fucktastic), That's fucked up, Fuck no!, Fuck, yes!, and the infamous OH, FUCK! Just to name a few. As you can see, sometimes there is just no better word to express yourself.
So, can I really deny my boys the use of the word 'fart' when it is just the best option? Well, I can for now, but not forever. One day they won't stand for substitutes. I will just have to get used to Sage's F-word. And let's not forget the S-word.....STUPID!!
Another word that fits the bill is 'retarded.' This word is a hot button one at the moment. In fact, the GA in my state is trying to pass a bill that will abolish the future and past use of this word in their documents. I can see the point of discontinuing the use of the word going forward. But to go back and change every document of the past seems a bit like PC run wild, not to mention expensive--it will cost the tax payers about $70,000. As a nurse I have cared for many (and loved some) mentally challenged patients. I don't want to offend them or their families but come on, when dealing with the mentally challenged or men, it captures the essence of the situation so much better than the alternatives.
As far as expressive words go, sometimes there is no better feeling than to let the real F-word fly. Since becoming a mom, I have had to quell my use of this word or use substitutions. Saying 'Flibber-di-jibit', 'Flipper-flu', 'Frick' or just plain 'Oh, F!' may be better around the kid but is not as satisfying as a good, loud "F-U-C-K!" It's such a versatile word too. Not only is it an expletive, but it can be a noun, verb, and adjective as well. So many uses--Fuck you, Fuck me, Fuck that, Fucking-A!, I don't give a flying fuck!, Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!, Fucking fantastic! (or Fucktastic), That's fucked up, Fuck no!, Fuck, yes!, and the infamous OH, FUCK! Just to name a few. As you can see, sometimes there is just no better word to express yourself.
So, can I really deny my boys the use of the word 'fart' when it is just the best option? Well, I can for now, but not forever. One day they won't stand for substitutes. I will just have to get used to Sage's F-word. And let's not forget the S-word.....STUPID!!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
What's that smell? Oh, it's Love.
Love is in the air. Ahhh...Valentine's Day! The day of cheesy gestures to celebrate our affections for each other. I love it! I relish all of the traditional V-day items--the chocolates, the roses, the cards, cute heart-shaped foods, cheesy romantic songs and happy endings. It's nice to celebrate the more pleasant aspects of love. Because, let's face it, love is complicated and does not always give me the warm fuzzies. Sometimes love picks his nails, OR whistles the same tune over and over and over again until you want to beat him with a bat, OR walks by a basket of clean clothes for a week without it ever occuring to him that he should put them away, OR says "you didn't tell me that" when you told him about 5 times. Alan, I LOVE YOU. I really, really, really do. But you piss me off and you know it! :)
I think God kind of gives some unrealistic expectations regarding love with the whole 'Love is patient, love is kind...not selfish or quick to take offense' stuff. Come on, God, that may be true but you take love and add marriage and kids and you have a tornado of good and bad just whipping your ass on a daily basis. It can make you crazy.
A wise man once said, "If you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t seriously thought about killing the mother fucker, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t had a can of rat poison in your hand and looked at it for 45 minutes straight, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t bought a shovel and a bag and a rug to roll their ass up in, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, you ain’t been in love."
Chris Rock
Pretty funny but it also illustrates how true love can evoke such passion and psychotic thoughts. I've got it! Love is like a natural disaster--it brings us together but tends to leave a lot of destruction in its path. Well, in my case only a little destruction. It's all good, except when its not. :)
So here a love letter to my Valentine:
Alan,
The passion I feel for you knows no bounds. I yell so loud because I care so much. I love you so much that I would do anything for you. Our love is my strength and I could not go on without it. I love you so much that if any other woman came sniffing around you I would smack that bitch down and beat her bloody. I love you so much that if you ever tried to leave me I would kill you, kill you dead. Then I would soon follow so I could be with you. But I would much prefer to grow old with you 'cause I think you would look cute all wrinkly and confused. You are my World, my Heart my Life. I found a quote that sums it up--"My love for you is a journey; Starting at forever, And ending at never." ~ by Anonymous ~
Happy Valentine's Day, Honey! Now come home from work so we can get shit-faced on champagne and do it.
Love ya,
J.Hi
I think God kind of gives some unrealistic expectations regarding love with the whole 'Love is patient, love is kind...not selfish or quick to take offense' stuff. Come on, God, that may be true but you take love and add marriage and kids and you have a tornado of good and bad just whipping your ass on a daily basis. It can make you crazy.
A wise man once said, "If you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t seriously thought about killing the mother fucker, you ain’t never been in love. If you haven’t had a can of rat poison in your hand and looked at it for 45 minutes straight, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t bought a shovel and a bag and a rug to roll their ass up in, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, you ain’t been in love."
Chris Rock
Pretty funny but it also illustrates how true love can evoke such passion and psychotic thoughts. I've got it! Love is like a natural disaster--it brings us together but tends to leave a lot of destruction in its path. Well, in my case only a little destruction. It's all good, except when its not. :)
So here a love letter to my Valentine:
Alan,
The passion I feel for you knows no bounds. I yell so loud because I care so much. I love you so much that I would do anything for you. Our love is my strength and I could not go on without it. I love you so much that if any other woman came sniffing around you I would smack that bitch down and beat her bloody. I love you so much that if you ever tried to leave me I would kill you, kill you dead. Then I would soon follow so I could be with you. But I would much prefer to grow old with you 'cause I think you would look cute all wrinkly and confused. You are my World, my Heart my Life. I found a quote that sums it up--"My love for you is a journey; Starting at forever, And ending at never." ~ by Anonymous ~
Happy Valentine's Day, Honey! Now come home from work so we can get shit-faced on champagne and do it.
Love ya,
J.Hi
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sage did the Technicolor Yawn
I got a call from the clinic at Sage's school today. He had thrown up and they wanted me to come get him. Sage told me that he had thrown up on the floor in the cafeteria during lunch. Eeeewwww, the worst possible place. I asked what he was eating at the time and he said hot dog and tater tots. Eeeeewwww, one of the worst possible foods to throw up. Believe me, I have been there and blowing tater tots is not great--they're chunky.
As we rode to the doctor's office Sage and I came up with ten alternate phrases for throwing up and here is our list--
Vomit (my favorite being a nurse)
Barf
Puke
Hurl
Boot (heard that one a lot in college)
Upchuck (kicking it old school)
Spew
Ralph
Blow chunks
Do the technicolor yawn
Did I miss any?
As we rode to the doctor's office Sage and I came up with ten alternate phrases for throwing up and here is our list--
Vomit (my favorite being a nurse)
Barf
Puke
Hurl
Boot (heard that one a lot in college)
Upchuck (kicking it old school)
Spew
Ralph
Blow chunks
Do the technicolor yawn
Did I miss any?
Friday, February 01, 2008
The Fives
Five song lyrics that I have found to be true...
1. Every rose has its thorn
2. Love is a battlefield
3. Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage
4. The sun will come out tomorrow
5. When the pigs try to get at you, park it like it's hot
1. Every rose has its thorn
2. Love is a battlefield
3. Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage
4. The sun will come out tomorrow
5. When the pigs try to get at you, park it like it's hot
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Death Awaits you all...with nasty, big pointy teeth
The recent presidential primaries have made me very scared. And being scared makes me think of Halloween. So I thought I would share our family costumes from this past year. Our theme was Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Sage declared that Shepard is Brave Sir Robin and Sage wanted to be Sir Not Appearing in this Film. Alan is the Enchanter--there are some who call him...Tim? And I am the Killer Rabbit.
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Ni!
Monday, January 28, 2008
Lady Psycho Sexy
I am going a bit mad. It comes with being a parent but also living with 3 males. I think that would drive anyone out of their freaking mind. What is it with boys? They are so weird. By the time they are out of the house I will be the one needing therepy, not them.
To give you some insight in my insanity, here is a list of things I have actually said or screamed this past year: (All 100% true)
--Shepard, get your hands out of your pants! And Sage, stop picking your brother's nose!
--Oh, you think I'm the worst parent in world?! Don't make me go Britney on your butt!
--Whose snot is this on the wall?
--I declare no more lick fights!
--No, you are not a Jedi Master because Jedi Masters listen to their mothers and you, sir, do not!
--Whose snot is this on the couch?
--You absolutely cannot pee behind your dresser because you are scared to go to the bathroom.
--Go back outside and get your underwear off the neighbor's lawn!
--Living with you makes me want to DIE!!!! (That one was for Alan, dear husband)
And here is my favorite: (this one I did screaming while others cried)
STOP THAT CRYING RIGHT NOW!!! YOU WILL GO TO THIS PARADE AND YOU WILL HAVE FUN!! IF I HEAR ANYMORE WHINING I WILL START BEATING SOME BUTTS BECAUSE THIS IS FAMILY TIME AND WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD TIME RIGHT NOW!! PARADES ARE FUN!! FUN, DO YOUR HEAR ME?! FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Lady psycho sexy that is me, Sometimes I find I need to scream"
To give you some insight in my insanity, here is a list of things I have actually said or screamed this past year: (All 100% true)
--Shepard, get your hands out of your pants! And Sage, stop picking your brother's nose!
--Oh, you think I'm the worst parent in world?! Don't make me go Britney on your butt!
--Whose snot is this on the wall?
--I declare no more lick fights!
--No, you are not a Jedi Master because Jedi Masters listen to their mothers and you, sir, do not!
--Whose snot is this on the couch?
--You absolutely cannot pee behind your dresser because you are scared to go to the bathroom.
--Go back outside and get your underwear off the neighbor's lawn!
--Living with you makes me want to DIE!!!! (That one was for Alan, dear husband)
And here is my favorite: (this one I did screaming while others cried)
STOP THAT CRYING RIGHT NOW!!! YOU WILL GO TO THIS PARADE AND YOU WILL HAVE FUN!! IF I HEAR ANYMORE WHINING I WILL START BEATING SOME BUTTS BECAUSE THIS IS FAMILY TIME AND WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD TIME RIGHT NOW!! PARADES ARE FUN!! FUN, DO YOUR HEAR ME?! FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Lady psycho sexy that is me, Sometimes I find I need to scream"
Friday, January 25, 2008
Breakfast Club Brats
I used to love the movie "The Breakfast Club." I loved the plot, the song and the characters. I could really relate to all the pressures of teenage life. So, I was delighted when I came across it on cable one day and looked forward to enjoying a little slice of my younger life. But, oh how the worm has turned. As I watched I was having these thoughts: "You whiny, little brats! Your parents just want the best for you and all you do is complain about them and blame them. Ungrateful wretches!"
This was the moment I realized I have changed in a profound way. I have joined the other team. I have been assimilated. I am now... AN ADULT. It was a gradual change because I did not realize it was happening. But here I am watching 'The Breakfast Club' and having a moment of self-actualization and self-loathing at the same time. I know I am way more uptight than I used to be. I am way more stressed and bitchy than I used to be. I have lost the shiny glow of optimism. I feel the weight of responsibility and sometimes I feel like it is crushing me.
Bender says, "But face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be doing if you weren't out making yourself a better citizen?"
Is he talking to me? Is he right? Am I just an empty shell going through the motions of an adult existence? I take a moment to think about this one. And here it comes--a moment of self-clarity. I spent my entire teenage life dreaming of my future and wanting my life to begin. However, since becoming an adult, I have not once wished I could go back to my teenage life. That future I deamed of is here and though it may be hard at times, I know that it is everything that I ever wanted.
So 'The Breakfast Club' is dead to me.
Bender, you can Eat. My. Shorts.
This was the moment I realized I have changed in a profound way. I have joined the other team. I have been assimilated. I am now... AN ADULT. It was a gradual change because I did not realize it was happening. But here I am watching 'The Breakfast Club' and having a moment of self-actualization and self-loathing at the same time. I know I am way more uptight than I used to be. I am way more stressed and bitchy than I used to be. I have lost the shiny glow of optimism. I feel the weight of responsibility and sometimes I feel like it is crushing me.
Bender says, "But face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be doing if you weren't out making yourself a better citizen?"
Is he talking to me? Is he right? Am I just an empty shell going through the motions of an adult existence? I take a moment to think about this one. And here it comes--a moment of self-clarity. I spent my entire teenage life dreaming of my future and wanting my life to begin. However, since becoming an adult, I have not once wished I could go back to my teenage life. That future I deamed of is here and though it may be hard at times, I know that it is everything that I ever wanted.
So 'The Breakfast Club' is dead to me.
Bender, you can Eat. My. Shorts.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
I'm back...It ain't Britney, Bitch
I am making my triumphant return to blogging. Things got really hairy there for a while when Shepard became more mobile and Sage started school. I was drowning in life. But now I am able to peak above the surface. And, as a drowning victim who suddenly sputters back to life and vomits water over the pavement, I am ready to spew my thought all over this blog. It may not be every day or every week but I will write. I have to write or I may drift to the depths of nothingness and cease to breathe.
Monday, September 11, 2006
September 11th
I wear red today
to honor the lives taken.
I wear white today
to mourn the innocence lost.
I wear blue today
to remember the bond we shared.
I wear red, white, and blue today
because I'm proud,
because I love,
because I hope,
because I can,
because I'm free.
to honor the lives taken.
I wear white today
to mourn the innocence lost.
I wear blue today
to remember the bond we shared.
I wear red, white, and blue today
because I'm proud,
because I love,
because I hope,
because I can,
because I'm free.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
I'm a screamer for ice cream
A crazy Saturday morning transitioned into a rare opportunity yesterday afternoon. Energized by his morning soccer game and end of the season party, Sage was outside playing with the neighborhood kids. Shepard was simply exhasted and napping in his crib. Alan and I found ourselves alone in a quiet house. We decided to partake in a little 'afternoon delight.' (Actually I finally relented after Alan bugged the crap out of me.)
Behind our locked bedroom door the soft music is playing, warm sunlight is streaming in the open window, the opaque window sheers are dancing in the crisp Fall breeze. Alan and I are lying on the bed--butt nekked--gettin' busy. All of a sudden, I heard a distant cacophony that made me gasp. "What's wrong?!" asked a surprised Alan. Then he heard it too, "Oh no! Ice Cream Man!" Alan: "Do you think Sage will hear it?" Me: "Of course he will. Throw two dollars down the stairs. Quick!"
No sooner had Alan grabbed two dollars and crept nekked to the top of the stairs, then we heard the front door bang open and Sage screamed, in classic Eddie Murphy fashion, "ICE CREAM!" Alan threw the two dollars down the stairs and ran back into our bedroom. He shouted down the stairs, "Sage, the money is on the stairs. Take it and go!" Sage frantically scrambled up the stairs, collected his two dollars and ran. I felt a twinge of parental guilt and told Alan "Tell him to be careful." Alan yelled at Sage's sprinting form "Sage, be careful! Don't get hit by the ice cream truck." Sage yelled behind him, "Ok Daddy, I won't!"
So that taken care of Alan tried to get me back in the mood and asked, "So, what do you want from your ice cream man?" Me, "I want you to bring that Nutty Butty right over here, baby." Alan, "I believe I will have the creamsicle today." Game On! But as the ice cream truck approached we found ourselves doing it to the circus-like tune of 'Pop goes the Weasel.' I found it very hard to concentrate when I felt like the carnival side show attraction. But hey, like I said, it was a rare opportunity so we pressed on and enjoyed every lick. :0
Behind our locked bedroom door the soft music is playing, warm sunlight is streaming in the open window, the opaque window sheers are dancing in the crisp Fall breeze. Alan and I are lying on the bed--butt nekked--gettin' busy. All of a sudden, I heard a distant cacophony that made me gasp. "What's wrong?!" asked a surprised Alan. Then he heard it too, "Oh no! Ice Cream Man!" Alan: "Do you think Sage will hear it?" Me: "Of course he will. Throw two dollars down the stairs. Quick!"
No sooner had Alan grabbed two dollars and crept nekked to the top of the stairs, then we heard the front door bang open and Sage screamed, in classic Eddie Murphy fashion, "ICE CREAM!" Alan threw the two dollars down the stairs and ran back into our bedroom. He shouted down the stairs, "Sage, the money is on the stairs. Take it and go!" Sage frantically scrambled up the stairs, collected his two dollars and ran. I felt a twinge of parental guilt and told Alan "Tell him to be careful." Alan yelled at Sage's sprinting form "Sage, be careful! Don't get hit by the ice cream truck." Sage yelled behind him, "Ok Daddy, I won't!"
So that taken care of Alan tried to get me back in the mood and asked, "So, what do you want from your ice cream man?" Me, "I want you to bring that Nutty Butty right over here, baby." Alan, "I believe I will have the creamsicle today." Game On! But as the ice cream truck approached we found ourselves doing it to the circus-like tune of 'Pop goes the Weasel.' I found it very hard to concentrate when I felt like the carnival side show attraction. But hey, like I said, it was a rare opportunity so we pressed on and enjoyed every lick. :0
Friday, November 04, 2005
The Fives (Birthday Edition)
On October 1st I turned 35. These are the top five questions I have about getting older.
1. Why is it that everytime I go to the library in search of a particular book, the book is always on the lowest shelf? (Which causes me to have to bend, which causes all kinds of cracking and popping)
2. When exactly was it that I started referring to The Real World cast as "those kids" ?
3. Why is my body starting to reject alcohol? Shouldn't it be used to it by now?
4. Why do the '80s seem so much cooler on VH-1?
5. And finally...................will I age gracefully?
1. Why is it that everytime I go to the library in search of a particular book, the book is always on the lowest shelf? (Which causes me to have to bend, which causes all kinds of cracking and popping)
2. When exactly was it that I started referring to The Real World cast as "those kids" ?
3. Why is my body starting to reject alcohol? Shouldn't it be used to it by now?
4. Why do the '80s seem so much cooler on VH-1?
5. And finally...................will I age gracefully?
HELL NO!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Luke, I am your Mother
Star Wars was our family theme for the Halloween costumes this year. Sage was Yoda and he insisted that we call him "Master Yoda." He would go around saying "Have candy, I must." Shepard made a cute Chewbacca and he's definitely mastered Wookie language. Alan was in Jedi Knight heaven. He kept coming up to me at the party waving his hand at me and saying, "You will get me a beer now." I replied, "Listen, Obi Wan, your Jedi mind tricks don't work on me! Get your own damn beer!" People at our neighborhood Halloween party asked Alan, "Why did Jill come as Darth Vader instead of Princess Leia?" Alan responded, "Darth Vader is more her style." Hmmmm....I don't know what he means by that and if he keeps making those kind of comments I will have to destroy him.
Ok, Halloween is over now so why is Alan still walking around in his Jedi robe?!
Monday, October 31, 2005
Breakfast Bootcamp:The Crack Pipe of Dawn Part II
I always feel like the resident drill sergeant, constantly barking orders. But I have a feeling that it would be more satisfying to be a real drill sergeant since their orders are obeyed.
When we left off, Sage and I were about to go downstairs for breakfast. Cooking of the breakfast is Alan's responsibility. I feel very lucky to have a husband that actually helps with the domestic chores of the house; he is a great help to me and I couldn't do it without him. That being said, let me explain something about my husband. Have you ever heard the expression "Slow as molasses in January"? Well, that is a pretty good description of Alan. If I say to him "you need to put it in high gear, Alan" he just gives me that look that a dog gives when he is confused--the head tipped to the side, ears bent, slight furrow to the brow. Alan has no high gear. He only has 3 gears which are--Staring into space, Scratching, and Slow. It is pretty much a given that breakfast is not on the table when we arrive downstairs. I can feel my stress level rising and go into drill sergeant mode barking orders at Alan who calmly says "I go at my own pace." Sometimes I feel like I should be wearing chaps and spurs and shouting "Yah!" to get him moving. (Oh dear, I probably shouldn't have conjured that image. Alan, if you are reading this I will not be wearing chaps and spurs for you. Ok? Absolutely not! I did the Princess Leia thing, but I draw the line at Ride 'Em, Cowgirl!)
Well, slow and steady will eventually finish the race, at some point, maybe; so, he finally puts the food in front of Sage with 15 minutes to eat before we have to leave for the bus stop. Sage is his daddy's boy and getting him to focus and eat is very challenging. "Sage, stop talking and eat." "Eat, Sage." "Sage you are playing with your food." "Pick up your fork!!! EAT!" Sage's eventual reply, "Mommy, I eat at my own paste!"
I get no respect!! This past week I decided to turn the tables on them all. I took over breakfast duty and let Alan be in charge of Sage. As I am happily cooking downstairs, all I hear are the cries and screams of Sage: "You're mean!! I want Mommy! Daddy, you are hurting my feelings!" I resist the urge to intervene and just keep setting the table as they arrive downstairs. Sage, with a tear streaked face, proclaims, "Daddy is a hundred times worser than you, Mommy!!" Aaaahhhh, finally some appreciation. I hope this means that he will be more pleasant with me next week. Probably not, but it is a nice thought anyway. At least I can threaten him--Get up and no whining or I will go get Daddy. Mwuh ha ha!
When we left off, Sage and I were about to go downstairs for breakfast. Cooking of the breakfast is Alan's responsibility. I feel very lucky to have a husband that actually helps with the domestic chores of the house; he is a great help to me and I couldn't do it without him. That being said, let me explain something about my husband. Have you ever heard the expression "Slow as molasses in January"? Well, that is a pretty good description of Alan. If I say to him "you need to put it in high gear, Alan" he just gives me that look that a dog gives when he is confused--the head tipped to the side, ears bent, slight furrow to the brow. Alan has no high gear. He only has 3 gears which are--Staring into space, Scratching, and Slow. It is pretty much a given that breakfast is not on the table when we arrive downstairs. I can feel my stress level rising and go into drill sergeant mode barking orders at Alan who calmly says "I go at my own pace." Sometimes I feel like I should be wearing chaps and spurs and shouting "Yah!" to get him moving. (Oh dear, I probably shouldn't have conjured that image. Alan, if you are reading this I will not be wearing chaps and spurs for you. Ok? Absolutely not! I did the Princess Leia thing, but I draw the line at Ride 'Em, Cowgirl!)
Well, slow and steady will eventually finish the race, at some point, maybe; so, he finally puts the food in front of Sage with 15 minutes to eat before we have to leave for the bus stop. Sage is his daddy's boy and getting him to focus and eat is very challenging. "Sage, stop talking and eat." "Eat, Sage." "Sage you are playing with your food." "Pick up your fork!!! EAT!" Sage's eventual reply, "Mommy, I eat at my own paste!"
I get no respect!! This past week I decided to turn the tables on them all. I took over breakfast duty and let Alan be in charge of Sage. As I am happily cooking downstairs, all I hear are the cries and screams of Sage: "You're mean!! I want Mommy! Daddy, you are hurting my feelings!" I resist the urge to intervene and just keep setting the table as they arrive downstairs. Sage, with a tear streaked face, proclaims, "Daddy is a hundred times worser than you, Mommy!!" Aaaahhhh, finally some appreciation. I hope this means that he will be more pleasant with me next week. Probably not, but it is a nice thought anyway. At least I can threaten him--Get up and no whining or I will go get Daddy. Mwuh ha ha!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
The Crack Pipe of Dawn
If there was a 'Morning in Pleasantville' drug, I would definitely be smoking it. I would be sucking on that pipe for sure. I am not a morning person and, as I stuggle to drag myself from the bed at 6 a.m., I am far from being Miss Mary Sunshine. I am more like Ms. Roxy Bitchslap. However, I am a mom which means that I have to plaster on a smile and face the trials of the morning. Why does it have to be so hard, Oh Lord? Alan and I divide the morning labor. I am on Sage duty and Alan is on breakfast duty. In theory, it should run smoothly, but in reality it is my own little slice of hell.
Here is an example of the typical morning--I enter Sage's room, turn on a dim light and sing "Good Morning to You." Honestly I don't know why I sing since I remember hating it when my mom did it to me. I guess it is further proof that I am turning into my parents. After ignoring me for a few seconds Sage starts to stir and the whining starts. I try not to lose patience since any cross word or action will result in full blown crying. I hand him his cold, wet washcloth to wipe the sleepies from his eyes. It is cold because on Monday he cried when I gave him a warm washcloth. He takes the washcloth and whines, "It's too cold!!" (My smile has now cracked into a Billy Idol snarl.) I proceed to dress his limp form because his "arms and legs are not working." Then I cajole him into the bathroom for teeth and hair brushing. Since he refuses to open his eyes he trips over Shepard's potty seat. Between screams, he blurts out "It's all your fault, Mommy!" Me, "Why is it my fault? You were the one walking around with your eyes closed." Sage, "You should have led me!" What am I now--a Seeing Eye Mom?! After about 10 long minutes, 23 times of saying "Brush!!" 2 threats of what will happen if he doesn't brush ( "Your teeth will grow mold that tastes like green beans" and "Santa is putting you on the bad breath list") and one "Jesus brushed", we are finally ready to come downstairs. Stay tuned for Part II of our morning adventure.
Here is an example of the typical morning--I enter Sage's room, turn on a dim light and sing "Good Morning to You." Honestly I don't know why I sing since I remember hating it when my mom did it to me. I guess it is further proof that I am turning into my parents. After ignoring me for a few seconds Sage starts to stir and the whining starts. I try not to lose patience since any cross word or action will result in full blown crying. I hand him his cold, wet washcloth to wipe the sleepies from his eyes. It is cold because on Monday he cried when I gave him a warm washcloth. He takes the washcloth and whines, "It's too cold!!" (My smile has now cracked into a Billy Idol snarl.) I proceed to dress his limp form because his "arms and legs are not working." Then I cajole him into the bathroom for teeth and hair brushing. Since he refuses to open his eyes he trips over Shepard's potty seat. Between screams, he blurts out "It's all your fault, Mommy!" Me, "Why is it my fault? You were the one walking around with your eyes closed." Sage, "You should have led me!" What am I now--a Seeing Eye Mom?! After about 10 long minutes, 23 times of saying "Brush!!" 2 threats of what will happen if he doesn't brush ( "Your teeth will grow mold that tastes like green beans" and "Santa is putting you on the bad breath list") and one "Jesus brushed", we are finally ready to come downstairs. Stay tuned for Part II of our morning adventure.
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