Better batter therapy

Whoa, who was that raving maniac posting yesterday?! OK, there are many sides to me and one of them is an angry, violent wildcat. Whatev, they are my inner demons and I own them! Plus I look really cute when I rave. ;)


I'm feeling a bit better today due to time and the great support and advice I received from my blogging buds. It seems that batting practice is a wonderful way to blow off steam. I tried it. Well, I wasn't able to get to the batting cage but I pulled out Shepard's Fischer Price Better Batter Baseball. I took a few swings with the Spiderman bat and it was helpful. I guess the neighborhood kids were wondering why the Better Batter baseballs were taking me for granted , why they hear but never listen, and why they had to "Take that, you fucker!!" Much better than Enya.

Like a chainsaw

I am not in a good place today. Life has been dog piling on me lately and I am feeling overwhelmed--not sad so much as angry. I've got a raging hot, nasty knot of anger just sitting in my gut and no way to get rid of it. I mean I am wife, mother, nurse and community member--it's not like I can go around raging and breaking shit. Although that would feel really good, it's just not practical.

That's my problem, I too freaking practical and worried about others. All of the roles I have in my life are pretty thankless jobs. I don't get a whole lot of validation from being a mom. Not their fault, they're kids and the world revolves around them, you know. And since I am married to a man, same story. Maybe if I had a wife it would be different. At then there's my job where people won't say boo to a doctor but will lay it all on a nurse. So, I handle a lot of problems and I am tired--and angry. No one tries to understand me but they damn sure don't want to walk in my shoes. No man is an island, but I am not a man. There's no safety net in my world and that pisses me off!!

I've been listening to a lot of Enya and Jim Brickman to try and calm myself and get all centered but that's just made me want blast a cap in something--not a living thing, maybe a fluffy pillow or a fuzzy stuffed bunny. Why can't there be a room where I could just go all rock star? You know, throw bottles at the wall, chairs out of the window, shoot a TV--cool stuff like that. I'll just have to settle for some rage music and a heavy dose of fantasy. Here's the angriest song I know--it started a riot at Woodstock. Killer!



Just one of those days, ya'll.

F-F-F Foolin'

I want to thank all of you who watched my kid's kick ass talent show video. He has over 100 hits on You Tube and though that is just a blip in the big scheme of things, it is really exciting to an 8 year old. So thanks. And if you haven't watched it, then do it you heartless bastard!! (See last Wednesday's post)


Today is my HALF Birthday so you may send me half the love you normally would on my actual birthday. And wine, send wine.

The best April Fools prank I ever pulled was when I was in college. I called my older sister and told her I was in jail. I had the fake crying and everything (I was actually laughing so much it sounded like I was crying.) I never thought she would buy it because it was April Fools Day and I was not a rowdy youth. I mean seriously, I was such a good girl--never caused trouble. But she believed me and it was great. So the next year I called her up and told her I was in jail again. I thought she would laugh and say "Oh, ha ha. Yeah, I remember last year." But for some reason, she believed me again. I think that's the first time I knew my sister had some serious mental issues.

I love to prank people but I am not very creative. My idea of a good time is to hide and then jump out and scare them. That has always been fun to me. Especially when I get Alan--maybe that's why he is so jumpy. And there was one time I got Sage so good that I made him cry. I did feel bad about that especially because I peed my pants while I was laughing so hard.

The best scare I've ever done was totally an accident. It was the first year Alan and I were married and I was trying to be creative in my use of all the lingerie I had received for my wedding. One evening I put on a sexy black lacy number and closed myself in the coat closet of our apartment. My idea was that Alan would come home, open the coat closet and be pleasantly surprised when he found me all sexified. However, here's what actually happened. He came in the door, opened the coat closet door, saw me and simultaneously screamed and fell back against the wall behind him. He then slid down the wall and landed on the floor in shock. I had throw the coats aside and scramble out to check his breathing and pulse. He was kind of traumatized and there was no lovin' that night. I learned a good lesson that day. Mortal terror isn't sexy. Oops, my bad.

J.Hi, this is your life

I walked upstairs to find this note taped to the wall. God, did you leave this note?*

*It reads "Warning you in the fire zone so be carful if you want to live."

Duel of the Fates

Sage was in the school talent show last week. It's elementary school so if you audition and you are appropriate, you're in. Needless to say, there were a lot of girl groups dancing and cheering. He decided to show off his mad light sabre skillz to music. He is simulating a battle to the music "Duel of the Fates" from Episode I. According to the show director, Sage's act was very unique. As a proud mother, I would have to say he was totally AWESOME!!! I think he enjoyed his moment in the spotlight. He said afterwards that he got a lot of hugs from girls--one girl hugged him twice. Ha! Here's my baby. I sense that fame is his destiny.

The beast that ate my cookie

Alan and I have had a run of bad luck recently which resulted in a financial crunch. It was the tree removal, 2 large car repair bills, and our heat pump conked out during the snowstorm. Ch-ching, ch-ching, and yes, more ch-ching right out of our pocket. We were scraping the bottom of the barrel. We even resorted to stealing $18 from our 8 year old son's wallet so we could go out to lunch together. Alan worried that he might discover that his money was gone but I didn't think he would notice. And if he did notice I was going to show him my C-section scar and say, "Yeah, paid in full, boy!" (Ok, so Sage did notice. He came to me early one morning weeping while he held open his empty wallet. I told him that we had "borrowed" the money. We paid him back with an extra $2 for hush money. Later I learned that the little swindler showed my dad his empty wallet and got an extra $25. Damn, why didn't I think of that?)

During this run of bad luck I decided to drown my sorrows--not with alcohol. Alcohol is for parties but food is best for numbing the inner pain. And, lucky for me, it just so happens that it was Girl Scout cookie time. I always buy my three favorites--Tagalongs, Thin Mints and Samoas. I broke open the Tagalongs first and savored one before leaving for work one evening. Mmmmm, nutty creamy goodness (that's what she said!)

So I returned late that night after a hard shift to find an empty Tagalong box on the counter. Seems that Alan and his XY gang had eaten the whole box. I totally went all Chris Brown on him. I chased him around and beat him with the empty cookie box. If anyone deserves domestic cookie box violence it would be a man who ate my Tagalongs, don't you think? How am I supposed to fill the void inside of me now? Well, ok, there are the Thin Mints and Samoas but he still deserved it. He will think twice next time he wants to eat my Tagalong.

Here's the happy ending. The bad luck seems to be over for now. It's funny how pay day mixed with some sunshine can alter your perspective. This past week was a very busy week for me--Sage was in the school talent show, I had a reunion with some good college friends, and I gave a baby shower for a friend at work. Though it was stressful that these events all hit in the same week, they were all very happy occasions. I was able to switch from food to alcohol--as you can tell from picture.

Tree trauma

We had a snowstorm Sunday evening and during that storm we heard a loud scratching noise on the house. When we ran to the window to look out we saw one of the limbs of our front yard tree had cracked and fallen toward the house. Then a few hours later we were stunned by another loud CRACK! Another huge limb down toward the minivan--horrors. The tree people came the next day and had to take the whole tree, it could not be saved. Fortunately, there was no damage done unless you count the damage to Sage's sensitive little heart. I found him in his room with tears streaming down his face while he watched the dismantling of the tree.

We called this tree 'Sage's climbing tree.' He has spent many hours up in the branches over the past 6 months. He had even pimped it out with boards to climb up and to sit on, old screens for privacy, ropes for additional climbing assistance, boxes for his treasures, and even nailed a sign on it listing the members of his tree club. It was quite a sight--kind of Blair Witchy. It was his own special place until recently we got a threatening letter from our evil neighborhood association claiming it was "unsightly." We had to take down his tree house and Sage was very upset. But now he is devastated. We are trying to comfort him and help him deal with his grief. We had the tree men cut a section of the tree so we could make a remembrance plaque to hang in his room. I know he was emotionally attached to the tree but I just hope he doesn't turn into one of these people in this video, because these people are just asking to be smacked repeatedly.

Closet case

I am writing this from inside my closet--lights off and typing softly. I have to be careful not to make a sound for they may find me. I can hear them out there. Faint bumps, rustling, louder thuds, and sometimes murmuring or yelling. I know they are out there ransacking the house and there is nothing I can do about it. I am helpless inside my own house, a hostage. Alan is back at work. I am alone. Alone with the knowledge that at any second I could be discovered and ripped from my sanctuary. I can only imagine what kind of demands they would make, what kind of hell I would be put through. The thought sends waves of terror through me and my blood runs cold.
Oh no!! I think they heard my sob of despair. They are outside my closet door, trying to get in. All I can do is clasp my hands tightly and pray. Pray for my life.

Dear God,
Only you can help me!
Please send your sunshine down upon me
so the snow will melt
and the kids will go back to school.
Amen

Wine festival brush with fame

Alan and I went to a wine expo yesterday with our neighbors. Over 300 wines from about 40 wineries from our state. The wines were excellent. But imagine my surprise when I had a brush with celebrity. Here's a picture...

Can you tell who it is? I know it's his back but just imagine him in a purple suit, fur coat and a big hat with a feather. It is none other than Venus Flytrap himself!! He's otherwise known (or is he?) as Tim Reid. Now you see it, don't you?

Whenever I see a celebrity I usually do not go up and talk to them. They are strangers after all. I just gawk. I don't even have the balls to take a full frontal picture. I could never be a paparazzi. Alan and I did try and take a stealthy photo of him. It pretty much sucks too but I did get a profile. You see over Alan's shoulder behind the purple woman. There's Venus!!

Here's a couple of shots of some very bad fashion choices that I noticed during the fest.

<--------Ladies, stay away from short dresses with boots.

Fancy dress with bright white tennis shoes, interesting----->

Alan and I used to go wine tasting all the time before kids. We have a booming wine business in my state. I remember when Alan would map out wine trips for us to take, "In this campaign, we'll hit at least 5 wineries," he'd say. It was quite a good time. I had to restrain myself yesterday and limit my tastings since Alan was the designated drinker and I was the designated driver. But I still left with a smile on my face.

The art of killing the mood: Chapter 3

One morning before school, Alan and I were having a great argument. It seems that the previous week Alan had sent Shepard to school with a bag of chips for a snack. The children are supposed to bring in a 'healthy snack' so I was a bit miffed by his decision. The discussion became more heated (and louder) since he was trying to defend himself and argue that a bag of chips was a healthy snack. I yelled, "Yeah, maybe compared to a bag of lard!" And on we argued, until...

Sage, who had been sitting at the breakfast table the whole time, piped up and said with a grin, "I need a bag of popcorn!! I'm enjoying this!" This shut us both up rather quickly.

Yes, wheter it be a good argument or good love (see Chapter 1 and Chapter 2) my children really know how to kill the deal.

J.Hi's secret

My boobs are once again sitting up and at attention. I am sure you all are relieved. My post Christmas mall aversion lasted a bit longer this year. But last week I was finally able to enter the mall and bra shop. I tried hard to find a bra other than a Victoria Secret bra because I really do not have a strong desire to spend $40 on one bra. However, through careful research (OK, so I went to one other place) I found that the VS bras are far superior. These lovelies are very well packaged now--no wiggling, jiggling, falling or flapping in the breeze (unless I choose to make those things happen.)

According to my bra expert Erica (I didn't check her credentials), I was wearing the wrong size bra. She measured me at a size smaller than what I was wearing but when she measured my cup size she went two cups bigger than what I was wearing. She said I measured at a D cup but she must have been coming on to me because I have never been a D cup. I decided to go for a more reasonable C cup. I love my bra! It's lifts, supports and it's so pretty. Man, I feel like a woman! I cannot stop looking down my own shirt.

I wish I could share with you my new and improved boobalicious figure but I'm not that kind of blogger. I refuse to stoop to such levels to get more readers. Although I have been known to do things that are out of character when people are chanting my name (and after lots of alcohol.) Shhhhhh, don't tell.

Jason loves you

Friday the 13th. What does that mean to me? Well, I am not superstitious so it would be just another day except for that damn movie. When you think of scary don't you think about that hockey mask? I know I do. I loved horror movies when I was younger, especially Friday the 13th Part 2. I never saw the original because I was too young at the time but I did see Part 2. It came out in 1981. I would have been 11 and I don't think my mom would have let me see it at that age either. I'm pretty sure I saw it years later when we got cable. I saw a lot of movies I shouldn't have seen when we got cable. I remember sitting up late into the night on weekends watching inappropriate TV. I had my finger on the remote and would change the channel if I heard the faintest creak or felt the slightest change in pressure. "Friday the 13th part 2" is one of those life changing movies because the images just stay in your brain. I never sit with my back to a large window. And I can't walk through the woods without looking over my shoulder to make sure I'm not being chased by a psycho. Here is one of my favorite clips referencing Jason from the movie "Nothing to Lose" with Martin Lawrence and Tim Robbins. Bad language alert: Don't watch at work!!

I also want to bring to your attention that today is Peter Tork's (The Monkees) birthday. What?!! I love The Monkees!!

Hope you all have a lucky 13th and I hope you get some good Valentine lovin' tomorrow. Monday is President's Day, so if you feel like spreading your wealth, send it on my way! Ha!

Opthamologists: scourge of America in the 21st century

**Warning: This post may contain strong language because I am really fucking pissed.

There is a great injustice going on in this world and I am here today to expose it. If you are a contact wearer you are probably aware of this problem. But you seeing eye people most likely have no idea of the travesty of justice that befalls the visually challenged. This is an issue that affects me everyday, for you see, I am practically blind. I started wearing glasses in fourth grade for near-sightedness. After an unfortunate school picture in 6th grade, I vowed to get contacts. So I have been wearing contacts for about 26 years now. I am not sure when this happened but sometime after I was married in 1994 I found that the eye centers were refusing to sell contacts to me unless I came in for a yearly exam. Since contacts can only be ordered and purchased with a prescription, I have been forced to see an opthamologist every year for about 10 years. I ask you, is this fair?! I think NOT. I don't see them harassing the glasses wearers. They aren't confiscating glasses if you don't get a yearly eye exam. I don't see dentists taking out crowns if one doesn't have yearly dental exam. And I don't have the birth control police coming to rip out my IUD if I don't have my yearly pelvic invasion. So why pick on the contact wearers?!

I have had to put up with 10 years of diatlated pupils, puffs of air in my eyes, stupid eye technicians (or eye monkeys as I like to call them), and "what's better--1 or 2? 1 or 2? 1 or 2? how about now? 2 or 3?" The eye monkeys really irritate me. I understand it's their job to check my vision but what right do they have to look in my eyes with that light thing? In my opinion if they don't have a DR in front of their name then they should not be looking inside my fucking eyeball! About 5 years ago I had a Lasix consultation in the hope of never seeing an eye doctor again but guess what? MY FUCKING CORNEAS ARE TOO FUCKING THIN!! Yes, the only thin thing on my whole body and it has to be my corneas! JUST GREAT!!!

I have to continue having my yearly exams and play along with their contact extortion racket. Monday I had a followup exam with the eye doc. They had given me a new brand of contact since the previous brand was causing an allergic reaction to my eyeballs. The followup was to check if the new contacts were working and to give me my prescription. My appointment was 10:45. I arrived at 10:43 and sat in the waiting room until 11:40. Finally got back to the room with the eye monkey who had me read some letters and then looked in my eye!!! FUCK!! So I finally told her "I have to leave in about 10 minutes to pick up my son from preschool." She said the doctor would be in any minute. 10 minutes go by and I walk out. I see her on the way and tell her that I have to leave and could I please have my prescription. She says no because the doctor has to see me. The doctor comes out and I tell him I have to leave. He will not give me my prescription either and says, "Well, just call back for another appointment."

DAMN FUCKING COCK SUCKING RETARDED ASS CLOWN!!!!

Just to show him I have not called back for another appointment. Yeah, that will teach him. But I need new contacts soon so I will have to go back. Do you see the injustice? Are you as angry as I am? Start a petition!! Write someone about it! March somewhere and protest! Join the cause by going to my website www.fuckalltheopthamoligistsmaytheyburninhell.shithead or www.number1isbetteryoueyemonkeypieceofshit.kissmyblackass. Help a sister out and save me from another 10 years of opthamology hell!

Tag, I'm it!

I have been tagged by Kimber p over at I Know, Right?! to participate in a picture game. (Thank you, girl!!) I am supposed to go to my 4th folder in which I keep pictures and post the 4th picture I see with an explanation. So here it is.

This is Sage and I when Sage was about 9 months old. Alan and I took him to a playground near our house and took tons of pictures of him. Sage was the center of our universe back then. He was the golden child and received all of our attention. Wow, how intense it is with your first child! With the second child, I think your love is still as strong but there is also a need to balance between the two. It's just not the same somehow. I am amazed at how far he (and we) have come since then and how much has changed. It makes me long for the baby he was but makes me happy for the boy he has become. *Sigh* Now I am starting to feel like I would like to have another baby which is why I will stop looking at this picture now and instead go look in the mirror. I am sure seeing my wrinkles, sprouting gray hairs, and stubborn fat will cure me of my baby making urges.

iPod revelation

I discovered that this song is #1 on my iTunes top 25 most played list. What does this say about me? I'm not sure but all I know is that it has a catchy beat and is fun to work out to. Happy Friday!

The enemy within

The reason why I have only been posting about once per week lately is because nothing is going on here. For the past month, things have been running smoothly. Alan and I are getting along, no major extended family drama, no house issues, and--here's the weirdest part--the kids have been fairly well-behaved. So how am I supposed to get any good material with all this peacefulness and tranquility? Sheesh!

This was not the case one month ago. Sage was causing lots of problems, Shepard was copying him and I blamed Alan for all of his damn Y chromosomes. Let me explain about my darling Sage. He is what Alan's mom refers to as a "strong willed child" or, as I like to say, **"a pain in my ass." Our relationship seems to have developed in a contentious one. We are constantly butting heads. He likes his way in all things, he will argue with me just to argue, and he enjoys seeing me yell (he actually admitted this once.) Keep in mind he is only 8 and yes, you may feel sorry for me when you think about his teenage years.

Back to one month ago. Sage was worse than ever. He decided that I hated him. I apparently manifested this hate by making him learn his multiplication facts and refusing to let him wear all camo all the time. Shepard was taking his lead and one day when I was trying to get him to put on a shirt with buttons, he said to me, "You hate me, don't you?" I really wasn't getting any respect (or support) at home and I was on the verge of taking off to an undisclosed location ala Marie Osmond when she got in her car and just left her family in the name of postpartum depression. She's like my hero!! It's been 4 1/2 years, can I still claim postpartum depression? But I didn't take off, somehow I got through it. Probably because my favorite TV shows started back up and I was able to escape a bit from the hell. Jack Bauer and The Others saved my family.

Lately, I have started noticing that there haven't been as many arguments. I haven't been called 'MEAN' in quite some time. When I told Sage to pick up some clothes off of the floor he said, "OK, Mommy" instead of "Are you crazy, Woman?!" Shepard has been very affectionate and telling me he loves me all the time. And it's been weeks since I've had the overwhelming urge to kick Alan square in the nuts. What's going on here?! Do they think I am stupid?! My suspiscions are piqued. My alert is on high. I know they're plottin' on me. They think they can lull me into a sense well-being with their love and good behavior and then POUNCE!! Well, I've got my eyes on them. They don't realize who they are dealing with. I am a Mother--my eyes are always open, my mind is always made up, my rules are law, I will always suspect the worst and my guard will NEVER be down.

Domestic Terroritsts------------>

Weapons used: Hugs, kisses, agreeable

behavior
Highly Dangerous: DO NOT TURN YOUR BACK!

**Ok, you know I love my kids more than life itself. I'd take a bullet for them, I'd throw myself in front of a train for them, yada yada...WHATever!

Listing brain

I have been doing lots of lists for Facebook lately so I decided that my Friday post will be in list form with no apparent rhyme or reason. I'm just going to tip my brain to the side and see what comes out.

1. I'm in desparate need of a new bra but I hate to bra shop. How do I know I need a new bra? My boobs keep spilling out of the sides! It probably looks like I have three to four boobs in there. I don't know what went wrong with this bra. It started out so well. I like Victoria Secret bras. But since they are so damn expensive you would think they would keep these sisters in check for at least a year. Don't you think that's reasonable? I suppose in this economic climate I should give other bras a try. I don't care about the name brand, I just need a bra that's going to hold these chesticles up and out there, right in your face.

2. I haven't been in a mall since a few days after Christmas. I have no desire to do so and that is why #1 is such a problem.

3. A Shepard funny--One morning Shepard crawled in bed with me and I told him, "Why don't you go kiss your brother awake." He said, "I can't! His breath smells like HORRID!"

4. I have been loading up my iTunes with all my CDs. I haven't listened to some of these CDs in years and now I can. Today I was listening to my iPod and came across a song I haven't heard in forever. It was an En Vogue song called "My Lovin' (You're never gonna get it.) The song made me think of college and my roommate during my 5th year (yeah, I was on the 5 year plan or so I told my parents.) Ok, stick with me here. Do you remember when it was cool to make funny and creative messages for your answering machine? Well, it must have been during my 5th year of college since my roomie and I did a message to that En Vogue song. It was the part when they break it down and sing "Never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get, never gonna get it, never gonna get it"...yeah, you get the picture. Except in our message sang, "Never gonna get us, never gonna get us, never gonna get...etc." and I did the "Whoa whoa whoa whoa" part. I just remember doing it over and over to get it just right and laughing and laughing the whole time. That's why I have a hard time getting rid of my old music because those songs evoke great memories.

5. Whew, that was a long one. Here's a short one--How come every time you come around my London, London Bridge wanna go down?

6. Alan gained a little weight around the holidays and has been very sensitive about it. You might think I would be more sensitive about his sensitivities but I am not going to coddle him. Coddling causes weakness. I think he looks as hot as ever so in an effort to snap him out of it, I have been going out of my way to tease him. I've been pulling from my 'Yo Momma's so fat' repertoire. Like this--Alan's so fat he has his own area code. Alan's so fat that his belly button doesn't have lint, it has sweaters. Alan's so fat when he steps on the scale it says 'To be continued.' Ha! Reverse psychology works, right? And it's more amusing. If you think of anymore fat insults, please send them along. It's for a good cause--Alan's self esteem.

7. The best thing happened last night. Alan leaned over to tuck Shepard into bed and broke the bed. Yes, it was perfect fodder for my 'Build Alan's self esteem' plan. Well, I will admit that the boys' bunk bed is a cheap ass piece of crap but the timing couldn't be more perfect. Now I have a new one--Alan's so fat, when he laid his lips on his son's head to kiss him goodnight, the mattress broke through the bed frame. Classic!

8. I have a girl crush on Padma Lakshmi from Top Chef.

9. I love the way Shepard blames Sage for everything. If we can't find something, Sage took it. If something breaks, Sage broke it. If he trips, Sage made him do it. If a cat pees on the laundry, Sage did it. Now we're all doing it. Whatever goes wrong, we just say, "Sage did it." It's a good thing George W was around to take the blame or Shepard might have blamed Sage for Hurricane Katrina, global warming, the tsunami, and the housing bubble bursting.

10. Speaking of Sage, he refuses to get a haircut. Since it's winter, I have been indulging him and now his hair is quite big. For a joke at Christmas, we bought him a pack of Afro picks. He loves them and sometimes will stick one in his hair and leave it there, like Freddie Washington in 'Welcome Back, Kotter.'

Mr. Kah-TARE!

Derby Day

I am writing this on Saturday morning. It is an exciting day for, you see, today is Pinewood Derby Day! My son Sage is a Cub Scout and Alan is his den leader. Every year in January, Cub Scouts everywhere are given a block of wood, four nail and four wheels. From this block of wood they are expected plan, design, and make their own racing car. Parents of cubs are only supposed to give advice and help with any dangerous cutting. On Derby Day, we all gather and the pack races these cars down a wooden track to determine the ultimate winner.

So for two years, Sage has been the main designer and builder of his vehicle. And for two years he has never won jack! Zilch! Nada! Not even one heat. Two losses and he was out. However, I noticed as we stood by and watched the other boys go on to compete for the win, there were an awful lot of dads standing around talking about their car design, where they distributed their weight and how they got their wheels to run so smoothly. Seems the dads are the ones competing, hmmmmm.

This year I told Alan, "I want Sage to win at least one race this year. So YOU make the car, leave him out of it. Oh, maybe he could paint it or something, but you do it. He has got to win!!" Alan worked very hard for 3 days on the car. Sage painted it in a camouflage pattern and named the car--The Camo Commando!! So, full of hope and anticipation, we are leaving for the race very soon. I will write the rest of this post later with the results. Cross your fingers!

THE RESULTS

Well, it's a good thing that Alan is pretty because he cannot build a damn derby car. Yes, Camo Commando went down in flames, just like Sage's previous cars--Pod Racer and Turbo Python. It didn't even win once. Sage was a good sport but in private told me, "This is stupid!" I agree, it is stupid. Stupid, stupid!! Beside they can do other things very well. Sage can climb a tree like he was born in a jungle and Alan can cook a steak to a perfect medium rare (honestly, it will make you cry in happiness it tastes so good.) So there are more important things that silly wooden racing cars.

The rest of the day was kind of a nightmare too. We came home to find that the cat had thrown up all over our hallway carpet. I had to leave Alan with that mess while I took Shepard to a birthday party. I am not sure who had the rawest deal--Alan, who spent the afternoon cleaning up cat puke or me, stuck in Chuck E. Cheese on a Saturday in the midst of eight birthday parties. It's a toss up.

Hopefully we can salvage the day. The kids are at grandma's for the night and Alan and I are going to dinner and spending the evening alone. He might even get lucky, if he doesn't piss me off. Ha!

I've been committed

I was looking back and realized that I have been blogging on a consistent basis for about a year. Ok, there were a couple of lapses here and there when my lazy fingers couldn't make it to the keyboard but, for the most part, I was committed to blogging this year. I have really enjoyed it and I hope all three to four of you who read my blog have enjoyed it too. But there comes a time in every bloggers life when you have to ask yourself--should I continue? do I really have anything worth saying anymore? It took me about half a second to decide that I probably shouldn't continue and I know I don't have anything worth saying. (And here's my big) BUT that hasn't stopped me in the past and it won't stop me now. So on I go.

I went for a massage recently at a school for massage therapists. My mom told me about it and I decided to try it since they give a one hour massage for $25 which is a killer deal. The catch is that you are the guinea pig for their learning hands. And that's not the only catch apparently which I learned while I was reading all the terms and conditions. I had to sign this little waiver before the massage in which I had to agree to act appropriately, not contact the student outside of the school for massages, be free from sickness, and wear underwear. Oops. You see, as I might have mentioned before, I am not a fan of underwear. So my first embarrassment of the day was having to tell the secretary at the massage school that I was not wearing any underwear. Then I was passed off to my therapist (who was informed that I was not wearing any underwear.) My therapist was a woman. When I have the choice I usually pick a woman because I really cannot relax with a man massager. I am too preoccupied thinking about stuff like--'Oh crap, I didn't shave my legs' or 'Are my nipples hard?' or 'Did he just peek when I turned over?' So I prefer women--in my massagers anyway. But I do like a big burly woman with strong hands. So when my massage lady asked me about the amount of pressure I like during a massage I said, "I like it hard." And that was my second embarrassing moment of the day. Did I actually say that?!

The massage went fine but I swear, no matter how much I tell them, they never spend enough time on my back and shoulders. Geez, my feet and hands really don't need that much attention. I don't lay down at the end of the day and say "Wow, my feet feel really tense tonight."

In conclusion, I am so glad that I can tell you about these little gems in my life because I wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

I want to be a BIG loser!

Since the new year I have been watching shows like "The Biggest Loser" and "National Body Challenge" and I have learned something--Losing weight is hard!! But these people on the shows have inspired me. After much discussion, Alan and I have finally come up with a diet plan we think we can live with. We have decided to eat and eat until we become morbidly obese and then have the weight loss surgery. How genius is that! Seems much easier to me. Exercise--Pshaw!! Healthy eating--Feh!! They're not so important in the whole scheme of things. Let's face it, I am way to busy with saving the planet, raising my children (and the neighbors' children--it takes a village, ya know), working hard to pay my taxes, and making sure my children are winners so they have self esteem.

I am just glad I came to this realization on this day of new beginnings. Yay, Obama! I figure by the time he is good and settled into the White House I will be well on my way to the goal weight of 100 pounds--OVERweight, that is! Then The Big O can slide me a piece of that pie (and that one and that one) to pay for my weight loss surgery. Oh, I'll also need some plastic surgery to get rid of all that unwanted skin and maybe to fix the huge cavern that is my nose.




So I am off for an Inaugural Day celebration lunch at Mickey D's. Super size that, please!!