I won a birthday, y'all!

I am editing this post because after you win something (including when I won a fully decorated one foot tall Christmas tree in Mexico in the sixth grade ((true story))) friends and relatives come out of the woodwork to claim they had something to do with your winning and why didn't you thank them and give them some of your birthday.  Edited on 1-21-15 (pre-coffee).

So, it's my birthday.  And, I don't have many friends because I'm socially awkward and an introvert, but when you are on Facebook and it's your birthday it's pretty easy to feel like the head of the cheerleading squad in high school.  And by that I mean "a big deal."  With all this popularity (and on the heels of the Grammys which I was awake to watch this year for the first time in........ever) comes the need to write an acceptance speech. 

If that seems weird to you, I don't care.  It's my birthday and I'll write an acceptance speech if I want to.

So, without further ado, my acceptance speech:

I would like to thank my parents for potty training me.  Well, probably just my mom because I remember one time in first grade I wet my pants on the way home because it was about ten degrees below zero and I think your pee freezes right on to your skin when it's that cold and she yelled out the backdoor, "YOU BETTER NOT BE WETTING YOUR PANTS AGAIN, GIRL OR I WILL SPANK YOUR BUTT!"  So, yes.  I thank my mom for potty training me and sticking with it because apparently I did not like to "go at school" (I vaguely remember there being a curse word written in black Sharpie on the bathroom stall and that scared me).  Potty training was definitely one step along the way to many a successful birthday party!

I would like to also thank my dad for having the decency to make me accept my first job at Baskin Robbins.  It was there that I learned the importance of eating all the profits and the delightful sinfulness of eating all the profits............on your birthday.

I would like to thank my kids.  Without them I would be able to vacation for less than $10,000.  Which would totally degrade the value of a vacation for me.  And if I did not value a vacation then the commercial where they say, "One plane ticket - $650, one ticket to Disney - $400, one princess with a pirate - $8,000, two hotel rooms (one for you and one for your kids) - $2,000.  The shock on your husband's face when he gets the bill - priceless," would mean absolutely nothing to me.  I'm not sure what that has to do with birthdays, but after four kids I rarely make sense.

I would like to thank my entire staff (see above) who encouraged me to work in order to win this birthday "someday."

I would like to thank my older sister, Billy Jean, who I know is reading tonight from home because she couldn't fly down here to see me accept my birthday in person (see above for the cost of a plane ticket).  Billy Jean - I love you.  You taught me about negotiation, bribery, and maybe smuggling also?  Was that you?  Anyway!  I couldn't have done all these flippin' birthdays without you!

I would be remiss (and apparently I was) if I did not mention the rest of my wonderful siblings.  Without them I would be one of those weird people with only one sibling who share and cooperate barely better than only children.

I would like to thank my friends - real and virtual - for encouraging me to keep having birthdays and for feeding me cake and beer over the years.  Particularly one friend who dressed me for the after-parties and who sent me this card which I think explains my life:

Naturally it is Swiss cheese holding mine together so I am screwed

I'd like to thank my ancestors, the Mayans, for inventing the calendar and birthdays. 

And how could I forget my wonderful husband, Mr. DayInTheLife!  If you hadn't discovered me and gone on to be my manager, we wouldn't have made all those movies.............wait............I'm sorry I got confused.  This is my birthday acceptance speech.  Sorry!  Thanks Mr. DayInTheLife for all of my presents you are going to buy me.

And, lastly I'd like to thank God for sending me down here in my birthday suit.  Although, I question why you didn't send me in flannel P.J.'s with matching bunny head slippers since I am much more comfortable in that.

If I forgot anyone else know that this is just like a chain email that says you will die in seven days if you don't get it.  I'm sure I forgot people.  I have a really bad memory.  Forward it to people that you think I left out inadvertently!  Then they will feel good and they won't die!

And, that's all.  Again, this is such an honor and I will cherish this birthday forever!


(Cue the birthday music.)  (Me turning to exit the stage - the wrong way.  Ladies who we don't know, but who all look like Vanna White gently guiding me by the elbow to the other direction.  Why do they not just change the way people exit the stage?  In fact, I am changing that $hit right now.  Exit the way it feels natural after you accept your birthday.)


Happy Birthday, me! 

Thanksgiving Edition (in which I flip the bird)

(photo credit:  mattalltrades.blogspot.com.)  

It's like six days away from all of us sticking our hands up a bird's cavity at some ungodly hour in remembrance of Pilgrims and Indians Native Americans.  Is it safe to say you guys are all past this advice:  Buy the turkey, don't run into it?  Defrost the turkey?  Don't get salmonella?  Make sure the oven's on?

So, I decided since you guys clepped out of that drivel you might need some real tips to help take your Thanksgiving to the proverbial 'next level' (let's hope it's not the burning ring of hell level).

You're welcome.

Here we go.

1.  Read this.  It has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but I'm thinking of making it my About Me page. 

2.  Thanksgiving is stressful, but it pales in comparison to the next 30 days.  So, instead of those name plates from paper you wove yourself, give everyone a shiny party blower and some fireworks.  It's kinda like the last day of summer (except you might not want to wear a bathing suit).

3.  And don't wear a costume either.  It confuses your guests.

4.  I'm an introvert (see #1).  But, damn it if like four of the five people in my inner circle have birthdays near Thanksgiving.  Sucks for them because they get Turkey Surprise! for their birthday dinner and their presents all come wrapped for Christmas.  Try to avoid making friends with these people.

5.  Don't eat turkey before Thanksgiving.  I recommend leaving approximately 364 days in between the times you eat turkey.

6.  Become a vegetarian and go gluten free right before Thanksgiving.  This will annoy the crap out of everyone you know thereby greatly relieving your stress.  You will have no family and friends left to dine with on the big day.

7.  When you cook the bird, flip it.  I did this completely by accident about 20 years ago.  It was my first turkey (I think I can tell you that, right?) and I had no idea what kind of protection to use, where to put my hands, what went in where, or which way was up.  Everyone raved at how smart I was because the breast? thigh? wing?  testicles? came out so juicy and moist because they were left to simmer in their own juices.  (I have no idea what I'm talking about, but it sounds like we're ready for #8.)

8.  Any mistake can be covered up with a "delicious gravy."  (This tip I actually stole from NPR.) 

This is what "delicious gravy" looks like.  I think you can find it on aisle 10.

Author's Note:  Turns out this isn't entirely true.  "Delicious gravy" does not remove gum from the dryer.

9.  Hubby knows a little rhyming joke about pumpkin pie (circa The Bible - or when he was in middle school).  As much as I cringe when I hear the joke I cannot get it out of my mind and it goes without saying that I cannot eat pumpkin pie.  Unless there is a lot of whip cream.  Or just whip cream.  Straight from the can into my mouth.  And a shot for my coffee.

(photo credit:  gumblestump.com)  That's about right.

10.  Alcohol.  If possible start drinking it right after your first pot of coffee (which will be at about 5 in the morning if you are cooking a 20 pound bird and want to eat while you are still upright).

11.  If you need a new foundation (or I would venture to say any home repair costing more than a grand), consider frying your turkey.

12.  If you have kids, you may need to brush up on Sqanto and the Wampanogs, so you can appropriately discuss this at the dinner table (you might want to follow that with The Trail of Tears just so that everyone is sufficiently depressed and so that there is an edge of reality to your history).  (Hint:  Wampanog is not a verb as in:  I'm gonna wampanog your a$$ if you don't make your bed.)

14.  Just in case there is not enough tryptophan in your turkey this year, I recommend crushing up sleeping pills in the stuffing.  This will ensure you can watch Not Football on TV.  

15.  This came from NPR, too:  When all else fails there is always The Google.  I've used this search before 'Restaurants open on Thanksgiving this year.'

Have a good one and I'll save you a piece of pie (or the whole pie).

My first call from prison will be to you. Count on it.

It would be bad if a family member put an entire pack of gum through the washer and the dryer.

But, it would be worse if you were in a hurry to get your girls to school when you discovered said incident had occurred and you had to rush out and couldn't quite manage damage control then.

It would be bad if you didn't have time to attempt to clean the dryer, but you did have five seconds to quickly run the Vitamix so that it would be easier to clean later, but you didn't quite get the top on securely and the soapy/smoothie water sprayed all over your shirt.

But, it would be worse if you didn't quite have the two minutes it took to change your shirt.

It would be bad if while you were gone your dog (who recently developed a common? hankering for chewing gum) discovered that an entire pack of gum had gone through the laundry and there was still some scent of the gum on the clothes and so he decided to drag all the clothes out of the clothes basket searching for the clothes that still had particles of gum on them.

But, it would be worse if he found the clothes with gummy bits on them and chewed them to a point so unrecognizable that when you rushed in fifteen minutes later because you forgot to put the frozen smoothie items back in the freezer you thought you'd been robbed and somehow the robber threw up while robbing your house.

It would be bad if all this had happened and nothing else happened all the rest of the day while you were at work.

But, it would be worse if your husband helped you with the laundry - something he's not done in approximately 20 years - while you were at work and dried another load of laundry in the gummed up dryer.

It would be bad if all of this happened today.

But, it would be worse if I decided to just clean it all with Goo Gone because Goo Gone is flammable and could potentially catch the dryer on fire and burn down the whole house.

But, I'm pretty sure we need a new foundation for our house, so it might not be worse?

It might be really, really smart?

Marathon training. It's hard work, y'all.

This post is dedicated to all the people who have supported me during the training period for my marathon.  I couldn't do it without y'all.

So, the marathon starts in two days.  Here's what I've been doing to train.

1.  Gradually increasing the time that I watch TV. 

2.  Staying up consistently past 10:00 p.m.

3.  Eating a variety of foods consistent with a 'marathon body,' i.e. popcorn, peanuts, ice cream, chocolate, Dagwood sandwiches, Doritos, etc.

4.  Watching the last few episodes of Season 1.  If you remember I learned the importance of this training technique when Season 2 of House of Cards came out and I'd forgotten all of Season 1 so I had to waste time watching Season 1 again and all of the people passed me for Season 2 and I probably came in last for viewing time.  So annoying and totally preventable.

5.  Finding comfortable positions on the couch in order to avoid marathon injury.  (Hubby:  We may need to buy a new couch in the next two days.)

6.  Buying the proper shoes and clothes.  The importance of shoes and clothes during a marathon cannot be discounted.  Here's some quick and super easy advice from a 'professional.'  Choose clothes that are comfortable, loose fitting (see #3) and that are easy to get off (see #7).  Choose shoes that are soft and easy to kick off (see #5).

7.  Practicing peeing in less than five seconds and researching catheters.  (Kidding!)

8.  Finding everything I can on the interwebs about characters so that I can fully understand what I'll be up against.

9.  Buddying up with like-minded friends so that I can have encouragement and solidarity along the way.  (Research shows that this is really important for marathons, y'all.)

10.  Lastly, preparing my family for the test of my endurance the lies ahead.

It's all about the training.  Are you with me?

Life is not Netflix.

Because it's Monday and they suck and there's nothing that's ever new on a Monday, I'm going Time Warner and doing a rerun.  Also because I've been flirting with running a 10K (someone stop me).

We'll call it TBM. Throwback Monday or The Bad Motivation.

Run a 10K or watch Breaking Bad for two hours?  Do you really have to ask?

You can thank Facebook for guilting me into ignoring you less. (You're welcome.)

There's no theme and you don't have to consider this a real post.

1.  I'm considering a 10K (I'm also considering a 10G, but I blame Breaking Bad).  Not really.  But a great friend (who is short, but could kick your a$$ because she works out with more zeal than Richard Simmons but don't worry she's not kooky or annoying) is trying to convince me that this would somehow be good for me and that I might enjoy it.  Right.  Please comment why this is a worse idea than me staying up till 2:00 watching Breaking Bad when I have to get up at 5:00 and work.

2.  Said friend lent (not the one where you give something up) me a doo-hickey that you attach to your waist (attractively?) and it carries two water bottles.  Why do I need this?  Because it's April (check your calendars) in South Texas and I'm in pre-menopause (whatever that is) so that equals hot and thirsty, y'all.  So, why did this even make the quickie list?  Because it's dorky and more than vaguely reminiscent of the notorious fanny pack.  I know every like "serious" runner does it, but I can't shake the dork factor.  Would I rather die from heat exhaustion?  I'm still thinking about it.

3.  Will you guys still like me if I am the only person in the free world that doesn't care for Breaking Bad?  Here's the thing.  I'm used to House of Cards, Orange is the New Black, and The Killing.  Breaking Bad is s-l-o-w.  Like a turtle.  Now, I've written a small amount about hubby but something you might not know about him is that he's a "multi-tasker."  When we watch Netflix he plays a game on his phone, checks his laptop for emails, shares gourmet popcorn with Bandit, and explains difficult episode material to me.  "How does he do this???" you ask.  Simple answer?  He's a guiness.  Well, I could never do that.  I have a one track mind.  (Insert snicker.)  BUT, with Breaking Bad I can.  Last night while watching I did all my paperwork, emailed two customers, and did some actual work.  And this was well past 10:00 p.m.  The hell???  (I'm giving it two more episodes and then I'm calling it quits.)  No haters, please?

4.  Captcha (Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart) mocks me.  As you know, my eyes are aging at an accelerated rate.  Hubby calls me (affectionately?), "old eyes."  So every time I have to "prove I'm not a robot" I get it wrong.  It's become this battle between Captcha and me.  I imagine him as a real person sitting behind a laptop somewhere commenting under his breath as I type.  "She is a robot."  "What a moron!"  "Really?  She's either blind or she's not human."  Then it's like Captcha takes pity on me kinda (after I get like five of them wrong) and he's all, "Ok, Ms. Dayinthelife.  How about this, 'U R 2 S tpD.'"  At which point I'm like, "THANK YOU!  I can do this!"

5.  This is the funniest thing I've read all month.  In fact, read this gal's blog (but don't stop reading mine).  She is beyond hysterical and pretty much delivers the truth in a highly entertaining package.  I'm going to a baby shower today and I'm considering printing off this post, wrapping it up in fancy paper, and attaching a card that says, "You'll thank me later."  As much as I love this post, it has dashed all of my dreams of ever writing a parenting book.  Because absolutely nothing could compare to this advice.

 

If you are missing something, it might have been under my fridge.

So I've been doing a lot lately (besides watching every single show on Netflix).  Here's a list that will sum it up nicely (or just sum it up) and be easier (and I hope more entertaining) than me trying to explain it all.

1.  Bandit my dog is an awful painter's helper.  He took a fair amount of spackle off the wall in one fell swoop.  He tried to eat the painter's brushes when he was washing them (right after he'd had his first bath in about eight months naturally).  He drank the painter's Big Gulp because he left it on the table.  He ate the painter's tacos because the painter did not learn from his mistake.  And he ate numerous pieces of old (and new) baseboards like they were treats we'd bought just for him.

2.  The painter is still willing to come back to do another job upstairs.

3.  There are still people in the world with "work ethic." (I'm not talking about myself here.  "Duh," you say.)

4.  My kids *might* have careers in stand up.  Or I'm unusually prejudice (most likely the latter and my kids will be living with me for a long time which I probably will not find funny at all). 

5.  The time between spring break and summer can be compared to the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It's painful for parents, kids, and teachers alike.  The kids are done learning anything.  So, naturally that's when the state testing occurs.

6.  It is possible to overthink things.  This can result in hours of time spent thinking and not actually doing.  I fall victim to this phenomena a lot and it explains quite a bit about the status of my life.

7.  When you've been married over 20 years another wedding and all the ensuing presents would be helpful and probably less expensive than trying to re-do your house with your own income.  I am considering a huge 25 year anniversary party.  I will not write Please no gifts on the invitations.  In fact, I'm asking Prudie if it would be presumptuous and rude to register.  At Target.

8.  My entire paycheck has gone to Target the past few months.  Wouldn't it be easier for me to just move in there?  I guess I could offer to work a few hours, too?  And promise to wear only red and khaki?

9.  Netflix has ruined regular TV for me.  It happened slowly, but I'm pretty sure now that I can't watch regular TV anymore.  SPOILER ALERT.  I knew something huge was happening on The Good Wife and I still finished Luther on Netflix that night instead.  What's wrong with me?  Then I read in the paper that Will died and I didn't really care unless I can watch it on Netflix.  Again, Will's dead!  What's wrong with me?

10.  The kids have discovered the dog whisperer on Netflix.  I've told you guys before how much I don't really like him?  I mean really.  If my parents watched the dog whisperer I think they'd think he was dropping acid (if my parents know what that is).  But, whatever.  The kids have told me that it's the owners that must be trained (yeah, I suspected a train wreck coming, too).  And that *maybe* Bandit behaves the way he does because of me.  So, basically the dog whisperer has taught my kids that parenting dogs and kids is basically the same.  The parents will invariably be blamed for everything.

10.  When you do home repair, maintenance, and painting it makes you feel good.  It also makes you notice all the things you didn't do.  How many permanent handprints will be on all the doors before we can repaint them all, too? 

11.  Painting also can make you want to clean everything.  Remember about a year ago when I went bat $hit crazy and tried to organize every area of my house?  Well, damn it if it didn't all get dirty and disorganized again.  The hell?  So, now I'm on a cleaning frenzy again.

12.  I don't pay my house cleaner enough.  She hasn't been here in a while because the chaos would probably give her a coronary and it takes everything out of me to clean the house.  Aside from the fact that it's covered in a thin layer of painting dust/grime, I'm just not a good house cleaner. 

13.  I cleaned under the stove for the first time in about 11 years and there was an ecosystem growing under there.  It was horrific, but I did find quite a few lost toys, magnets, kitchen tools, and popcorn from the early 2000's.  No more gourmet popcorn for Bandit.  Turns out he likes years old popcorn that's covered with goo just as much!

14.  This motivated me to clean under the other three movable appliances.  Not one of the five people I live with (or Bandit) noticed or cared that I'd done it.  The hell?  Lesson?  Not doing it again for another 10-20 years. 

15.  After seven years of having three of our four kids taking piano lessons and all practicing on a digital keyboard, we bought a piano.  Now, I've never seen the movie We Bought A Zoo (if it's on Netflix, though, there's a good chance I might see it someday), but I wanted to make a mockumentary for reality TV called We Bought a Piano.  They're *kinda* like children or dogs.  You have to take care of them, they respond to temperature changes, if you treat them right they can provide joy for you your entire life, they need annual tunings (sometimes more if they get sick), they're fragile, and they cost a buttload of money.  I'm hoping this piano does not want to go to college.

16.  I miss you guys a lot.  I've vowed to be better about reading my favorite blogs and I've vowed to post more.  But let's be honest.  This might be my last post for a while or until I get out of rehab.  Last night around 10:30 p.m. hubby and I started doing something we'd been putting off for a while.  We had sex?  No.  We started Breaking Bad.   

Six days (give or take) and I'll be back.  Maybe.

R.I.P. in 2014

Cue Taps.  Here's what I'm putting to rest in 2014.

1.  Reading top 10 lists for What Not to Buy in 2014.  Mainly because I have just purchased about five of the items on that list. 

• a new laptop with Windows 8,
• a new home phone,
• I just opened a credit card that issues store credit for purchases rather than cash back (and I was quite smug with myself after doing it),
• I still have cable (the horrors if Marketwatch could see the TV I'm running cable on) (and the VCR that sits on top of it).  Not pretty.
• a digital camera (shoot me now).

Ms. Day in the Life:  The 80's called and they want their technology back.

Oh, but on the upside, Ms. AnnaMaria Andriotis:  I have short legs!

2.  I'm putting to bed the notion that I am smarter than a sixth grader.  No, I do not know the difference between algae and protozoa and I'm sick of pretending that I might remember and be able to explain it if you give me a second to finish dinner (and sneak over to my laptop).

3.  R.I.P. my memory.  You are being laid to rest.  The upside - hubby can't remember jack either.  True story:  The other day he said to me, "Babe, my memory is like a bad woman."  To which I laughed out loud.  A few days later I said back to him, "I'm still laughing at when you said your memory was like a bad woman."  Hubby looked blankly at me and said, "I said that?"

4.  I'm putting feeling like I'm punishing the earth when I eat meat to bed.  Mostly because that guilt's been pretty well buried since about six months ago and also because yesterday our neighbor, who apparently knows how expensive it is to feed four growing children, gave us a ginormous box of meat.  Happy Carnivorous Guilt Free New Year to Me!

5.  R.I.P. to the notion that my house will stay clean even a few hours after our house cleaner has come over.  I swear to God when a kid in my house drops a gallon of milk on the floor right after the house cleaner has closed the front door an angel gets his wings.  I'm done caring.

6.  And along the lines of keeping the house clean - Rest in peace the notion of cleaning the tools used for cleaning.  WTF?  I'm burying cleaning the vacuum, dishwasher, tub, and washing machine.

7.  Decadent vacations sans children on deserted islands with huge cocktails.  Rest in peace me in a bikini in Isla de Mujeres.

8.  The idea that I'll learn more about wine...or anything about wine.  R.I.P. me as a sommelier in 2014.

9.  The idea that I'll learn more about photography.  I won't.  Not in 2014, not in 2015.  Not on a box.  Not with a fox.

10.  Lastly, R.I.P. teaching this dog to fetch.  Much has been debated during 2013 about whether a dog who cannot fetch is, in fact, a real dog.  Who has a dog that can't fetch???  Me.  That's who.

I'm also putting to bed the notion that I care even remotely about sports.  Except possibly when this happens:

Then I still will not be able to help myself.  Even in 2014.

Happy New Year.

Turns out Lilyhammer is the father.

Remember when I wrote Prudie about my then three year old going all Lilyhammer on us?  Well, she still does a lot of vaguely crime kingpinish stuff.  And, if I had any doubt before, I can now definitively answer the question I've asked myself, "WHERE DID SHE COME FROM?"

We're sitting around at breakfast and Boy Child says, "Yesterday at school a kid went to juvie for throwing a rock at a car."

Girl 1:  Was it a moving car or just a parked car?

(It's possibly she will go into law?)

Boy Child:  I dunno!  Does it matter?  Sheesh, Girl 1.  Throwing a rock at a car is NOT OKAY!  It doesn't matter if it's parked or moving!

(His behavior may not always exhibit his knowledge, but when it comes to what's right and wrong, that kid knows his stuff.)

Me:  Yeah.  It's really not a good idea.  Ask your dad.  He knows a thing of two about throwing rocks at cars.

I still don't know why I said that.  And, as I uttered the words, I should have known it might end questionably.

After all four kids looked expectantly at hubby like he was Santa giving out candy, he really had no choice but to start telling them a story.

The story goes like this:

Back when hubby was a tween, he and some "friends" were walking along a fairly desolate road and saw an old car a good way away.  They decided to wager on who might be able to hit the car with a rock.  So, the other boys started throwing rocks and were unable to hit the car.  Hubby picked up a rock, threw it, and they all heard a loud cracking sound.  Then they heard someone come out of a nearby house yelling.  They ran away.  A few days later some cops came to hubby's school and took him to juvie.  His "friends" had ratted him out, and they had told the cops that it was just hubby that was throwing rocks.

Hubby stopped talking and the kids were just kind of staring at us waiting for (I guess) a moral to the story.

So, I said, "THAT is why we pick our friends wisely....................Wait........................What I mean is - true friends don't rat out their friends.........................Wait.  That's not what I meant.  What I mean is - you need to decide what's right and wrong for yourself.  Don't let your friends decide for you.  Yeah.  That's what I meant........................You knew throwing rocks at cars was wrong, right babe?"

Silence.

"RIGHT, babe???"

Hubby:  Of course.  Yes.  I knew throwing rocks was wrong and I shouldn't have done it.  And my so-called friends shouldn't have lied either.  But that's okay.

Looking back, at that point I should have loudly asked, "WHO'S READY FOR DESSERT?"

But, hindsight is 20/20.

Kids:  What do you mean it's okay?  What happened after that?  Did you go to jail?  Did you have to pay a fine?  Did the other kids go to jail for lying? 

(It's clear their knowledge of the criminal justice system is severely limited.)

Hubby:  Well, after that happened my mom had to go to court and pay a fine.  Because I shouldn't have messed up that guy's car.  Even though it was a beat up old car, the guy said it was an "antique."  The cops didn't do anything to the other kids.  I didn't tell anyone they were lying. 

Kids:  Well, that doesn't quite seem fair that they were throwing rocks too.  But they lied and so they didn't get in any trouble?

Hubby:  Yeah, well that's okay.  Later they met with some unfortunate incidents.

Kids:  Oh no!  What do you mean?

Hubby:  Oh, one of them repeatedly banged his face on some rocks and one of them fell down some stairs.  And I think someone beat one of them up.

A short silence followed in which the kids were deep in thought.  And then finally:

Boy Child:  Hmm.  So, I guess that's what they call karma?

Me:  Yup!  That's exactly what they call karma!  Does anyone want dessert??!!

Would you believe me if I told you it was Netflix's fault?

It's a good thing consistent blogging is not my real job.  And, let's not get into a discussion about:  What is my real job?

So, I've blogged like twice in the last month and a half?

Seriously.  I've considered shutting down my blog a lot during the past few months.  The problem is I cannot figure out how to transfer everything over to my 1991 Commodore without it completely blowing out the hard drive (kidding, but I do lack the technological skills and my laptop is almost that old).

So, here I am.

Netflix decided to release the third (?) season of Damages.  Freakin' finally (after I had completely forgotten what the f*ck happened in season one and two).  And then they released the third season of The Killing.  This is still sucking my time in a sickeningly enriching and enjoyable way.  Just last night I told hubby that when he dies I am totally stalking Holder.  Probably until I am jailed. 

And then Halloween happened somewhere in there.  Then after weeks of being smug about not getting sick like other (weaker) people and having a superior immune system - I got sick.  And, throughout all of this my Boy Child has had a teensy bit of an adjustment period...ahem...two months...ahem...to middle school.  I've had to navigate that complicated road between Helicopter Mom and Delinquent/Meth Mom.  That.  is.  time.  consuming.

What else?  Oh, yeah.  I have four kids and I painted my Yukon Cornelius yellow and threw up a taxi sign on top.

Cheesus.

Anyway.  I go to blog and here's what happens:

1.  Instead I clean out my 1044 emails because I am sick and tired of searching for that one email that is offering me a million dollars.  This takes about eight hours because I get distracted with wondering Do I want to improve my sex life?  And:  The fact that I have maybe 10 friends, so who are all these emails from?  Oh, yeah.  Some Russian chick wanting to be friends and that guy in South Africa who says we're related and needs my social security number (note to self:  I could totally have way more than 10 friends).

2.  I decide to make dinner (in which the smoke alarms signals it's ready).  True Story:  The five year old no longer responds at all when the smoke alarm goes off.  She asked me yesterday if it meant that I was cooking.  Thanks.

3.  I decide to clean the five year old's room (which has not been done since the last Saturday in August).  There are brand new clothes (summer clothes?) still in the bags (which my wonderful house cleaner has carefully hung on hangers in her closet).  Um, embarrassing.

4.  I decide to wash the Yukon.  During which time we find:  a half a sandwich (thank God it looked like peanut butter and jelly - which never really goes bad, right?), one apple (at least I think it was an apple?), numerous Craisins (seriously - a lot - I probably could have bagged them up and returned them to Costco - WTF?  - they cost too much to be wandering loose in the Yukon), seven paperclips (next time I'll just go to the Yukon when I need one), a jacket that's been missing since we went on summer vacation, and lots of homework papers.  Um, Boy Child?  Are those yours?

5.  I decide to change the calendar.  Which causes me to ponder the last month and think about how much I love Halloween and hate Christmas, which makes me sad, and guilty, and want to work on the family budget, which makes me sick, which makes me want to write down all the people I will give gifts to, which makes me shorten the list, which makes me really dread Christmas and wish Halloween could be twice, which makes me feel guilty, which makes me want chocolate, which makes me write chocolate down on the list, which makes me remember to update the calendars.

6.  I decide that instead of blogging what I really want to do is read all the blogs I love.  I get through one, laugh a lot, and then decide again to shut down my blog because I am not as good as all the people I love to read. 

7.  I download MayMyRun and MyFitnessPal (apparently "Pal" means Nazi-friend who chides your every bite).  After running for nearly all my life, I finally take the advice of a friend and download an app which virtually runs for me.  But, not quite.  I still have to get up and run.  Damn it.  I quickly became obsessed not with actually working out, but with knowing everything about my working out (mainly the fact that I am not working out).  How is this helpful?  Here's the app I want:  The one that works out and eats right for you while you are um, working and sleeping and catching up on Netflix?

8.  I look over at my enormous pile of prints and feel overwhelmed with guilt.  So, I actually work.  At what I get paid for.  Yeah.  Someone please give me a million dollars.  Wait.  Where's that email?

I'm no NOBLO MOFO (similar to NANOWRIMO, but you don't need to see a doctor for it).  And like the alcoholic I am taking it one day at a time.  I can only say I am sober blogging today. 

I've missed you blogosphere and I hope to see more of you soon.  Now, for the love of Pete, go do something useful!

I'd like to thank my mom and God...oh, wait....

Someone thinks I'm "interesting" y'all!  Wheeeeee! 

I'm arousing?  Excuse me while I take my clothes off and roll around in some Vaseline.  Wait, no I'm absorbing.  Like Bounty!

1.  Thank you Weezafish for this loverly award!  I love you and I think it's high time I told you that every time I type your name I am singing this in my head: 

Please go check her out, you guys because in addition to her ear-worm name, she has a delightful accent, a truly interesting background, and she moonlight writes for a bunch of people including a matchmaking place because she's sexy like that. 

2.  Five random facts about me (because it's all about me):

• I saw Barry Manilow in concert because I wanted to.
• I want to stab myself a little every time my boy child starts a story with, "Mom, y'know on Minecraft where......"
• My last Google search:  The Millionaire Matchmaker.  I tried to tie that into Weeza somehow, but I've clearly not had enough coffee.
• In my TV life, I have a thing for stabby, ex-addict detectives who are trying to make it right.
• I've never kept a plant alive for more than one week.  I've done considerably better with my children.

3.  I nominate these people for the Interesting Blog award (it was hard for me to pick partly because I read too many blogs than I should, and partly because many of the people I read have a $hit ton of awards):

• WHATIMEANT2SAY - add this to your shelf - yeah, you guys, she's pretty famous
• averageinsuburbia - so happy she came back to the blogosphere (she's pretty famous, too)
• And this gal who I just found and I think she's pretty interesting (and she's probably written a book or something, but maybe she'll put this award on her shelf, too)

My five questions for you three (here's where it gets confusing and hairy - try to pay attention):

• Have you ever had a hernia?
• Scorpion bite or brown recluse bite?
• Scorpion song or Justin Bieber song?
• If you could put two pop star singers together to make a hit record (that, frankly, just frightens everyone), who would it be?
• If you don't know the answers to any of the above, what do you know?

My answers to Weeza (CHEESUS - when does it end???  I just want this blog post to end???  If that's what you are saying, remember):

1.  When did you start Blogging and why?  I started blogging while nursing my third child.  Literally.  I needed something to do with my hands.

2. What treat or pamper could you just not do without?  A shower.  At least every other day.

3. Which tune would, without question, have you leaping to your feet and strutting to the dancefloor?

Um, yeah.  I don't dance.  But, this makes me chair dance a little (similar, but not the same as lap dance).

 

 

4.Imagine; You have an entire weekend free, nothing on your To Do List, millions in the bank and only yourself to please. What do you do?  Um.  Read blogs?

5. Where did you put your keys?!  Right next to hubby's so that we'll be able to find his quickly later.  (You're welcome.)

 

4.  Conditions and rules, you guys.  (Just pretend I'm giving you a new car, but you have to pay the taxes on it still, okay?  Only, you can't really drive this award, and it probably doesn't have that new car smell.)

• Claim your prize and display it on your shelf or if your shelf is too crowded, just put it in your closet and then when you are de-cluttering in a few years you can give it to Goodwill.  It will one day end up being someone's ashtray.  And, send me a thank you with five dollars.......oh, wait............that wasn't part of it?
• Tell us five tantalizing facts about yourself.
• Nominate three more unsuspecting yet well-deserving people.
• Ask them five questions.
• Tell them they won and give them the terms and conditions.  Ask them for ten dollars and send me five of those.

Whew!  Done.  It's just like they say, you guys.  Being famous is hard work.

 

My mom is probably getting tired of rolling over in her grave. So, sorry mom?

My mom always knew the correct way to do everything - fold and put away various sizes of bath towels, make a bed correctly so that you could bounce a penny off of it, clean a toilet so that it sparkled, get that awful burned stuff off the bottom of pans (not that I ever burn anything in my pans), and on, and on.  And if she didn't know the correct way to do something she would consult someone who did know. 

One time I was watching the Martha Stewart show (when we just had one kid, so I had virtually nothing to do, and I guess we could still afford cable) and I remember Martha saying in that smug way of hers, "Now there is a correct way to do everything.  Today we are going to learn the correct way to fold sheets."  And, I thought to myself, "My God.  My mom was Martha Stewart.....and what is the correct way to fold sheets again???  I better watch this so I can remember it this time."  I watched the show intently, and then promptly forgot how to fold sheets correctly. 

Thankfully, it doesn't matter because not only can we really not afford lots and lots of sheets for every one's beds, we live in a tiny house so where would we put all those extra sheets when we have stuff like underwear and toothbrushes to find a home for?  In fact, my motto now is pretty much, "Be happy there are clean sheets somewhere near your bed and try your best to get them on your bed so that your skin does not come in direct contact with the mattress because that would be germy."

Now, I've blogged plenty about my lack of cleaning skills, but just for the record my skills at any other kind of home cleaning/organization also suck.  I'm pretty sure my closets, bed sheets, and kitchen cabinets would make Martha Stewart sh*t her pants.  (Sorry, Martha.  And BTW, what is the proper way to clean that?)

But, forget about Martha for a second (because who really gives a damn about her).  Lately I've been thinking about how horrified my own momma would be if she were reading my blog...or worse yet, visiting my house.  Here's what's gone south.

1.  The sheet folding and bed making.  I know how to make a bed.  Really, you guys.  I do.  My mom taught me how to make a square corner before the days of fitted sheets (yes, I am that old).  And, I have taught each of my kids (except the four year old) how to make a square corner on a flat sheet (yes, you can applaud).  I know how to put the top sheet on upside down so that the top hem can show on the right side.  But, God love my mom...I have four kids (she had 10, so know that when I say that to her - to heaven - she frowns a titch back at me)!!! 

Here's what happens when the sheets get washed in my house.  I usually have someone take them out of the dryer and haul them up to each person's bed...or sometimes they just get dumped on the (clean) floor until each person picks up their clean sheets.  Then, frantically (usually right before bed) everyone tries to spread their sheets on their beds so that they just stay on there and they can sleep on their sheets instead of the mattress. 

Except my bed.  Here's the cool trick I just learned with my bed.  I can get the sheets off and back on without ever taking the heavy blanket or comforter off!  It's like magic and I have thought since I learned this about a month ago - why did I not know this trick?  Where have I been living?  Under a rock?  Cheesus.  It's kinda like how I imagine all girls feel when they learn to take their bra off without taking their shirts off.  Sassy, smart, with a little bad girl thrown in there for good measure?   Oh, and if you've been doing this for years - please do not leave me a comment telling me that because that would just be mean.

Now, my dilemma is - do I teach my kids The Cheater's Way or not?  I say no.  I let them keep knowing the correct way and thinking there is no other way.  (Like it matters since they really don't ever do The Correct Way anyway.)  (Even thinking about teaching them The Cheater's Way makes me want to apologize to my mom.)

2.  The clothes folding and putting away.  Now, recently I wrote this about getting my kids to take their clothes off and put them in the dirty clothes the correct way (right side out and separated) and one of my lovely (and incredibly smart) readers recommended I simply have the kids put their clean clothes on inside out (exactly how they were placed in their dirty clothes) and right-side out them by putting them on thereby decreasing the amount of right-side outting that has to be done.  For me this comment was another I Took My Bra Off Without Removing My Shirt type moment.  Pure genius.  So, now if you happen to open one of my kids' drawers (and I am not saying I recommend this by any stretch of the imagination) you will see a bunch of (clean) clothes that are inside-out and some pants that, in fact, still have clean underwear right inside of them!  I think the kids like this new system (although they seemed completely unfazed when I announced the amazing things I had learned), but I'm not sure I am up to this kind of blatant disregard for what I have been taught (I can *kinda* feel my mom's eyes boring into our closets right now).

Our closets now look like World War III and my kids still find something to grumble about when it comes to the laundering of the clothes.

3.  Cleaning our tubs.  We have a house cleaner (who I love and if I wasn't already married - I would ask her to marry me) who comes once every two weeks.  If we had a million dollars I would ask her and her three kids to move in with us (and I'd also ask hubby to buy us a bigger house) so that my house could look like it does right after she comes here all the time.  But, for now I have to just have that clean house look for about five minutes immediately after she leaves (because damned if someone doesn't do something like spill a gallon of milk right as she is pulling out of our neighborhood).

So, someone asked me how often I clean during the time that she's not here.  My ideal answer to this question would be, "Um, never.  I don't clean at all the week she doesn't come over."  But, let's be honest.  I live with five other people.  In a kinda smallish house.  Sh*t happens (literally and figuratively).  To not live in complete filth I have to do some cleaning.  The dishes (although now we have that on the chore chart), the laundry, the counters, the kitchen (generally), occasional sweeping and vacuuming, and the toilets are things that have to be done.  So, I do them or I have the kids do them.

Here's the thing - I cannot clean a tub to save my life.  Why does the tub sparkle after my house cleaner leaves?  And when I clean it - it looks fairly similar to right before I cleaned it?  I suspect it's because she uses some sort of chemical that causes legs to grow out of your back to clean the tubs.  But, I don't really care enough to ask her and I don't even know if she would tell me. 

After about a year of wondering this and debating whether I should just ask her what she uses, I just stopped cleaning the tubs. 

(My mom is in heaven saying, "Ewww.")

There you have it.  And if you never want to come visit, that's okay.  I understand.  Just know that my mom did teach me better.  This is all on me, and probably she is just as appalled as you are.

Hello, Blog. Remember me?

It's December as evidenced by a serious lack of posts.

Here is the short list.

1.  I hate Elf on a Shelf.  WTF?  My hatred for this creepy guy is about equal to the amount of crap that I have to see about what he's done.  I will say about him what I say about dogs who $hit on the floor, "Hot dog."  I am sorry if that doesn't make sense to you.  (It's 5:30 a.m.)

2.  It's 5:30 a.m.  And here I am blogging.  When I got up early to work.  Damn it.  I hate it when I do this.

3.  I have not started any Christmas shopping because in a rage and fit of anger I told the kids Christmas was cancelled (I think that was before Halloween).  Can Christmas be cancelled?

4.  I will be attending three Christmas parties in three days this weekend.  This makes me delighted in that I haven't felt this popular since one time in high school when my name was called over the loud speaker and it was said that I had won something (that was later explained as a mistake).  It also makes me feel like Christmas parties make the list right there with:  work, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and other things I am obliged to do.

6.  I can't count.

7.  I am considering just buying more storage boxes for our Christmas decorations for my Christmas presents.  This is just wrong on so many levels.

8.  I miss you guys and Pinterest as much as I miss no grey hair.

9.  Life has been incredibly not funny lately.  This is actually a good thing because it means all my kids (and hubby) are being fairly well behaved.  I am pleased that we all might be learning how to get along and a little disappointed that I really have nothing to say.

10.  I have no desire to eat sweets.  At this exact moment.  (Did I say it's just after 5:30 a.m.?)  I will ride this train until it stops.  Which judging from past experience should be around 8:00 p.m. tomorrow night when I will want more beer and a sandwich.  And maybe some chocolate cake after that.

11.  I still suck at wrapping presents.  Seriously?  I am The Worst Wrapper Ever.  People actually sent me videos last year on Facebook to help me.  It didn't help.  When do kids reach the age where I can just go, "There.  Here's your Target bag with your presents in it."  I am really like Santa in that way.  Doesn't he just put everything in a big black bag?  Or do all the creepy elves do the wrapping?  If it's the creepy elves, maybe I need some of those guys?

12.  Y'know how we don't have cable?  Well every year I wait for all the Christmas shows on regular T.V.  Yeah, I know.  Like who does that anymore?  ME.  Well, I think I missed Rudolph.  Damn it.  That's my FAVORITE.  Now I have to wait until next year.  Again, this is wrong on so many levels.

P.S.  (Because at 5:30 a.m. I cannot be expected to remember things well.)  13.  Yesterday hubby and I went to see a lawyer (not a divorce lawyer).  In the span of about an hour (because we were paying her by the hour and she gets paid $380 an hour so you know I was doing some serious clock watching) she told us she used to be an RN and she had an MBA.  Yowza.  And now she's a lawyer who makes $380 an hour?  I left feeling like a serious under achiever.  Oh, and she asked us to sign a contract.  Is it weird that I was confused?  "Um, I'm going to have to have my lawyer review this.  Oh, wait..."

That's all I got.  My kids are now up.  

Have a great weekend, guys and I hope I am back in the land of the blogging soon. 

Because I need a platform.

In the spirit of bipartisanship (bi - what?  whatever.) and because I need your vote, I thought I would bring you a short list (I have real work to do, damn it) of what I'm promising in the next four years.

1.  I will somehow embarrass myself athletically most probably this will occur while running in my neighborhood.  (I can only hope the high school students who congregate at the bus stop will not be involved.)

2.  I will leave approximately 15 loads of laundry in the washer overnight thereby leaving my family to go commando.

3.  I will cook approximately 4000 meals for six people - two of which will be eaten with no complaints from anyone.

4.  I will balance the budget numerous times only to find:  the washing machine is broken, hubby has 27 crumpled up, torn, and stained gas receipts in his console, my kids' feet are bigger (all of them), someone has a birthday (damn them), Christmas is weeks away, or someone requires urgent medical care...at night...on a weekend...that falls on a holiday...in a leap year.

5.  Instead of wearing the outfit I bought directly off the store model, I will mistakenly think I have a sense of fashion and make a slight deviation.  This will result in me making a fashion faux paux that will haunt me for months to come.

6.  I will attempt cake pops and fail miserably.  Then I will do it again.  And maybe again.

7.  I will procrastinate on the internets until I have to stay up all night finishing work, or something I promised the kids, or making cake pops, or wrapping presents, or re-washing clothes.  (That might happen today.)

8.  I will have multiple hair-brained ideas of how I can make more money and of what I can be when I grow up.  I will tell these to hubby with my excited voice.  He will just stare at me.

9.  The kids (and hubby and I) will take turns having bad days so that we will have 1460 days of someone having a melt-down.

10.  I will spend approximately two full years preparing myself for about 47 times I will be seen in a bathing suit.

I'm committed!

Have a great weekend.

LOVE your hairdresser. But, don't let her get you pregnant.

I started today (my second day of having one extra hour - whatever) with nine things on my to-do list (to-do before 3:00 p.m. when the kids get off the bus and my life spontaneously combusts).  It is roughly 2:00 p.m. and I have accomplished five of them.  Since I promised to blog whenever it was convenient this month I decided to fore go working out and doing laundry and whatever else is on the list - and fulfill my promise to you guys.  You're welcome.

As you might know, after a long and sordid relationship with my last hair dresser - we broke up.  Or, I broke up with him and he might not know it yet.  Whichever, I am currently seeing someone else and I love her.

In our short relationship, here's what she's taught me.

1.  Even though my hair is as straight as a board, I can still benefit from straightening my hair.  This logic is kinda like the logic...oh, wait.  I am trying not to be political on the day before the elections.  So, just know that this logic is not logical.

2.  When you want to attempt that "straight from the hairdresser look" you can do a couple of things after you've had it cut, colored, and styled.  You can not wash your hair for as long as you can stand it, or until your kids start to comment rudely.  Or, you can wash it and try in vain to attain the look you had right before you washed it.  Or, you can just confess to your hairdresser that you don't have the foggiest idea how to style your hair and can she show you.  She showed me.  And she talked slowly.  I can style it better now.

3.  All women can have silky smooth hair that is soft to the touch.  Even old women like me.

4.  Wax isn't just for the bikini line anymore.

5.  And lastly, hubby freaked out a little when he saw these in the cupboard.

He calmed down a little when I said, "RELAX.  They're for my HAIR!"

it's a fine line between sanity and donuts and beer for breakfast.

Caution:  Ranty pity-party post ahead.  (It's not solving world peace or international hunger.)

Here are a few sucky things that have made my life not-funny lately .  Instead of continuing to avoid my blog like the plague, I have decided to embrace the suckiness and write about it. 

1.  I have a four year old who talks incessantly.  That is:  without ceasing.  Ever.  Except when she is asleep.  It has made focusing (on anything) really difficult for me these past few weeks.  Before you leave me a self righteous comment telling me how I should savor these moments and that they don't last long, rest assured - I do.  I am just wanting three seconds of quiet once every 24 hours so that I can fu*king focus on the tasks ahead.   That's all.   Don't judge.  (It is my blog.)

Indeed, sometimes I feel guilty for telling her, "Can you please stop talking for three seconds?  Mommy just needs to do this." 

My guilt lasts approximately as long as it takes her to start talking again.  So, usually about the three seconds I asked for.

So that you can experience the full extent of idiocracy that's happening over here, I give you a few of her nonsensical babbles from the past few days. 

a.  (This one happened in the middle of the night, so basically I was a captive audience.)  MOMMY I HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT MY LITTLE PONIES.  Except they weren't LITTLE.  They were gigantic and SCARY.  Even Princess Celestia.  She was a scary, gigantic, not little pony.  Can I sleep with you now?

b.  Mom, how old are princesses?  I think about four or eighty?  Do you think that's how old they are?  Except for Brave.  I think she's 20.  But, she wasn't married was she?  Mom, was Brave married?  When I'm 20 I am going to be married.

c.  Mom, I am going to live with you forever.  Okay?  And then I'm going to have four kids.  Two boys and two girls.  And then I am going to have a boyfriend.  And then I am going to have a dog.  And maybe one cat.  But, cats don't like kids, right?  Or do they?  So, maybe I guess I'm not going to have kids.

d.  I drew a picture of Snow White.  But, I didn't know how to make her dress, so I just made her smile look like Snow White's. 

e.  Sometimes she sings her babble.  At the top of her lungs.  If you're shiny and you know it, CLAP YOUR HANDS!  If you're shiny and you know it, CLAP YOUR HANDS!  If you're shiny and you know it........................THEN YOUR FACE WILL SURELY SHOW IT!  If you're shiny and you know it, clap your hands!

f.  She is currently obsessed with all the princesses.  Mom, Snow White has two smiles, right?  One like this (she does a maniac smile)?  And then one like this (she does another slightly more maniac smile)?

g.  Mom, when is the mummy going to go to bed?  (We have a mummy in our living room right now.  Since he can't be left out in the elements, after our epic Halloween party we put him in the kitchen.  But hubby kept getting startled by him and threatened to knock his teeth out.  So, for mummy's sake - I had hubby move him to the living room so that he's looking out the window.)

Do you kinda see how this *was* funny about the first three years and that now it's just making me grow weary (and old)? 

2.  I am not Mother of the Year.  I have known this since my oldest was about a week old.  I will be the first to admit my parenting faults.  Short list:

a.  I am inconsistent to the point of being consistent in my inconsistency.
b.  I am impatient.
c.  I scream.  And sometimes I throw fits.
d.  I am sarcastic.  Sometimes caustically.

So, it should be no surprise that my kids are screwed up.  Usually, though, it's no more so than I myself am screwed up (so, not too bad).  Until this school year.  It's like my family has some sort of super bug which affects their emotions so that all they can do is throw raging fits of lunacy.  And apparently there is no known cure for this super bug.  Believe me I've searched and tried everything known to man.  I have even sunk so low as to read A Parenting Book.  Or two.  Blech.  They didn't help much.  Surprise!

Seriously.  The constant fits by various family members (myself included) have made me weary.  And old.

Don't worry.  This is not a "call for help."  I've already done that.  One of us, and possibly all of us, is going into therapy/counseling/head shrinking/boot camp with a professional as soon as I can iron out the details (which I will be able to do once the four year old gives me three seconds of silence). 

Did I mention I was overtly sarcastic?  You will undoubtedly read more about this in the posts to come.  Or you won't because we will all be hauled away to the loony farm.  In that case, I'll try to sneak in my laptop to keep you up-to-date.

3.  I like to fool around mindlessly on Facebook leaving (what I think) are witty and self-deprecating comments and posts all over and laughing incessantly at my own (hilarious) jokes.  Since I don't have cable, Facebook is kind of like TLC for me.  The problem is Facebook has turned into a sickeningly vicious political platform that makes me want to vomit inside my mouth (and outside of it) every time I login.  The impact this has had on my attitude and spare time (read:  time I spend procrastinating) is pathetic and painful at the same time.  Pathetic because I am ready to lose it over the next person who invites me to "friend" Mittens and painful because I feel like I have lost my BFF (which - like a vicious circle - is so pathetic).  It has all made me weary and old and I am desperate for this political season to be over so that I can go back to having some good, old fashioned, harmless fun with my old BFF, Facebook.  Oh, and so I can get through one fu*king meal without the phone ringing.  Thank you, Robocallers.

4.  I am going through some sort of mid-life crisis (brought about - or at least sped up - by numbers 1-3) which has caused me to become painfully aware of the fact that I am 39+ years old and I still don't know what the hell I am going to do when I grow up.  My fear of growing old alone is becoming more and more vivid.  So much so that the other day I found myself saying to someone, "Naw.  I really don't want to live much past 70."  Then later I thought, "JESUS, Mary and Joseph???  Did I say 70???  That's like 20 years away!  What the heck am I doing sitting around here???"

5.  After successfully losing a lot of "baby fat" I had hanging around, really toning up, and changing a lot of my disgustingly immature eating habits, the first day of slightly cooler weather came and I find myself eating like I am going into hibernation and avoiding exercise in order to save my strength for spring.  Sadly, my daily mantra has become, "I am not a bear."

I warned you it was not pretty.  I hope my next post will be about how I have discovered the cure for raging lunatic fits and that I am back to healthy living.  But, just typing that right now makes me want to eat a donut and wash it down with a beer.  Have a great weekend.  I am going to try and retain my personal sanity and keep my family out of the sanatorium. 

He's the guy in my living room.  I call him Fred.  I *kinda* wanna feed him a sandwich.

"Mrs. DayintheLife, you're no Jack Kennedy."

In case you missed my first political analysis, and in the spirit of more patriotism *gag*, I bring you:

Other Ways In Which My Life Parallels The Lives of Those Running for Political Office

1.  Follow-ups suck.

2.  The nature of questions that might come from my constituents and their appointed debate moderators are secret and often sneak up on me like stealth bombers.

3.  I, too, need to be reminded occasionally that we are not living in the age of horses and bayonets.

4.  I often start my debate responses like this, "You need to do five things.  1.  Take your hands off your sister's neck.  2.  Listen to momma.  3.  blah, blah, blah."  And, similar to the campaigners, by "3" no one is listening to me anymore anyway.

5.  Often when I start talking, my audiences' eyes glaze over and their mouths gape open.

6.  I spend a lot of my time refuting claims from others.

7.  Sometimes I sweat like a heroin addict.  (Although, usually it's from exercising, not debating.)

8.  Frequently my only strategy is to accuse the other side of outright lying and I frequently demand fact checks.

9.  I, pretty much, think everything I say is the gospel truth and that my record reflects virtue, the highest of ethics, and a high-held commitment to my constituents.  And, I pretty much have no idea what that really means.

10.  I don't care if you live in a mansion or in the ghetto as long as the yard sign in your yard has my name (and preferably my photo) on it.

11.  I constantly have to remind the faction that stands against me that attacking me is not an agenda.

12.  I think at some point I, too, have spoken these words, "We can't kill our way out of this mess."

My two minutes is up and I approve this message.  #teamDayintheLife

If you can read this, you're too close.

So, there's nothing like a trip to the ophthalmologist that will make you feel 114 years old and make you feel like you are in poor health and might die.  Soon.

As many of you know I got a clean bill of health from my M.D. last week when I went for a physical for the first time in about 20 years (so, yes, my last physical was when I was 10).  She basically said that I should be good to go for the next 20 years.  Well, she didn't actually say that, but I figure since I'd taken charge of my own health for 20 years and stayed fairly healthy, I can probably manage it for another 20 years.  And, I should have probably been a doctor, and made a lot of money, and not had any time to write a blog about it because I would be too busy saving people's lives and writing medical books.  (She didn't say that, but I did.) 

Without boring you with the intimate (and quite disgusting) details, I will tell you briefly that I am suffering (relatively, because we all know suffering is relative) from vertigo (also called dizziness - which I have suffered from my whole life). 

Now, (in my vast medical experience) there are a few reasons one can experience vertigo:  you have an excessive amount of alcohol in your system, you have a tumor in your brain and have about two weeks left to live (and if that's currently happening to anyone reading this, I'm sorry, for kinda making a joke about it), you are anemic (which, of course, in the blood draw in which I had to postpone my coffee IV, anemia was not screened), you are just plain dizzy and there is no cure, (in which case the doctor just says, Sorry?  I guess?) OR, your body is special, in a way that will not impress men, and your ears produce an excessive amount of ear wax which completely blocks your ear drum (making hearing nearly impossible) and causes vertigo.......wait.  Did I say I wasn't going to bore you with intimate and disgusting details?  Okay, sorry.  So, I had my eardrum scraped (yes, it was more painful than natural child birth and I *might* have screamed it was all hubby's fault and that I wanted an epidural) and yes the vertigo has subsided somewhat. 

But because not every cloud has a silver lining, yesterday I found out I might die, so basically we are back to square one.

Okay, so fast forward to yesterday at the eye doctor. 

1.  I hate the eye doctor, but I go once a year because I have a fear of going blind.  (Which turns out might actually be one of my valid fears.)  And I also am vain and have to have a current contact prescription.
2.  I watch WAY too much SVU and am convinced that the doctor is going to be a serial rapist and that a dark room is the perfect context for this to occur.  (I realize this is completely sick, but I have had these conversations in my head.  More than once.)
3.  I abhor the following:  Is 1 better or 2?  3 or 4?  5 or 6?  Okay, how about now?  Is it A or B?  B or C?  Seriously?  I find myself nervous and sweating during this part of the exam (and it's not because I might be raped).  It's just like the SAT all over again.  I know.  Insane.
4.  I don't really trust eye doctors, and that's really difficult to reconcile with my fear of going blind and my vanity.
5.  I spend all my time (when I am supposed to be picking A or B) thinking What's my nearest weapon in case he starts $hit? and How much did all this equipment cost?
6.  If it's been awhile since you've been to the eye doctor - times have changed.  It's mostly all flat computer screens and remote controls.

Yesterday the doctor looked to be about 87 and was quite frail, so I wasn't really worried about being raped.  I did, however, fail the double vision test and I also spent an excessive amount of time thinking about the cost of all that equipment (the letters are now on a flat computer screen which is mounted to the wall and I would be willing to trade it for my 1970's console TV even if all it played was letters).

Just like I imagine the minutes right before the doctor sees cancer growing in your brain, the doc paused during my double vision test and said slowly, "How about now?  Do the lines come together now?"

I think he wanted me to say yes, but truthfully the lines were still not together, so naturally I was nervous and sweating and I said, "Well, that made them ooch together a teensy bit, but no, they're still not together."

So, then he flipped the lights on and said, "Are you familiar with Bell's Palsy?"

Wow.  That's a conversation starter, eh?  How do you go from lines on the stupid flat screen to Bell's Palsy?  I thought, "Clearly he's senile.  I am not paying for this exam."

But, just to amuse him I said yes and he proceeded to run down a list of (I suppose) symptoms of early onset Bell's Palsy and did I have any of them.  While he was doing this my mind wandered (shocker, I know) to a gal I knew in college who had Bell's Palsy.  I made a mental note to look her up on Facebook.  I also was a tad offended when he said that most people's faces were symmetrical and mine clearly wasn't.  Hey, now!  I thought this was the eye doctor, not Project Runway.  Then my mind wandered to a time when hubby and I and some good friends were all sitting around partaking and the subject of facial symmetry came up.  My face was voted the least symmetrical and it was concluded that I would never be a model because of this.  Again, shocker.  I probably did not need 12 beers to figure that out.

So, one of the apparent symptoms of Bell's Palsy is short term memory loss.  He asked me (seriously) if I had experienced it.  HELLO?  This made me sit up straight in my chair.

I paused when he asked this because my mind was just careening out of control.  Here is the path it was going on:

1.  I HAVE BELL'S PALSY?  JESUS H. CHRIST.  HOW MUCH TIME DO I HAVE???
2.  What have I forgotten today?  Short list:  The appointment, the directions, my phone, dinner.
3.  I thought I was here for a freaking EYE EXAM.  Turns out I am getting a death sentence.

So, after I thought all that I calmly (and smartly) said (hoping he hadn't noticed the pause before responding), "No, not really.  I remember most things.  I guess.  Most important things.  Well, some important things.  Y'know sometimes I forget things.  Just things mostly that don't matter.  Much.  Wait.  Who are you?  Why are we here?"

He ordered a second double vision screening for me.

I passed the second one.  Kinda.  Mostly.

Turns out I have a titch of double vision (don't worry, I only see one of you right now - and by the way, GET DRESSED ALREADY), but I have a pre-melanoma on my EYEBALL.

Seriously?  Did you know you could have a pre-melanoma on your eyeball?  Do you really even know anyone who's ever had this?  Did they get cancer in their EYE and are they dead?  (Sorry.  Kinda.)

So, let's recap.  These past two weeks I've:

1.  Done an insightful political analysis in which I vetted (kinda) and selected a running mate who is currently designing my yard signs (maybe).
2.  Gotten a clean bill of health from my M.D. aside from my (improving) vertigo which may or may not kill me.
3.  I have been told I look or seem like I have Bell's Palsy because my face is not symmetrical and I don't remember who I am.  (To which I scoff and say, "Duh.  At least I'm running for office.  Of something.  On a platform of beer and forgetfulness.  Was that my platform?")
4.  I have made my home excessively ghoulish and gaudy for the upcoming election (and Halloween) and now I am not even the least bit apologetic to my neighbors because I might die.



Scarier than Halloween and the upcoming election.

Have a great weekend!  I'll try to remember to do the same while avoiding an early death and managing to squeeze a few more monsters in the front yard.

Apparently Hell is freezing over square foot by square foot.

Y'all I am a cooking fiend lately.  I don't know what it is, but we are eating some good stuff over here.  Sadly, not much else is getting done. 

Today, for example, my day went like this:

Got up, made lunches, made breakfasts, got kids on the bus, dressed Girl 3 and got her ready for school, went for a run, showered (see my last blog post for the reasoning on that one), tried to drop Girl 3 off at school without losing my shirt or exposing my boobs - or lack thereof (again, see my last post for more on that), drove to be fingerprinted, got fingerprinted and photographed (said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that I had showered so as not to scare the F.B.I.), went to Target to buy Girl 3's birthday presents (that Target sucked), drove to another Target to get the rest of Girl 3's birthday presents and cursed myself (loudly) for having wasted time at the sucky Target (who knew sucky could be an adjective for Target?), drove home, ate some leftover Tortilla soup (more on that later in this post), answered the phone and it was my lady doctor's office (and by lady doctor I mean the doctor who tends to the lady parts).

Lady doctor's receptionist told me they had a cancellation so could I be there in about 45 minutes otherwise it would be another 20 years until my lady parts could be checked (apparently unless you're have a baby that is crowning from your lady parts, lady doctors eat lunch and go on vacation and such - damn them).  I scorched my throat by swallowing the rest of my soup in one gulp, told her I'd be there and then did a frantic little thing I like to call:  one load of laundry, one sweep of the kitchen for dirty dishes and such, one making of all the beds with one hand while the other hand brushes my teeth, one call to hubby to tell him to pick up Girl 3, one *accelerated* drive to drop-off a car seat for Girl 3, and one *accelerated* drive to the doctor.

I got home not having done a damn thing on my to-do list and it was time to get the big kids from the bus.  Damn my lady parts.

After dinner (more on that later) I quickly went to the pharmacy (again, damn the lady parts) and to get gas.  Hubby just called me Lazy because I always hook the little gas thingie so that I can hop back in my car and like balance the checkbook or something useful while the gas is pumping as opposed to standing there like a moron and holding the gas pump.  Well, today the hook didn't spring up when I heard a click and thought the gas had stopped (either it hadn't clicked, or something malfunctioned).  I pulled the nozzle out and gas spewed everyfreakingwhere.

I came home showered, washed my hair (two times in one day - that's got to be record), and put my jammies on (slowly realizing I never should have taken them off this morning).

Why am I telling you this?  Because here is what we have had for dinner, y'all!  NOTHING is getting done, and I am obviously turning into a babbling basket case, but we are eating like kings and I just wanted to show you.  Note:  hubby asked me last night if I was going to photograph the Tomato Pie.  I felt like royalty (but not the topless kind).

Here's my first attempt at Tortilla Soup (tortillas are indigenous to my people, Tortilla Soup is not).

Here's how I made it.  It seems (after all the soul searching and whining about being Hispanic and not knowing how to make the damn soup) fairly simple and forgiving to the point of you *might* not even need soup or tortillas to make it.

I boiled one chicken (I used a purportedly grass fed chicken as opposed to feces fed chicken) and used about half of the shredded meat from that chicken and six cups of the broth (about).  I then sauteed one yellow squash, about three cloves of garlic, and about half an onion.  To these veggies I added:  cumin, chili powder, salt, and pepper enough to make the mixture pretty reddish.  I brought the broth back to a boil and added the veggies.  Then I added some cooked whole baby carrots that I had, some frozen corn and some cut red potatoes that I had microwaved just a bit so they wouldn't be hard in the soup.  Then I added about two cups of shredded chicken and let the whole thing simmer for about 30 minutes.  Meanwhile, Girl 2 sliced up some corn tortillas we have been buying that have no preservatives.  She fried them in oil until they were crispy.

Y'all it was yummy.  We added sliced avocado, the fried tortillas, canned and fresh jalapenos, and cilantro to the finished product.  Hubby and I are not eating a lot of cheese, but I did grate some cheddar cheese that I had on hand for the kids.  Yes, the kids liked it.  Miracle?  Probably.

P.S. to that recipe - I am the only person in the history of persons to put the word "feces" into a recipe.  I think I need my own cookbook.

And, the second dish (sorry that this post is turning novelish) - Tomato Pie that I got from this lovely lady.  I love to travel and eat yummy food vicariously through her blog.  She has fabulous photos of...everything.  I used Leigh's exact recipe (to be found on her blog - click on recipes) and it is super delish.  Now, it did have the puff pastry which does have preservatives and it did have quite a bit of cheese which we are trying to cut out.  But, it was sooooooo worth it.  I used farmer's market tomatoes and the only thing I didn't quite get right was I was running short on time (imagine?) and I couldn't quite let them dry on the paper towels as long as I should have.

Wanna know the kicker with the Tomato Pie?  My girls claim to hate tomatoes.  Girl 1 loved the pie and Girl 2 ate it.  Girl 3 drank water (which has been her dinner for about a week now).  Ah, well.  Can't win 'em all.

That's my eats, readers.  What's cooking in your kitchen?  (And if you're just setting off the smoke alarm a lot, don't feel bad - that's mostly what I do.)