Me? Neurotic? Nah. Offended? Never.

My Little Waif
I've left a few things hanging out there, one being my calling my girl anorexic last month. Well, I was being neurotic (what? me?). She was just fighting off that nasty bug we all had (except her), probably because she's healthier than the rest of us and her body knew not to freaking EAT! For a week, yes, and it scared me to death but, she eats now. Like a somewhat small horse. I am fighting for my own food lately. Honestly, keeping enough in the house for the four of us is impossible. I'm in a store every 2 days. I shudder to think of what I spend on groceries, and I don't know because we're dumb and don't operate on a budget, much. Anyhoo, not to worry at this point. I am, however, considering buying or at least stealing recipes from that damn Seinfeld chick's book because stealth veggie attacks are becoming in order around here. Everyone's vetoing them. And here I am growing sprouts. Oh, well, more for me.

To Blog or Not to Blog
On another note, I've heard tales of people getting fired because of their blogs or losing friends or whatever, and I hope I'm not just lettin it all hang out too much. Esp. with a certain MIL. What if someone tipped her off? Man would I be in shit deep right? Chris knows I write about him, and post his 70s porn stashe, and my friends know they're mentioned sometimes. And then there is the family. The kids. Where's the line you shouldn't cross here? Well I know Kathy Lee Gifford gave one blogger some hell on the Today show but as the blogger replied, haven't you talked about your kids on TV? ...to no response from Kathy Lee. And, Hello? Reality TV? Those shows just keep coming. Denise Richards, Gene Simmons, The Lohans, does it ever end? Will it ever end? What a vastly different and exponentially larger audience they have watching their lives unfold...
I say, blogging is all-right.

More on the SAHMs
And one more note: Since I can't be the hard-ass I aspire to one day be, I want to say that the last post on the babies and dogs was NOT meant to offend or belittle anyone for any choices they make. Whether they stay home with kids, without kids, with dogs, or work with any of the above, or work with none of the above. Or don't work, and really do sit on their very expensive sofas eating bon bons, or more likely, 100 calorie packs, watching Oprah. Takes all kinds. Ya get me? We all do what we gotta do. At least until we do something else.

And, yes I am personally glad I have my two adorable little accidents. Would I admit it if I weren't? Again, I'm not saying it's easy. But I don't think any less of people who choose not to do the same as me. Hey, they get to choose their dogs! With kids, you never know what's gonna pop out. At least choose your mate wisely, and hope for the best. Anyway, it's just the tone that was used by the afore-mentioned friend was somewhat...questionable. "Oh, freelance and the two kids, right." If I went into it and explained to her all the random, sometimes embarrassing, things (freelance, consumer research surveys, selling on Ebay), I do to make a buck, it still wouldn't matter because it's not a "real job." It's not legit enough for some people. Yeah, and neither is doing all of it and raising 2 hopefully kind, happy and conscientious kids. Okay, whatever you say, Lady.

Anyway, I'm really not that offended(the hell I'm not); just wondered if any other SAHM or WAHM's (or whatever acronym is en vogue) encounter any adversity to what they do. What am I saying? I KNOW they do. It's just another case of people needin' ta mind they own bid-ness, ya axe me. (I don't know why I just went into ebonics. I guess because that's how I'd say it if I were talkin to a friend right now.)
PS: in case you skipped a few posts, I did tell that little 22 year old "boss" I had to eat it. And had the hubby pick up my measly check. She wasn't even there, so whatever. It was contract work, but she was acting like my "boss," and I just don't set well with that. So anyway, I had a sortof job that lasted like 3 weeks. Not for me, much. I should probly leave that bit of info off the resume.

And, tha-tha-tha that's all folks.
Sweet Dreams,
~R

Like Dogs for Babies

Too effin' tired. Too effin' braindead. Hubby been outta town and since a fun slumber party with Susan and Olivia we've been laying low.

Today, I did get out and have a short RhoRho break at Panera Bread Company. And will do ya believe this: they now limit you to 30 minutes online between 11-2. Ummmm yeah that's when I'm going to be there, and I spent $13 on myself, doesn't that buy me more than 30 fucking minutes at my table? WTF can I get done in 30 fucking minutes? So, as I am feverishly surfing along, I hear a voice say my name. "Do you have a job, girl?" It's an old friend from school that I run into every now and then. She and her husband, who own a business, are apparently connected at the hip, have 2 dogs and have made the choice to be childless. Or should I say, "child-free." Whatever, I'm so done with being P.C. Anyway, I assume she witnesses my peasant top and jeans and decides I'm a bum. She's seen my kids with me recently and knows I'm married; does she think I'm just milking the unemployment line? Has she never considered I could be what I am? Don't make me use the acronym again. To her credit I guess last time she checked I was selling advertising. But that's when I was also "child-free." Anyway, a bit taken aback, I retort, "I'm doing freelance. And there are the two kids." "Oh, freelancing and two kids," she repeats back at me. Don't get me wrong; this girl has always been a sweetheart, probably doesn't mean a thing by it. I think it's just hard sometimes for child-less/free people to related to we child-having ones. And the fact that some of us (a.k.a SAHMs) make the conscious choice to stay home and raise children is just mystifying to some people. "Why on earth would you do that to yourself?"

I have a good handful of friends who are SAHMs (or as noted blogger dooce likes to call herself Shit Ass Ho Mutherfucker) like me, and most of us do what we can to contribute financially, in addition to running the house, and all the other roles that are required (cook, maid, nurse, pooh cleaner, entertainer, sex goddess, gardener, accountant, oh yes, and did I mention sex goddess?). We do not eat bon bons, nap all day(if at all) or watch Oprah. (Several days this week, our TV never came on, even for the kids. How d'ya like me now?!) Correction: we would if we could, but we simply can't. So, some of us drink...

However, I know that Oprah did say (and she is God), that SAHMs should be paid approximately $148,000 per year for the 24 hour workdays we put in, and that it is THE hardest job on the planet. Not that she knows, but, well since she's omnipotent, she does. But we chose to do it. Going to some office, or department store, or whatever, every day would most likely be way less stressful, and also less rewarding. So here I am, for now. And that old friend, I'm sure she has a lot on me. I'm sure that after looking at each other all day, they have spontaneous hot sex on the kitchen floor,go out and grind on each other at night clubs, go to parties every weekend, have nice dinners and good wine from their basement cellar, vacation in the Turks and Caicos...(Whatev!)
and have dog pooh instead of Beck pooh on their shag rug. And I don't care who ya are, Beck is a lot fucking cuter (and much less hairy) than any dog.
Child-possessor and lovin' it,
~R

How in the Hell Does One Tweet?

No, dumbass, not like a bird. Apparently, tweeting is a ...function...where bloggers share random thoughts on their blog, probably via Blackberry or IPhone, neither of which I have; I am barely able to text and consider it a time-saving method of communication. I am soo fucking slow and I see that word-completing feature only as a pain in the ass and something that makes me have to delete and re-write words. Texting for me is more time suckage than save-age...
anyway...this was gonna be a "tweet" but I just thought of a funny story to share. Well, funny strange, not funny ha-ha.

I do some market research sessions and product taste-testing ya know, on the side, to contribute. Sometimes it's a group of women - yes, Moms, and we sit for 2 whole hours and discuss CHICKEN NUGGETS. For TWO hours. Mystery meat is big business, people. Once it was a discussion on what cleaning products we like and where do we get them and why? So the current one is a four day thing apparently testing yogurt as a diet food. Like they give you one yogurt at 9 a.m., say you can't eat ANYthing until 1:45 PM, (or you'll be kicked out and not get your money)and send you off with a handheld computer (Ipaq) to answer questions every 30 minutes for those nearly 5 hours. "Would you like to eat right now? Do you have flatulence? Do you have the urge to defecate?" Not kidding. You can't miss an interval of questions, and it beeps at you to alert you it's time to answer them.
SO, in my head, I basically know I cannot go without food for this long after a mere yogurt. I've never been a dieter. And shit! I have to small children to keep up with, I need energy. I'm not even allowed anything in my coffee, so I'm like fuck it.

Anyway I take the kids to have lunch around noon at our natural foods co-op, where I would never imagine seeing anyone from the taste-test scenario. These are the people creating mystery nuggets, I doubt they shop organic. We sit down in the dining area, the 2 kids and I (brave, I know), and because Beck is busy flinging linguini around I haven't had a chance to take a bite of anything, but I intend to. I notice a woman near the wall who is staring at us, or looking annoyed-like at us, and I decide she is one of them in charge of the yogurt study. I only remember there was a woman of a certain ethnicity and I just decided this is that woman. After all, she is watching me to see if I eat! When I notice this, I start attempting to feed Beck all my food and prevent him from throwing the chicken across the room that I intend to box up and chow down on in the car. I mean I just KNOW she's watching me; she's been following me all day long just to see if I take a bite of anything! There are people dispatched all over town trailing the covert eaters right? So she gets up, and goes over to shop for some produce. I wolf down some linguini and try to watch her leave, to see if she gets into a car labeled, "Covert food eater Police." Going back to the session this morning, I knew I would be confronted at the door and demanded to return my newly beloved Ipaq and asked to never return. I didn't see the food-police woman, but decided she's behind the one-way mirror to point me out to the others- the covert food eater cheater. But no one said a word, and gave me my yogurt. It's so ridiculous; all of us sitting there around an L-shaped table spooning in that yogurt. Staring off in to space so as to not make eye contact because we don't know each other nor do we desire to. The things people will do for a buck.
Paranoia will destroya
~R

McTeary Over Grey's

Damn you, Grey's Anatomy! You did it to me again. Left me sobbing like a little girl. Same thing Sex and the City used to do and for the love of god that show wasn't nearly as sappy. I have tried and tried to quit those damn unrealistically good-looking, oversexed, immature, late-30s actors playing late 20s roles(I'm really just talking about Meredith here/Ellen Pompeo) but there is just something about it. Maybe it's the music, the sentiment, the again unrealistically good-looking people...
I don't typically consider myself a joiner; I don't faithfully watch American Idol, The Bachelor, Dancing With the Stars, Lost, or Desperate Housewives. But this show, I am apparently forever hooked. It's the ONLY thing I watch since Rock of Love is over. For serious! I am both a McSteamy and McDreamy fan. If both were to be laid out out naked on a platter for me I would hard-pressed to choose, but would most certainly request a RhoRho sandwich. Yes, a menage(sp?). I know, McSteamy has that pompous attitude, but let's face it, he's become quite endearing this season, and whatever, he had me at "Hi, I'm walking out of a steamy bathroom with my towel barely draped over my wee-wee." And McDreamy, don't you just feel like he would nurture and protect you while being the sexiest former nerd alive? Okay, I must stop before I get overheated. But yes, I am a sucker for the pretty ones.
And tonight was the finale, since we got gipped (jipped?) this year. What a freaking crock o shit. Obviously, I'll have all summer to do more important things...such as neurosurgery.
Sucka
~R

Deeeep Thoughts...

So, after dinner tonight we're sitting on the back deck surrounded by our newly blossoming flowers and plants and little garden, sipping wine as the kids laugh and play together on the swing and slide. The thought crosses my mind that, gee, this is sweet. I get that brief feeling of contentment that I wrote about a few months ago ("Content: To Be or Not to Be?"). After Chris lights a stick of incense to fend off mosquitos, and not finding a holder, sticks it in a piece of watermelon, Izabel goes, "Daddy, why did you put the smoke in the watermelon?" I ask Chris if he thinks that, anywhere in the country, possibly the world, anyone else said that exact same thing tonight (or any other night for that matter)? I mean really, what are the chances? If you think about it, there are tons of things we say within the confines of our own homes that are fairly outlandish enough that it's fair to wonder whether they are completely and totally unique. Thing is, we can never, ever know. Ever. See? aren't I philosophizin good tonight?

And, in the midst of all this sweetness and pureness, Chris and I are still musing on the topic, wondering if, anywhere in our beach-less town, someone else possibly also said, "Ah man, why'd the beach ball have to run away?" as I say to Izzy when I realize the beach ball I blew up for the frog pool indeed disappeared in the wind after its first day of life.

And then, bonk. Beckham falls from his low-to-the-ground swing as Izzy swiftly moves away from him. He goes face-down into the pea gravel. But seriously, only like a foot. We both sit, trying not to over-react. As tough boy Beck rises, I see a knot, almost going from zero to sixty in 2.2 seconds, form on the left side of his forehead. It was freaking huge. I think I've heard this type of thing being called a goose-egg. ? Anyway, Chris, being a direct descendant of the hippies and taught to never over-react to anything, ANYthing, immediately blurts out, "let's go to the ER." I am actually much calmer than he at this point. I remind him that my brother, who recently moved here, was an ER doctor for years, and has four children himself. We pay him a visit, and he assures us the bump is not in the bad place it could be, about an inch further back, and as Beck runs around his house laughing, Dr. Beeper tells us they would have laughed their asses off at us in the ER. WHEN they actually acknowledged that we were there, right? Anyway, that's how Monday went around here.

Stay tuned, this should make for an interesting week, and I'm considering getting on Xanax.
~Jack Handy

Posh and Katie have had lobotomies

How in the effin muther fuckin hell do Posh Spice and Katie Holmes go 'round being Mommies in their stillettos? I just tried some normal heels today to go to a funeral (yes the one related to the open casket thing last night), and carried Beck, and my God I must have looked drunk. But I actually wasn't. This time. What a literal pain in the ass.
Posh and Katie Hata
~R

"Tweet Tweet"

This morning, somehow in the eleven minutes we had to get Izzy ready for school, she managed to lay out all of her four Strawberry Shortcake dolls on her bed. I was just in there cleaning up, and I picked one up and gave her a big sniff. Oh, Man! For about two seconds I totally reverted back to 1978, and what a content feeling that was. If you have access to one of these things, I strongly recommend a sniff. The scent hasn't changed one little bit. The same thing happens when I smell Love's Baby Soft, White Shoulders, honeysuckles, my mom's spagetti sauce, and water from a hose. Yummy.
Nostalgic,
~R

It's Man-Night Around Here

I have three thirty-year old men (men?) in my den. I don't really call it a "den;" we have a "living room," and turned a back porched-in room into the "man room," or what some may call a den. Very 70s. And it's "man-night" around here. They went out, but I assume the other two just don't want to go home yet and they know I'm the wife who doesn't mind, well, drinkin and cussin, imagine that. Anyway, their conversation is...tittilating. Yes, tits are frequently mentioned, and the word "hot," (are they speaking of coming weather?), and bikes (mountain ones), some music, and there is a game on. Would that be basketball? This is how much I know about sports. I can't see them, I can just hear them. The more PBR, the louder they get. About 25 feet plus a wall from the sleeping baby. The word "po@n" is thrown in here and there. And orgasms, but they don't use that nice of a word. Yes these guys are Rhodes Scholars. One of them is a reader (of mine!), and wants to know what I called Chris' po@n stashe in my post a couple weeks ago. I can't remember and I need to finish this post. But thanks fer readin,' Foss.

On a more somber note, I went to a "visitation" for my BFF from childhood's/next-door-neighbor of 15+ years - father, who had a heart attack last week and didn't make it. I took the kids, as my mom wanted to show them off to people we hadn't seen in years. Not the best idea.
Open caskets just make no sense to me. The first time I saw one, it was my favorite Uncle "Babe's" funeral, and I was 18. It freaked me out. I think I'm embracing the ashes thing, especially since we'll run out of land eventually, right? Can you imagine a four year old seeing that though? And because she sensed that I didn't want her near the front of that room, she yearned to get up there. I don't know what she thought she was gonna see, but my mother and sister distracted Izzy from the main attraction while I hugged my childhood friend, and ran into some "boys," as I remember them, from high school.

One was a guy who, as a joke, I was handcuffed to(not kinky-like, we were just standing in a garage) in junior high at a party, and he had to pee. So, he peed while we were handcuffed, is the gist of the story. Is it okay that I told that story right in the same paragraph as the one about my friend's dad? Anyway, he and I didn't remember each other, took a minute. He was very blonde and now almost bald, but I knew his face, and he nknew mine, but I no longer have a perm and a poof-bang, and do have a baby on my hip. Am I as old as they are? Surely not. They look like Dads. I don't look like a "mom," noooooh! Couldn't be. Alls I'm gonna say is we've had one reunion and the time is soon coming for the next one, somehow. I'll only go if I feel like the cougar I hope to be.
~R

I'm Attempting to "Tweet."

I don't know how to add the "tweeting" feature just yet, so here's my version:

This morning, Izzy woke up weepy and groggy after staying up late last night and didn't want to go to pre-school. I tried my baby-ing voice that usually wins her over in these desperate situations. "Honey, are you having your period?" With actual tears welling up, she nods slowly up and down, "I think so."

That's the News, and I'm Outta Here

I apologize in advance that this post is boring and a bit reaching.
Isn't my new design pretty? Amazing, you just pick one, and look at that, there it is.

So about the biotch and her stack of shit. I emailed asking if the check would be there and they replied that "employees get paid on the 1st and 16th after 3 PM. " I said fine I'll be there Friday after 3. Or maybe I'll send my hunky husband. Pussing out? Possibly.

Ya know what? I just realized I haven't cooked dinner in like 5 nights.! Quite the social butter flies, we are lately. And keeping our kids up waaaay past bedtime. Bad Parents. Let's see...Thursday I went to a "mom group" dinner with Danelle, along with whom I and a couple others are the wine guzzlin make-up wearin' (well she doesn't wear much, but my point is these mamas reaaallly don't) misfits. I mean some were nursing at the table. Can't their husbands just keep the baby for an hour? I admire that much dedication but can't the woman be released to just have one dinner and a drink? Anyway D and I are the mommies who stay and drink wine with the owners after closing. Rebel mamas.
And then..Friday Chris brought home sushi rolls, Saturday was all the bday parties, Sunday mother's day at my bro's. Last night - oh this is the best - a little dinner party, kids and all, that was so much fun. The highlight of the night was the adults drinking wine in the carport at 8 o'clock as five pre-schoolers disrobed and streaked around the yard. I would post a pic but that may be misconstrued as kiddie-po@n. But tonight, I finally cooked some spagetti and faux-meatballs before we took Izzy to yet another play she doesn't quite have the attention span to sit through. So we leave half-way through. I'd seen it before; it's not like it was Jackson Browne or John Mayer I was drooling after or something, so I wasn't too bummed.
p.s: this time she only stole life savers (I paid for them, shut up.)--see "Is My Kid a Clepto?" from January...

The rest of the week, I plan on drinking hot tea at night and searching for freelance gigs. And putting my kids to bed on time. And going back to yoga class.

And that's the news.
~R

Feliz de Dia de Madres, and all the rest of ya's.

Hola, mamas! Or non-mamas! Feliz de Dia de Madres a tu. I had four semesters of Spanish years ago, think I've let it go a bit. My day was good; spent some of it with my own madre and a lot of it eating. And I did not change a single diaper. That was my reward today for birthin' both those babies the ole' fashioned way.

An unpleasant part of the day was getting an email from the 23 year old former "boss" of three weeks, basically tearing me a new one back (in response to mine) and I don't wanna go into the whole thing, but have you ever known one of those people who is just always justified - never wrong, no matter what? Self-righteous, I think they call it. If you have a valid point against them, they just sweep right over it to make their next condescending statement. Like lawyers do (no offense to my dear brother), they pretend you didn't even say it, like not responding to it makes it obsolete. In a way, it does.
Well, if there's one thing I've learned in these (blankety-blank) years, it's that I am not running a popularity contest and I don't have to take shit from anyone. And they don't have to fucking like me! Plenty of people do! How liberating that feeling is. Also the fact that I won't starve without her so-called job. I remember being so scared in the past and just taking it until I was nearly homicidal. Age also helps with that fear thing.
Anyway she says they'll pay me the measly amount I'm owed and wants a stack of disorganized materials they gave me returned, and when can I come in Monday? In the email I said if you don't want them, keep your money and we'll call it a day, but she wants the shit back. So why do I have to spend, oh, five bucks to drive over there and hand it to her? Shouldn't I ask if the check will actually be handed to me tomorrow? It's kindof like a drug deal. Show me the money, get your stack of shit. I have no interest in your stack of shit and can just recycle it cause I ain't drivin over there just for you. There is a Starbucks on the way though.
Also I have the kids. Think I'll cart them in with me, velour sweatsuit and all. Look, Bitches! Momma here ta whoop some ass! (This reminds me of a shirt I saw yesterday at Emily's party worn by the fabulous Mr. Chris: "Momma said knock you out." He wore it to graduation. I'm getting one made for each of the kids.
Actually, I'll probly just puss out and say, "sure you can mail it to me," and then I'll never get it. Anyway, it didn't need to turn out this bitchy but I was just not taking this teenager's shit anymore! (I don't know her age nor have I seen the girl I just go by presumption and the bitchy sound of her voice.) And when I don't want to take shit, I have this need to let people know precisely WHY I won't take their shit. But for realz, the bitch was just so condescending, and as I said, weird and posessive about the little gayish boss guy I think she's obsessed with. Get me the eff outta here. That's why I can't work for anyone! All full-up on drama here, thanks.
(I mean I've had drama enough in the past to last a lifetime; it's really chill in my life currently, save the 4 year old hissy fits from time to time.)
Arrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh.
Please, if you are up blogging in the middle of the night and have any advice on handling this tart, please share.
Now, one glass of wine so I dont go to sleep pissed.
The Rebellious SAHM without a cause
~R

I'm Here I'm Queer Get Used to It (just kidding)

Been reading blogs a lot more lately than writing it seems like. There are so many I try to keep up with, getting really drawn in. Anyway, about the former post/question to everybody about the blog "goddess," and other big-wig blog writers, I think I get it now. Aunt Becky says it best on mommywantsvodka, read her take on all of it.
I didn't wanna be dissin' nobody but now I see that some of them are just too "big" or whatever to respond or comment to little peeps like moi. And most of the time have closed comments! So what's the point? And the money thing. When I started this back in December I didn't even know that blog ads existed, then somebody told me about AdSense and I was like, sure, why the hell not. I got a little excited, I'll admit. I was asking people how to do it. What? Dollas for cussing and rambling? Bring it. But yeah, it's like 30 bucks in 3 months. I haven't stopped tho have I? I am a writer, and if it weren't for the hottie who knocked me up twice and married me and supports us I'd probly be a starving one. But then I'd be skinny! Stay on track here.
Anyway, good for you big bloggers I guess, I can't knock it, but thanks to all the kickass ones who comment and who I'm becoming friends with and that make be laugh on a daily basis. Hope I can return the favor. Oh and I'm also learning that we may not wanna be pigeon-holed as "mommy" bloggers so I'll nix that term! I don't know though, I don't think I really mind it myself, after all, my name has mommy in it. and drinks. and cusses. I think I weed out a few types from the get-go with that. Especially probably good christian types. Or maybe they're praying for me.
So, yeah I'm here, I'm queer (meaning strange not gay), get used to it. Oh, and I'm ignoring my spouse again. Must bolt.
~R

Calling all Mommy Bloggers

The MomBlog Goddess?

Okay, got a question for the mommy bloggers I've met, some of whom are still occasionally reading my blog, hopefully. Did you watch the Today Show today on "us" and then the interview with dooce.com author Heather Armstrong(a.k.a by them the "goddess" of mommybloggers)? I know, I never watch it either; the only other time was when I saw that a woman who wrote a book entitled Naptime is the New Happy Hour was going to be on and I was like, what? Is that me in another life? I shoulda wrote that...Gotta watch this. Anyway I saw her, became a fan, and that's where I found many of you, thru her blog. Stefanie is kickass. And so are all of you (yeah the three reading, and you, too Mom!). But dooce was one I heard about and found when I first started (just back in December; i'm a newbie), and I really like it; she's funny and crass sometimes...but the question I have is this: why is she not listed in links in this little community, the most awesome of all badass mommas community? I don't see her blog anywhere. Just wondering why, if she's truly the "goddess."

I'm still trying to figure the whole blogging thing out, you know, the etiquette and all, and I at least finally stopped begging people to read mine, and realized they've been here, and they'll come back if they like it, right? Whatever, even if they don't read it, I love writing it. Shit, it's been about six months since I started and I haven't let barely a week go by without a little sumpin sumpin. Totally an addictive thing, especially for a writer at heart. Anyway, any comments enlightening me would be lovely. Or maybe ya'll just didn't know about this supposed queen and I am just giving her unneeded publicity (after all, her blog is THE family business and she just got published, the chick needs no help from me.) I guess her popularity is the reason her comments are usually closed; and here I am totally psyched when I get more than 3 comments! Even one!

Take this job and shove it

On another note, I quit the so-called job today. Via email. That's the relationship I've had with the 23 year-old go-between, and that's how it'll end (I don't really know her age, but that's how she sounds to me). I sorta ripped her one. It's so liberating when you don't have to have a certain job; I mean I'd gone this long without it right? I don't want to get all into it (see Friday April 25 post) but this "contract" job was just not looking like what I wanted: extra moolah. What it was: shitloads of telephone calls(on my own phones) and being hassled by a prissy young power tripper for basically $50. That's right. That's what I made in my two weeks with this"talent agency." She was wanting me to drive over for $4 a gallon in my freakin guzzler to meet weekly, for no pay, and also meet others weekly as needed. No reimbursment. There was the "prospect" of commissions should parents sign their kids up for a training program, but a prospect ain't gonna pay for our family vacation. I wasn't the salesperson, just an event coordinator. I told Chris, if I'd have gone back to waiting tables 3 nights a week I'd have enough for all 3 plane tickets at least by now.

Anyway, whatever, it's a load off. Chris got me the new writer's market (the newest I'd had was 2003!), so I haveta get crackin'. Obviously I cannot be micromanaged, or managed at all, really; must work for self.

Also, I realized I really need to just shlump my big ass down there on the floor with my kids and just freaking PLAY! I've been so busy on the phone or computer or cleaning up shit or cooking I never just PLAY with them. Even if it's ten minutes of a big pad of newsprint and crayons, that's better than nothing. Or going out to water the garden. It's so much crazier trying to entertain two; Izzy would watch an entire Baby Einstein video, and stay in one spot for the duration. Not Becks. He is on the move all the time. A tyipcal man right? And if he's not on the prowl around the house for toys, he wants to be on the hip. Thank God Momma gots plenty o that.

Now, I have stack 5 inches thick of trash mags Emily gave me and I really must do some important reading. Daddy's night out; Momma time in.
~R

Still A Drinkin' Cussin' Karaoke Queen!

Okay, how embarrassing, that photo of me I posted? I mean I must have absolutely no self-worth, right? Whatever, that's how I look these days. I used to at least apply some brow liner, lipgloss and mascara by 10 a.m. No more, not even by 5 most days.

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about...wait, just one more thing. I mean I didn't tell you about the birthday shack-up with no expectations. I know you are dying to know, all three of you (two if whom I talked to on the phone today.) Well, I was wrong, about the no expectations thing. It worked! We went out, tried a restaurant we'd never tried before (it wasn't that good, but we had a good time anyway), and then, guess what we happened upon??? A karaoke night. I wanted to go to the little martini joint where I met my cyber-pregnancy-buddy, Alicia, in 2006, on the weekend we both conceived! So when we walked in to find a karaoke night, what better for Rho Rho's bday? Those of you who know me, know. But for the others: FYI, I fucking love karaoke. Not others singing it, just me. I love that fucking mike in my hand and to take it away from me is like prying it from the jaws of death. I missed my calling: Rock Star, or contestant on So You Think You Can Sing (is that a show?). I always knew and never took myself seriously, therefore, I went to college and got a degree or two with which i make little money.

Above is me karaoke-ing in a contest before child #2: Melissa Ethridge's Like the Way I do (bad song choice). I was compared to Jewel and lost to a dude in a white button-down shirt with glasses singing Bon Jovi. Must have been pure talent, eh?

ANYhoo, we had a great time. Again, there is my saint of a husband, sitting back, adoringly listening to me sing Dixie Chicks and Jewel, and telling me I'm kicking ass and everyone loves me (what a great liar he is.) After a shot of patron, and at the third song, I thought I was just getting better. But Chris saved me, and we went back to the hottub, two mini champagne bottles and my chocolate mousse dessert that somehow survived the night. In the morning, we woke up at 9 and had breakfast and watched tennis in bed! What luxury! And we didn't give a shit how small the screen was! Sooo, after all my bitching and moaning, little miss bitchy pants got a kickass birthday after all. When we got home we whisked the kids away to the park. See me God! I'm counting those blessings again! No more bitching!

But for those of you who are the misery-who-loves company-types, know that I have lost hearing in my right ear due to snot, and that every thing I say and chew echoes inside my head. Fun!

Also, my sweet mommy asked me, in all serious today, if I thought I had a drinking problem like some other non-mentions in the family, because of my blog postings. I say, this is why you don't tell your mother about your blog. But it's too late; she actually does think I'm funny, and this is a compliment considering our age difference, and I tell her, "Mom, it's mostly just for effect, I mean look at MommyWantsVodka!" She has to be a real lush! Mine's just for humor:) Except that I really drink when I write about it. But hey, that's not every day! It's like every couple days, and in this instance it's been four or five! Maybe I haven't even drank anything in two whole days, for all anyone knows! I'll never tell! Don't worry bout me, Mommy, I need some form of prozac like any other woman in this insane world. And like I told you, I only drink when I'm with somebody or by myself:) jokes. Love you!

And, she's out. Thanks fer stoppin' by! G'night everyone!
~R

Passive-Agressive Gift-Giving?

Gah that was so rude I just left you hanging last night. Well, I know you've been waiting with bated breath (ha) to find out how my evening ended. Just to let you know, I am joining the many mommy bloggers I have read that write about how their husbands are saints for being married to them and just tolerating them. I am definitely no picnic. I mean sometimes I am like something you might encounter in the depths of hell (especially in the mornings). So yes, kudos to Chris, for hanging in there last night after coming home after hard work to find me dishevelled, bitchy and half-asleep after my eighth day of pooh and barf cleaning, and other incidentals of my so-called "day of all days," as Dr. Seuss would describe your birthday. The cherry on top of my pooh-and-puke sundae being the "gift" an aforementioned MIL rudely awakened me with (please see former post with definition of MIL. It's an acronym, figure it out. I just can't use names or I may be killed.)

So, the MIL, after knocking on the door, ringing the bell, then seeing Izzy wathcing Spongebob thru the window proceeds to go 'round back and let herself in (we have latches so the kids don't escape.). And presents me with the hat. I have strong feelings about this to post a picture so terribly unflattering of myself.

So, whaddaya think? Good for, I donno, Halloween??? Well i did my best faking it and was all, "Wow! Thats crazy! Thank you for remembering!" (last year I received nay a call) and it apparently wasn't believable. My almost never wrong intuition tells me this because of the way she exited, getting in her car stating to Chris and I:"the hat is THE hottest thing, I'll have you know." And drives off in to the sunset. "Thanks again!" I say. You mean in a third world country such as Bali where you bought it? (she imports). We just sortof were left scratching our heads. Anyway, do you think this could be some kind of a test? On, say my acting skills? Coming from a woman who in the past has given me great gifts like jewelry, cool belts and batik fabrics, all things i coveted, what do i make of this? I have recently vocalized my liking for a small stone buddah, kitchen stuff, and more jewelry. I'm sure the craftsmanship is superb and it's expensive, well for Bali. And she says the hat is "sooo me." Who the hell am I? Well if she were privilged to read my blog maybe she'd know. Right? Is this passive-agressive gift-giving? The sad thing is, I really thought we turned over a new leaf this year. And in her mind, if my intution serves as it has in the past, I am the bad guy for being ..ungrateful?

Whatever, My brother brought me 3 bottles of wine (THIS is what a person gives me who wants to make me happy, so, in the future...), my mom also wine and MONEY, and Susan these awesome curvy martini glasses and cute tiny wooden bowls. These are thoughtful things. But none of them got jumping up and down, either. I mean WTF do I do besides send a Thank You card? I smiled, I faked it, I said Thank You. And even if she detected the fake, she knows precisely why! You cant force a person to like something!

Back to the man, her son, the one I married. After he booted me out the house last night, I returned from buying myself a pair of wedge black thong sandals and black ballet flats at the BOGO sale at Payless to find the filets on the grill, a dozen pink roses, and 2 books I wanted (a yoga pose book and the 2008 Writer's Market.) Yes, what a sweet man, even if it was last minute. Please cross your fingers for me we get our night out of town to shack up with a hot tub Saturday. No expectations, just reservations. Oh, did I mention I usually claim the whole month since my bday is on the first? Yeah that's right.
MeMeMe
~R

Great Expectations

You know what I said a few posts ago about the expectations and how I plan to never have any again and all that? Well, it's not that I'm changing my mind. No. It's just that I have yet another fascinating philosophy(hey that first useless degree in psyc is now coming in handy). About the expectations: when you swear them off, could it be that you secretly believe that precisely by swearing them off that something fantastical will happen...? Because that's the theory, right? Have no expectations and you won't be let down. But you are let down because nothing great happened after you went to the trouble...am i making an ounce of sense? Well, in my mind I am. Have you quit reading yet? Well, if not, here's how that birthday with no expectations went (how's that workin' out fer ya?)

Aunt Kik and I stayed up til one-ish last night with the chardonnay, but that didn't really hit me til late in the day. I'm asking for it trying to keep up with the Kikster. So first off, she leaves here today most likely with the freaking super stomach bug we've all had here. The thing never dies. (note: i only had a bunkin party b/c Chris was outta town, really). So I have infected my family, Susan's family, my brother, and now Kikster with my plague I picked up for not being diligent enough with the Wet Ones. It's all my fault. And Beck - guess what -- barfed yet again today and his other stuff ain't cleared up yet either. I thought you know it would just take a few days to firm back up but for the love of god.

We started with an early well-child appt. for Izzy, and all was good. We got our Starbucks, and Izzy decided after her shots she shouldn't have to go to school, so home we went, and did absolutely nothing. Beck needed his naps. All day. Well besides me cleaning and changing Beck's puke bed again. Oh, wait, I did clean my toilets on a whim, and swept the kitchen floor. Other than these fascinating tidbits, I did get plenty of nice calls and messages and some presents (!)...like WINE! and martini glasses (do you tyhink i have a slight problem?)and really appreciate it. Also, I got in an argument with my brother and was awakened from a near-nap around five o'clock by the MIL with a hat. ...Pictures soon to come.

At this moment, I am trying to get my tastebuds to work so I can enjoy this Greg Norman pinot noir my brother brought me, and I'm waiting for Chris to return home with the kids to grill our filets and asparagus. He always does this; shops on my birthday for my birthday. Give him a break though, he's been working outside town, in the woods, and to his credit he didn't pick me some poison ivy flower or bring me a pet rock or some shit.

Wait, Chris just calls and says can i leave the house for a half hour?. This should be interesting...
PIctures tomorrow. You gotta see the hat (oh and other gifts).