momwhodrinksandcusses

Words, WTF?

2010-09-15T10:36:00.000-07:00

As a person to whom words mean more than to the average Joe, I think maybe I have some hangups that the average Joe doesn’t have – the average Joe who uses words as a means to an end. Words like Yup, Nope, and acronyms like LOL. These still push my buttons, no matter how mainstream and internationally used and commonplace they have become. Even I have succumbed to LOL or WTF on occasion, and ROTFLMFAO is one of my all time faves, for its sheer idiocracy.

But in communication, this is where our lovely and convenient technology fails, and everything gets lost in translation, leaving one of the communicators feeling, well, cheated. Inflection, tone, context - these elements are all key to communicating and we, as a society, have chosen to settle for less. To end a “conversation” not really knowing WTF the other person REALLY meant is... dissatisfying, at best.

No, I’m not the first person to write about this topic, or to think it, but I may be one of the few. And it’s certainly not news to anyone, but at 4 a.m. I just felt that I came up with a decent articulation of it in my head. Hank Moody said it best, like I quoted here back in December of 08.

And, just FYI, in addition to my pet verbal peeves of “yup” and “nope”, there is the ending a sentence with my first name. Don’t do it. I find it to be terribly condescending. I have no idea why, maybe some strange insecurity born in childhood.

Ok, now that my masterpiece memo is out, I must go back to bed.

Dear Facebook

2010-08-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

Please make my profile available again, I promise I will replace the profile picture of me and Bill Clinton, I was getting tired of it anyway because I look like a Mongul.

I mean, am I in trouble for using that or something? The girl on the other side of him used it as hers too, BTW. This is totally like when I got kicked off MySpace for saying I was 79. Eff you Facebook.
~R

I Must Brush Up on Meeting-World-Leaders-Who-Touch-My Shoulder-With-Their-Man-Hands Skills

2010-08-11T14:15:00.000-07:00

So, last night at chick night Happy Hour, my friend Carolyn and I discussed the size of mens' hands over martinis. We discussed other things, too, some not even clean enough to write about here on my drinkingandcussing blog. But nevermind that, back to the hands. Now, this isn't to say that a man's hand size is 100 percent indicative of penile size, but generally, let's face it, hands say a lot. The eyes, yeah they're good too but the hands...

A few months ago, I was sitting at a Ruth's Chris bar with a friend and there was this business man eating a petite (yeah, a PETITE) filet, and all I could do was stare at his tiny, freakishly small hands as he tried to make smalltalk with us, and think of his poor, poor wife. And I felt totally sorry for him. I don't think penis pumps really work, what can a man do? A woman can get vag rejuvenation, boobs, butt implants, their own butt fat injected into their lips, lipo, the works. What can a man with tiny hands, and regrettably, a matching penis do? It's not fucking fair, and I feel for that guy. I was totally nice to him.

ANYway, mens' hands. Even if they're not overtly gigantic, but proportionate to his frame, they are a fairly good indicator of his ... junk. And also, even if they aren't just super-duper large, they can still testify to how well he knows how to use said...junk. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck here, people, I do know a few things.

So Carolyn and I, for some reason, brought up the hands of our former president, Mr. William Jefferson Clinton. Around here, in his original neck o the woods, we call him Bill. That man has some gorgeous, and large hands. Long, elegant fingers. He's always using them, flailing then about during speeches, touching his temple with them. I notice these things. So, call this coincidence or what you will, but whose baby-soft, large, expressive left hand only a short four hours ago was rubbing my left shoulder? Yes, that would be Bill's. We're now on a first-name basis.

I was sitting near the front door of Starbucks, because it was full and my usual seat in the back was oddly taken. There was a college girl studying a seat near me. Through the glass doors we both notice Secret Service guys unloading from an untinted SUV, and we wait to see who appears. Jim Bob Duggar? Star Jones? Maybe I dunno, Justin Beiber? No. A big lovely white head of hair popped out and I immediately knew. "Holy Shit!" my Tourett's syndrome resurfaced. As he slowly entered, the girl stood up and quietly told him her father was someone who had worked with him, and died last year, and they shook hands. She was very serious and almost solemn, I'm just sitting on my stool, trying to contain myself, chomping at the bit for her to stop. I thought, I am NOT gonna let this opportunity pass me by to meet a world leader at Starbucks. And it WONT be like when I met Mr. Big at Peet's Coffee in LA. (What's the deal with coffee shops anyway? and why didn't they just drive through?). Anyway, he looks at me, with that face so familiar I feel like he's family, and I stand up and ask, gushing like a little girl at a Jonas Brothers concert, "can I shake your hand too?" "Why sure, says Bill, and grabs my little (this is a good thing if you are a girl) hand with his big, soft, manicured, intelligent man-hand, and shakes it and holds it, as I fumble to impress him that my brother's cousin's girlfirend's dad or some shit worked at the Rose Law firm when he and Hillary were there and nothing comes out making ANY sense. Not an ounce. And he shakes his head like, yeah, and i ask if I can take a picture. "Sure!"He takes my iPhone and hands it to a (cute) Secret Service guy, who takes an off-center picture when Bill takes the college girl's and my shoulders under his big manhands and poses. I have on a strapless sundress (of course) and his lovely soft hand rubbed my shoulder a little bit. Now, that's kinda like kismet or somethin' right? The hand thing? Bill's not thaaat old, is he?...ha ha. Stop calling me Monica. Also like an idiot, I asked, "can I put it on facebook?" as I take the phone back, and Bill says, "Sure, you can do whatever ya want withit! ...So you live here too?"
SO, with a shithole start of a day, a little hungover, just a little, and somewhat depressed, I meet a world leader. Nevermind that I was a total dork, I think he found it endearing. But, I have a tendency to always think of something waaay cooler to say after the fact of meeting someone famous. Or anyone really, for that matter. Here's what I should have said to Bill, "Oh, hi. My friend Carolyn and I were just talking about your big hands over drinks last night. Coincidence? I think not." (if you are my FB friend you'll find that there too.). That woulda been fuckin' cool. But oh well. I think he dug me.
And then, to make my day even better, I tried hot yoga, like seriously hot, with heaters and all that, for the first time and as the yoga teacher said, who is also my music soulmate, apparently, I'm "blissin' out." I walked out of the steaming hot room into the steaming hot Southern heat and it felt like Springtime. About 65 degrees. And I felt like the martini and wine(s) that I had last night were left on that towel on my yoga mat. Awesome. I got a new drug.
~R

Jealous much?

2010-07-22T21:33:00.000-07:00

Well, now it looks like dooce (I'm sure you know her, the blogger, isn't she like on the A-list in Hollywood at this point?) has my would-be-my-bff- in-another-life-where-i-was-rich-and-famous-since-we-both-robbed-the-cradle-five-years-dig-rock-stars-and-have-same-sex-same-age-kids-and-a-deceivingly-innocent-outward-appearance, Ms. Gwyneth Paltrow, as one of her thousands of devoted fans now. I get G's newsletter, Goop.com, and although I rarely open it, i did tonight and was behooved to find the dooce mentioned. So fuck me! I'm so sick of other people stealing things that were supposed to be parts of my life. where do they get off? Being Gwyneth's BFF, that's one, or being that 32-something overweight mom - whats-her-name? who conceived of the friggin teenage vampires in her sleep and wrote 4 books and had four movies made on them, in record-breaking time, thanks to her "dream" of vampires. Really? Never even wrote a short story. really. ? Of course, I also should've been a rock star, namely someone like Gwen Stefani, and I'm pretty certain I would be had I been reared in So-Cal instead of the South. Even that chick who crashed the White House party and now has a reality show, I wouldn't mind getting a gig like that- just by crashing a party. Some people are just too lucky.
Apparently dooce wrote a Best Seller on herself and post-partum depression, so now she's a best-seller too. I don't really read blogs lately but did just read her birthday letter to herself on her blog and must admit I am amused by her writing in that post. Makes me wanna write myself a nice little love letter too. But, dooce, I had post-partum depression, too. Capitalizing on my boring life of anxiety, exhaustion, feeding, diapers, a run to the coffee shop as my only outing and back home for naptime never really occurred to me. Who knew? People read the darndest things. And me, I've become a little snarky so there's little hope for me as a bloggess. Cie la vie.
~R

A few hundred words about nothing.

2010-07-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

So, now that I've pissed off the world, or at least three people with my post about my rotund Welsh Corgie and her barking, I'm kindof thinking that bitching about pets on my blog gets me the same response that bitching about people preaching at Starbucks does on Facebook. So from now on, I'll just write it, old-fashioned-like, in my Hello Kitty diary. I apparently shared a little much, and the comments made me feel like an asshole. That didn't used to happen. Guess it was TMI. But, as for the last depressing post, I really do wanna live in a shack in Malibu and drink margaritas with Matthew Mc Conahayhay. That is completely and utterly true, and of that, I will not be ashamed.
And you'll be happy to know that the rotund Corgie is still alive and well, and remains un-poisoned.

I'm here at Starbucks again, as I am a few times a week, this time editing some boring-ass newsletter for a medical laboratory company, and I'm pleased to announce there is no preaching today. There's just the banter of the young and eccentric boys who work here that I've grown fond of and the music has changed from Diggable Planets to Classical. I look around searching for something to write about but nothing interests me. I look to the newspaper, the oil spill, Obama's approval rating, the marathon of New Jersey Housewives I tortured myself with yesterday and I really have nothing to say about any of it. All I can think about is how I'm getting us to Cali before the summer's over, what changes I have to when school starts in order to bring in more cash to pay for my kids to take dance and piano lessons, how dirty my kitchen floor is, how good a glass of red wine would taste, and how badly I need a massage after that Bodyflow class kicked my ass Sunday...and other things I don't need to mention. And I worry. I worry that I've lost the ability to be diverse. I worry that I'm becoming a bit too self-absorbed in my little life and fallen into survival mode. I worry that I won't enjoy the summer before it's over in a few short weeks. So I guess what I'm saying is I need a little inspiration here.

I could sit and write about what's going on around me all day, and that could prove to be entertaining. How about every Tuesday, it's Strange Things Afoot at the Starbucks? I'll take 20 minutes and give a play-by-play as I eavesdrop on the Starbucks riffraff? Would you read it? Maybe?

~R

Warning: this is kindof depressing.

2010-07-08T08:43:00.000-07:00

Summer is slipping away fast and I feel like before I know it, it'll be winter and I'll be forced indoors for another long 4 or 5 months. To me, that sounds like prison and I've been telling myself to live in the now and all that crap, but this dreary summer day isn't allowing me to do that. It's just that I love spring and summer, and even a little bit of fall but winter, I could do without. I've wanted to live on the beach, a beach with no winter, for as long as I can remember. I envision it, put it on my "dream board" like Oprah says to do, and think to myself that it's a realistic goal to buy a house on the coast someday - in Malibu, Venice, even Marina del Rey. People think it's ridiculous, but screw them; people actually do live there, they aren't imaginary people, ya know.
Besides, to quote an OC housewife, I'd rather be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.

Aside from winning the lottery, I'm pretty sure that until my amazing kids go off to do something awesome and I follow them like a sad and desperate puppy, there's only one thing that'll take me there. Me.
Even if it's just a little shack to escape from these dismal winters, I'll take it. I hate to use the word settle, but I'll settle for that. At least there, I'll be able sit on the tiny deck and watch MM* run past on the beach with his kids, who yell up, "Hi Izzy! Hi Beckham!" to mine. Shirtless MM gives me the "What's up" nod, and on his way back, stops in for a margarita and we watch the sun set......
oh, sorry, I'll wake up now.

Anyway, back to writing. I'm on a roll, and I hope it lasts.
*Matthew McConahayhay however the hell you spell it
~R

Ooops I Did it Again

2010-07-05T20:41:00.000-07:00

I wrote about something that touches nerves with people. Where do I get off?

How about this: Just finished Hot Tub Time Machine and now I'm really in the mood for some Motley Crue, and I heart John Cusack. God, I heart him. Almost as much and Downey, Jr.

That's some dang generic bloggin', right?

~R

Tattoo You

2010-06-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

I got a tattoo yesterday. It's only my second one, and I don't plan on any more than three. I like three. In less than 20 years, I don't want to be that 55 year-old chick in line at the grocery store rockin' a tube top and cut-offs with all the tacky tatts she got back in her 20s and 30s, like the tramp stamp and the ankle bracelet and the top-of-the-foot sun with a face and the back-of-the-neck butterfly that's seen its better days. She's waaaaay too tan and has a box of Marlboro Reds and 12-pack of Coors Light under her arm. her hair is an unnatural shade of reddish-brown.* She's delusional, and since she feels like she's still 25, she dresses and acts accordingly. But we all feel like we're still 25. There comes a point in time that we have to just man up and accept some things.

*this character in no way represents any real persons, here, there, or anywhere.

So yeah I don't want to be her. I think tattoos are beautiful and sexy but I like to keep it clean and simple. I want to be able to look like a classy broad when I have to put on a little black dress for my book-signing party or when I walk the Red Carpet for Izabel's first Oscar or Beck's first Grammy. That's just me. I do still rock tube tops, and as long as a decent bra and enough gym visits and possibly some future purchased imitation boobs prevent the underarm-overflow, I'll keep wearing them. For a while. Shit, as long as I keep the arms in shape I could rock tube tops forever with the faux-boobs. Who knows. But eventually, I'm just gonna feel like a dumbass. It's like how we stopped wearing crop-tops after turning 29, no matter how flat the stomach. It's just good manners. Forty isn't so far away, but it's the new 30 so I figure I have a few years left for tubes, thanks to hot biotches like Jennifer Aniston and Cami Diaz and Courtney Cox giving us Cougars a good name. Although you're hard to measure up to, we owe you guys one for keeping 30-and 40-somethings potentially in the "hot" cateogory.

But anyway, about the tattoo. I decided to have it placed on my left shoulder, opposite my other one, a plain black Ohm. I had a list of several little plain black symbols I had wanted for a while, but I spontaneously (cuz that's how I roll) decided on something altogether different. With color and everythang. One of the symbols was gratitude and one was change, and when searching symbols for those words I came across the Cherry Blossom. The Chinese meaning for the tree/flower represents feminine beauty and sexuality, and sometimes independence. So, I'm a girly-girl, I'm all about some prettiness and sexiness and newfound independence(change). Rediscovery.

The Japanese meaning is much more profound. For them, the flower, whose petals fall within a week of blooming, represents the fact that all things are temporary, fleeting, ephemeral. Life is, or whatever that's happening in your life undoubtedly is, so some people see the cherry blossom attoo as a way to remind themselves to value the good that's in their life right now(gratitude). It can also represent the death of something, or just something that's short-lived. My tattoo guy said, something that's so beautiful but so brief. That's it. Beauty is fleeting, happiness is fleeting, everything is fleeting. This specific time in my life is fleeting. So my cherry blossom will remind me of this time in my life - and when I'm the 55 year-old unsuccessfully tryin to rock the tube top - it will remind me that I've got my stories to tell.

However, with my Anne Taylor Loft tube-top, I'll be wearing some awesome white linen Columbian drug-lord pants and have a bottle of Stag's Leap cabernet instead of Coors light and a pack of Altoids instead of ciggies in my hand. That's just how I roll.

Cuz i'll be classy, yo.

;)

Guess Who's Back?

2010-06-25T13:46:00.001-07:00

I'm pretty sure the manager at Chick Fil A thinks I'm a mother on the edge. About to pull a Sylvia Plath, as I have mentioned it enough times that if I did it now, everyone would just think I'm crying wolf.
"What? He walked in and her head was literally in the oven and the kids' bedroom doors were duct-taped shut? So he laughed, decided they must be safely quarantined from harm and decided to jump on his dirtbike and ride it at top speed around the neighborhood, since he never gets to do that without the kids wanting a ride. He came back an hour later and her head was still there. So sad. I heard she was obsessed with Sylvia Plath long before she even had kids..."

As I'm sure you know, I refer to Sylvia Plath in drama, good fun, in jest. My life isn't that bad.

Anyway, the first time this manager identified my Plath-ness, I was taking Becks to lunch there while Izzy was at school. Just the two of us, mommy-toddler date. So cute. Right. It was just one of those days. He was totally defiant, wouldn't eat, only wanted to play on the outside playground and decided, once out there, that he was going to the car for something. We had a few minutes of arguing about it and hand gestures that I'm sure all the people inside could see. "I'm going!" he yelled, and I was all, "yeah sure you are," thinking I would just jump up if he got inside, and went back to my iphone to play my turn on words with friends. Next thing I know he's pulling open the glass door open that weighs a ton, and it's almost slamming back on him when 3 employees run to his rescue, and glare straight at me, Shitty Mom. "This is really heavy and could slam his little fingers!" "Oh I know! I'm sorry I didn't think of that! Sorry." The pleasant-faced blonde manager comes up to me and and pats me on the back in an I Pity You sortof way. "I know it's hard. I had two. But enjoy it, it doesn't last long." Thank you, words of wisdom from wise woman. She kept standing there and talking and I seriously thought she was casing me out to decide whether or not i was a candidate for S.C.A.N. I thank her and we leave. I get to the car and without thinking, back up. Straight into the Dodge Charger that i had watched, earlier, park nearly diagonally in the parking space behind me. But I couldn't go forward because of the line of 20 cars dyin for some chik fil a. I had already forgotten, that's how brain-dead I am. I bash into the Charger. EFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!! Let's just bleep what i really said. I picture a horrid dent that Chris is going to demand we get fixed immediately and spend God knows how much because he is so obsessed with aesthetics and I get out, crying. To my surprise, I have no dent and the Charger only has a little scuff, and possibly a cracked side headlight.
I'm frantic about what to do, can't hit and run, so i leave Becks, lock the car and run inside, right into Nice Lady manager. She finds the people and brings them out to see the damage. My perfectly good karma helped me out here, because the Government Agent said it was the govt's car anyway, and the other light was already cracked. I was like, "soooo, what should I do?" and wondered if I should offer he cash, which i didn't have...or to write a check? for what? bribery? We stood there long enough and she sensed my poor sweet frantic momness enough to say "Don't worry about it." I wanted to hug her but I didn't. And the Nice Lady manager was visibly relieved for me, thankful I wouldn't go home and wail out my frustrations on my toddler's poor little white booty.

We see her again at a benefit for a girl from Izzy's school. She sees me with the whole fam, and we seem stable and happy enough. Maybe she lost her concern.

Then a few weeks later, yesterday, I take both kids to the crowded Chick Fil A. Becks is sliding off my hip because he refuses to walk, and both of them look like rugrats with their crazy curly red unbrushed hair. She comes up to me just as Becks turns over his napkin with ketchup all over it and spills a drink. "How are you?" she asks in a concerned way. Let me get you another one. I'll get them another fruit cup too. Are you not eating mom? as she looks down at my wasit to see if I'm starving myself. Anything to drink?" Umm do you have wine at Chick fil A? I mean the woman thinks I'm seriously on the brink I guess. She's so sincerely concerned for me I wonder if I should ask her if she'll take me in a couple days a week so I can have time off or maybe score me a year's worth of free nuggets and chocolate milks..?

Anyway, yeah. Taking them out in public sometimes is just more frantic than it's worth so this afternoon, instead of beating the 98 degree heat at the athletic club pool, I opted to let them FREE PLAY while i sit on my bed, MacBook on lap in the air conditioning.

I think I'm back, babies.
~R

RhoRho's Weekend, err, Tuesday, err, Monthly, Update

2010-05-18T14:55:00.000-07:00

Oh-mah-gosh I have been gone a while, and appreciate those of you who check on me every now and then. Dude, I'm at some kind of every-seven-year kindof life change thing and my mind is scattered...however, I do manage to handle a couple regular, low-paying gigs that, along with Facebook and the other ten-thousand things I have, or want, to do in a day as the struggling domestic figure that I am, blogging has been put on the back burner, it seems, for a while now. I see friends on Facebook who are starting blogs and all excited about it, and it takes me back to when it was what I did all evening, drinking wine, ignoring my husband, who probably didn't mind because he got to watch OC Choppers.

Also, now I'm getting back into art, which I had abandoned for a couple years, and I'm doing a mural at a friends office - for money. Way more money than any writing has been bringing in sooo... I dunno, maybe I'll get back into it or maybe this is a one-time thing. We'll see how it turns out, but I'm loving doing it. I put on my earbuds and can't help but let a little boogie or hum slip, and when the office girls are there working, I know they're giggling or making fun of me, since I can't hear them at all, nor do I care. They only wish they could be so free-spirited! And sometimes I go in after they're closed, and crank it up and flat-out wail. I'm huge into Ryan Adams right now, and the new Courtyard Hounds, which is the sisters from the Dixie Chicks. Just in case you're needing some new tunes. And always John Mayer's newest Battle Studies and all Kings of Leon.

Umm, on another note, I couldn't even wait til the clock struck five today to pour a glass of zin (I think it was 4:57), because my three and six year-old FIGHT after being together for oh, about five minutes. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. It's driving me to the fucking brink. Seriously, there is an oven less than five feet away from me and I have read everything Sylvia Plath ever so so..if you don't see me back here, you'll know.

But hope you do come back, and someday, I'll snoop around and visit you. And now, anyone got a Jager shot?
~R

Get with the program people!

2010-04-08T08:43:00.001-07:00

There are certain people out there, in my life and yours, who are boycotting texting. And I think this is downright ridiculous. In this time of unbelievable technology, who wouldn't want to take advantage of it? And as a mother with 2 kids typically yelling in the background, texting works out for me just fine. I need to tell you something, and I need to tell you now before my fetal-brain-drained mind forgets, and I'm going to text you. DO NOT call me back, text me back. Whenever you can is fine. Don't say you don't have time for texting because when you think about it, it takes a lot less time to get across a point and be done with it. Save the long chats for Saturday mornings or something, we all have shit to do. And, it's NOT impersonal, it's just friggin' convenient. SO, if I text you and you make some character judgement on me and out of spite don't reply or just call me back eventually, whatever. I'm NOT giving up my texting.
Wait, footnote: if you are still using a Razr or some other kind of non-texting phone, I get it it. Pushihng every button ten times sucks. But get yourself a friggin' text phone, you won't be sorry.
Word?
~R

In The Bell Jar

2010-03-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

I think that FINALLY that dark and dreary weather I spoke of about five posts and five months ago (that sounds kinda cool?)is finally done, and we can all resume our lives. We can drink out back, the kids can swing and run and jump and ..dig. We can stay out there til the sun goes down. We don't have to wear a lot of clothes. We've had three semi-blizzards here this year and if Spring is teasing us again, well then fuck her. I'm sooooo done with this place.
So yeah, once again, it's Tues-dee, and this is the day of the week that I need a little inspiration. I'm kind of in the Bell Jar lately. So my word today is...is....is...
BATSHIT CRAZY.
k, that's two words. if ANYone EVER drops in anymore, throw me a friggin' bone?
Gah.
~R

2010-03-04T11:54:00.000-08:00

Not that you missed it, but I totally dissed my Tuesday night word club. Sorry.
I just can't get into writing posts here lately. The thing is, I think I'm just feeling too vulnerable. Starting to think people locally and...relatives, etc are secretly reading my blog, but not mentioning it...why don't they? I put it out here, it's not a secret. Anyway, it's weird when people seem to know things about your life they otherwise wouldnt if not for le blog.
Just weird. Or maybe Im wrong. But think deleting is the best thing! Like I said a few months ago, also, being a mom of school kid changes things. Prioroties. Like ranting. Maybe I need to stop.
I dunno.
Word out & up
R

Tuesday Night Word Club

2010-02-23T19:53:00.000-08:00

Tuesdays are just...Tuesdays. That day. That day your parents pronounce "Tuesdee." The day when you wanna get a little drunk because you haven't since Friday. Because you know it's four more long days til the weekend. The day that's just too damn normal to do anything exciting. The day Sheryl Crow wrote about for that reason. The day that kid-taxi-ing doesn't stop until 5 PM. The day that no holiday, besides Fat Tuesday, which I coincidentally missed, falls on. The most mundane, irrefutably wretched day of the week. Tuesday. Share your thoughts with me on how you feel. This is going to be my new thing to replace last year's Manic Mondays.

Today, this is me:

Apathetic

Commercial Musing

2010-02-16T19:26:00.000-08:00

During a commercial break from Millionaire Matchmaker (who totally pissed me off by dissing redheads), I saw this commercial that's been bugging me. So I'm sending them a message.

Dear Seasonique and other birth control pills that promise only 3 periods a year and all that shit:

"Who says you have a to have 12 periods a year?" you ask? Mother fuckin' Nature, that's who!

It ain't natural! Where does all that blood go?

Women: do not trust these psychos! I took the normal pill for 13 years and after all of the warnings and links to breast cancer and strokes, after babies I didn't go back. Why? scared shitless!

My answer? Vasectomy, baby! It's about time the men endure a little pain and suffering. We've had ours two years, and let me tell you, it improves the quality of your life. If you still wanna have babies, well, Trojan is really your only decent answer. I'm sorry.

Back to my trashy Bravo TV. Currently the only kind I watch until Californication and Entourage are back.

Word.

If it's capitalized, it's fer real.

2010-02-09T10:14:00.001-08:00

ANOTHER snow day. We're gonna be in school until freakin' July. WTF is up, Mother Nature? Now you're giving all those non-believers in Global Warming more reason to not believe. How could they possibly not believe, though? I mean the term is CAPITALIZED, people! You have no choice.

Anyway, here I am again after two weeks, after thinking I was gonna get regular again. Blogging, that is, don't be gross. But can't seem to muster up much of anything. Life lately has been a series of failed attempts, mostly, including but not limited to: getting regular writing work, cutting back on the wine, losing 10 pounds, being a better wife, being a better mother, cussing less, nourishing family and friendships better, and getting organized.

ANd, to top off all the failure, I chopped my hair off. Could be shaving it after a day trapped inside with Things 1 and 2. And NO wine in the house.

Hasta la Vista, biznitches.

Drinking Diaries

2010-01-19T10:04:00.000-08:00

Dudes, please check out the awesome blog, Drinking Diaries, the authors of which were kind enough to post a little something I wrote on {SHOCKER} drinking.

http://www.drinkingdiaries.com/2010/01/18/booze-and-marriage-go-together-like-a-horse-and-carriage/

Their site doesn't glamorize nor does it bash drinking, it just openly discusses it, an adult activity that we may or may not partake in, willingly, on all levels. Ya get me? So leave 'em a comment and share your thoughts, funny stories, sad stories, whatever.

Thanks Ya'll!

Totally unimportant musings on Totally Irrelevant Golden Globes

2010-01-17T18:41:00.000-08:00

1. Everyone just leave Luke Wilson alone.

2. Why do they always put Jennifer Aniston in some shitty-ass predicament at awards shows?

3. Why is Drew Barrymore so spazzy? Yet adorable?

4. All these totally priveleged and filthily rich people are trying sooooo hard to make us think they're so very humble and grateful. Did the GG's send out a memo?

5. My theory: actresses who supposedly bear 2, 3, 4 children in Hollywood are all actually hiring surrogates. I mean Halle Berry's boobs after two kids? Really? I don't care who you are, gravity always wins. Just ask Radiohead.

6. You fuc*ers left out Californication and Entourage so screw you.

7. I know none of it matters but I can't just sit and watch CNN and think about how much the world sucks all the time. Sometimes I just want to look at pretty people.

Whatever,

So what if I have an inferiority complex?

2010-01-11T08:24:00.000-08:00

In the past two years and hundreds(?) of posts I've written, I know this subject has come up more than once, but as another year begins I'm taking inventory of my last year. What did I accomplish?

Besides a few freelance gigs here and there, a couple things in print and as a regular contributor on a website, not so much. You don't see Vanity Fair or I got a book publisher on there, do you? Well, I kept two beautiful kids safe and healthy, shouldn't that be enough?

I don't know how many others of you out there are plagued with this, but I figure here is the best place to find other moms with my affliction: that momness isn't enough. Uh, yeah, I said it out loud. Don't get me wrong, I could never imagine life without it but I want it ALL, and I'm having a hard time finding the hours in the day to make it happen.

Is there something wrong with me? Does this make me a less-than-average mom, the fact that I don't want to be the average mom? Does it make me inferior that I don't hold down an 8-5er while still being the cook and laundress and billpayer and taxi? Because I see women who do this, and I wonder if I'm pulling my weight just doing the latter. And then I see ones that are SAHMs, like me, but they somehow manage to run a somewhat lucrative home business whilst doing all the things that I do. Why aren't I doing that? Then, there are the lucky ones. And I mean that. They are the ones who accept their their station at this point in life and they embrace it. Like the moms at dance class, talking about how they must run home to put the rolls in the oven for the roast and hurry back to pick up their daughters. They seem to have no issues that this is what they do. Period. If I could just be that way, everyone around me would be a lot happier. But I can't, no matter how hard I try. Writing can wait. no it can't.

But no matter how much I desire to have a real and lucrative writing career, I find that I won't really sacrifice time with my kids. I feel guilty as hell when I take a few hours on the weekend to steal away to Starbucks with the computer or when I don't join them and Daddy for bike riding at the park. I don't want to miss a thing. I cook dinner six nights a week because I refuse to feed my kids junk food more than once a week and because we can't afford to dine out all the time. I keep my house straight, for the most part, because it drives me nuts if it isn't. I have my reasons. I take an hour to work out because if I didn't, I'd weigh 200 pounds. So guess what comes last? That's right.

So it looks like I've made my choice, doesn't it?

Not so fast. I think I just need a good course of time management. Maybe I need to give up cooking one night or give up a workout. Maybe I need you.

I want to know how you really feel about your "place." I won't tell anyone if you're not ecstatic to find yourself in yoga pants all day with no makeup, or that you meant to be a movie star by now. I need to know I'm not alone!

But, please don't tell me to just chill and accept it. Share your secrets on becoming Superwoman. Pay it forward, women!

Gawd, I love the sound of a keyboard

2010-01-05T06:01:00.000-08:00

When I was little back in the 80s, 2010 sounded so futuristic and surreal that we must've thought it would never come. There was even a movie named "2010" right? It seemed so intangible that, although we wouldn't be too terribly old, all the way into our 30s, we somehow didn't think we'd live to see it. Maybe it was all that Armageddon talk. But it's here, and it's a little queer, but we'll have to get used to it.

When I sat down to write this morning, it was because I got another message from Blogher, reminding me it had been two weeks since my last confession, but I think it had been more. I didn't know what I was gonna say. Since I gave up the ambition of being some uber-mommy-blogger equal to the likes of Dooce or something long ago, I also lost the compulsion to come here. I don't see what she has to say that's sooo much more interesting than me, but whatever. I don't even know if she's there, but i'll assume so.

Not that I don't like blogging, which I've been doing 2 years now, I've just been overwhelmed, in addition to the many tasks of everyday life, and the nemesis, Facebook. I could say I don't have time to blog but let's be honest, I turn on my laptop and there it is, that little blue and white FB tag, right on my homepage. I forget what i'm there for - oh yeah, to check my bank account, or pay a bill, and then, voila! an hour is lost seeing what the 300+ newsfeed has to say. And what it has to say mostly is "I'm cooking dinner," and "I am so blessed. Thank you God." Shit that other people don't really want to hear, but that's the beauty of free speech I guess.

So, from this spontaneous post I have found three of my 2010 commitments: (lets not call them resolutions just so as to be rebellious)

1. Check FB only once a week. Shit. maybe once a day.

2. Blog more. Doing so this spontaneously makes me realize that I love it, and saying I don't have the time to write is just an excuse.

3. Keep writing my book, for reasons same as above.

Now, just to be clear, I didn't get into blogging and then decide I'm a writer, oh no. It's been my love since way back in junior high when I was the only one thriving on writing essays in Lit class or when I clepped out of Comp in college, later wondering why I did that when I would have liked the class. And then, when I went back for a masters in journalism, not creative writing, because those creative writing students scared the shit out of me.

Just so you know.

Anyway, how's about, if you're there, you share some of your "commitments" for this year, assuming you have them? C'mon, it'll be fun, and give me ideas. (Even if you don't have one, I can at least see if I'm talking to a brick wall, so just say "yo" or "bite me" if nothing else!)

I'm not through making mine yet. Usually not until March, when the year really gets going.

God, I love the sound of a quick-clicking keyboard.

Cheeers

Reading and Writing and Housewives

2009-12-01T11:01:00.000-08:00

Although Blogher hasn't written to let me know it's been over a month since my last confession, I finally took myself a moment from the kid-running and and treadmilling and the crappy red-tape stuff of life to write something. Here. Just what, I'm not really sure yet, but you have my gratitude for checking every once in awhile.

I use the excuse that now that I have 2 kids, I have no time to read novels but that's a fargin' lie when I can sit through two straight episodes of the Housewives of Orange County. A damned lie. Gawd, they all mesmerize me, I don't know why. New York, Jersey, even Atlanta - especially Atlanta because those chicks are so far beyond whacked - what's up with the satiny yellow wig the whitey chick Kim wears? Is she bald under there? If so, is it alopecia? Did she go through chemo? Or if she isn't bald, is her hair just too devastatingly hideous for Bravo? These are things I need to get to the bottom of. And if I didn't spend my supposedly precious time doing this, I might actuality do what I need to be doing: writing. See, I feel better already.

Back to the point: I had one. Reading. I plucked The Bell Jar from my bookshelf the other night; I hadn't read it in about 8 years, and I've forgotten most of it. Sylvia Plath's writing inspires me, and I feel some weird connection, although it definitely isn't that I, too will tape my kids' bedroom doors off and stick my head in the oven. Not that I haven't felt like it at times. It's her writing style that I identify with and I think that Gwyneth Paltrow, although I love her skinny little ass, did her no justice in that movie, Sylvia. None at all.

But I'm reading, and now writing because of the reading, and all is good in the world.

Feeling piggish

2009-10-20T18:44:00.000-07:00

So this H1N1 is going around here and I'm sniffling with this nasty-ass sinus headache and feelin' kinda piggish. Is it the swine? Not sure at this point; do I have to have fever? What's the deal? Do common colds still exist? Surely they do.
I'm just trying to keep my family well for the next 5 months...5 months of dark and dreary weather and Vitamin D deficiency and seasonal depression...what? You don't feel the same? Oh, you must live in Santa Monica...Anyway, I have no point; I am just lamenting loss of summer and living for Sunday nights and my only show - Californication. That, with red wine, rich pastas and butternut squash soup is what gets me through the season. Also, a fire in the fireplace, a little snow on the ground, good sweaters and scarves aren't bad either. Boots are cool. Hey, if we can avoid the nasty shit, fall and winter can be bearable...
Cheers!
~R

Life: All there is, the most fragile thing there is

2009-10-05T06:56:00.000-07:00

In this college town, news travels fast and there are about 3, rather than 6, degrees of separation. I met this woman with a sweet face and an even sweeter personality when I first visited Izzy's elementary school this summer. She is the PTO president, and as she walked me out the door, the fact that I was trying to get a transfer to another school made me think twice. She was so sincere that I wanted to stay there because of her. We didn't get the transfer and I've seen her sweet face several times now that school started but hadn't met her 4 daughters. One, who was in fourth grade, was hit and killed by a car in a crosswalk. Just like that. Gone.

As in most smaller towns (65,000 is small to many), almost everyone knows about it and there is a short video of this girl and people who knew her on the news and going around Facebook. Like you see in movies: a parent is lamenting either loss or just sulking in nostalgia over years gone by, as the kids are running and laughing on the beach, or blowing out birthday candles, or putting on a little play...and the sick demented part of me thinks for a brief second of this possible sadness every time I take a video on my camera. All of our lives look like that through a video camera lens. And they are. Precious. Unique. Remarkable.

When things like this, or not like this, happen; when a life is taken, no matter how short or long, it almost shuts me down. I think of the people in that person's life and how they are going to go on and it takes a few days for me to shake it. And when it's a child, now that I'm a parent, I can barely allow myself to envision it happening. I cannot watch movies that deal with family tragedy of any kind. I don't know how deep empathy can go, but I have it, to almost a fault. I think of how we spend our lives trying to keep them alive. Just keep them alive. That's our number one responsibility. And these parents, that morning, were heading to a relay event for kids and had no idea that their lives would be shattered in a second flat. They have 3 other kids, and have to go on, and from what I gather, they are spiritual or religious people, and I'm sure they'll rely on that here. Makes me realize why humans seek that. I tend to look to meditation and yoga and all that new age shit for my sanity, but that's what we're all seeking in different ways. Seeking serenity. Searching for a way to divert our knowledge of the fact that everything can change in a split second and try to fucking enjoy it anyway. For some it's drugs and alcohol, because numbing those thoughts seems like the easiest way.

I know I'm a but morbid and cynical and that's how I feel right now. Like life is just some cruel joke to see how much suffering people can handle. And then some, they never see a day of suffering. Is it karma or is it the luck of the draw? Don't ask me.

Now, I think I should quit rambling and take my sweet little dancin boy on a date and enjoy this exact moment, and the next one, and the next one, because none of them are not coming back.

~R

and now, Narcissism

2009-09-29T09:54:00.000-07:00

PART II(from previous post)
Now, here's the Big One. I alienated a friend of 4 years thanks to the good ole FaceBook. I'm not sure at this point for how long, and why I waited this long to vent about it is beyond.
She, the friend, left a short, harmless post on my FB page that said, "Nerd alert" in response to my post begging for writing/editing work. I was trying to put Facebook to some actual use - networking. I was like, whatever, and went to her page and said this:
"Maybe you didn't get the memo that facebook is not only for narcissistic pursuits;)!"
What would you think? I considered it two fairly good friends, both smartasses and a little wild-child, fucking with each other a bit. I know for a fact that if I had put it on my friend S's page, she would have come back "fuck you bitch" and we would be having some drinks the next day and that would be the end of it.
Well, not so in this instance. This friend called me. I was in the shower, so she left a message, an angry one about the word narcissism. And a footnote message stating "if I were going to say something hateful I would NOT post it on Facebook." I called back and left her a VM stating I was surprised that she was truly upset and I in no way intended to alienate a friend that morning, and was just trying to be clever and smartass. I thought we were friends enough to do that.
Now, I did think my statement was quite clever, and as a writer, we always give ourselves a little pat on the back for that. I did NOT think this friend, who's a little crazy, and I mean that in a good way, like crazy fun, crazy wild, would be offended by this N word. Oh man, was she. And apparently, after my two additional texts saying I love her and would never mean to offend her, has not spoken to me. She has spoken to my husband, who told her to get over it, but not me...

However, I did reiterate the fact that Facebook is in fact a platform for narcissists everywhere, including yours truly. I don't think this is a much opposed school of thought. I mean, give the people a free website to post photos and speak their mind, to only people they let into their little world? Hells yeah, we'll take it! it's like a lifetime of a High School web page, it'll keep us young and outspoken for ever. Until someone, supposed "friend," confronts or questions us. Grandmas are on there, saying shit like, "I love me some Pierce Brosnon" and shit. It's INSANE!

But I can't stop. I find it useful to keep in touch with distant friends through photos and little messages, but talking to your neighbors and locals there instead of on the phone or in person is just further deteriorating all of freaking humanity and communication in general!

Who's with me???
One more question: why is that dooce chick so cool? Or is she still there xcuz i havent checked but I suppose so since she is the family income...does she even have music on her site? specifically Rufus?
Whatevs

~R

Starbucks, Baby Hay-Seuss and ...Narcissism

2009-09-29T09:06:00.000-07:00

PART 1 (Come back tomorrow for Part II! It's even better!)
Hey there my 3 loyal readers, what's shakin'? I know, I know, not much must be shakin' up in my world or I'd be writing about it, right? Well, blame Facebook, although I've been getting into trouble on there so I've also been avoiding it as much as possible, even if it's resorting to "going offline" and being a lurker, which all of us in blogland so despise and find creepy. Cause they are. But really, I have gotten into trouble, once for mentioning Religion. Just the word for some people creates this crazy defensive outlash. And it's not like I said something so wrong. I should have learned my lesson and keep my philosophical musings reserved for a place where mostly like-minded people go: my blog! Here's what I said:

"I find it interesting that every.single.time. I'm sitting in Starbucks [and I am a lot], I hear a sermon."

Now, the fact that every time I am sitting there in that particular Starbucks summoning words on my computer, I hear a couple few people having a little meeting of the minds about the Sweet Baby Hay-Seuss, that is truth. And yes, I find it strange, a coincidence, or what-have-you, but I must realize that although it's a bit of a progressive little city, I am still sitting in the Bible Belt. This must go on everywhere and I only frequent Starbucks during the day and restaurants where people drink at night (this is a sin). Oh, and that "at night" would be a maximum of 4 nights per month, if I'm lucky, so I don't sin very often. So, I don't even find it offensive, the preaching. I just...find it. Every time. That's what's called an observation. Like if someone were talking about....about...Madonna, every time I'm at Starbucks. I mean, she's almost as famous as Hay-Seuss, right? Yes, the people are always speaking loudly...for some reason...but I can put in my earbuds and listen to some Black Sabbath, pull my black hoodie over my head, and I'll be fine.

So how did I get into trouble, you ask? Well, a local acquaintance of mine popped up on my page real quick-like, and under my post asked, "Really, how so?" (like as in how did I find it interesting?)...I find this to be a bit condescending, but I also find people calling me by my full name (as opposed to nickname), ending a question with my name, and saying, "How's that workin' out fer ya?" to be offensive. That's just me.
I then visited her page and said I didn't mean to offend. I did not elaborate. She then popped in my chatbox and started telling me about her church as why it was so cool. And why, and why, and why. She sent me an inbox message, also, demanding some elaboration on my Starbucks post. I deleted it the post. Again, I told her no offense intended. We haven't interacted since, probably mutually staying away, probably for the best...I won't be converting her to my Pagan ways and she won't be dragging me into her cool church. All is well.

On another note,this kindergarten thing I've been ranting about, I guess it's turning out to be notsobad, and no one cares about me or my blog name, after all. So I'm comin back, bitches, as
momwhodrinksandcusses.
~R

Gawd, I'm an Asshole!

2009-09-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

Gawd, I'm such an asshole. To complain about anything is really quite obnoxious, I'm finding these days. Every day, I learn about someone else's misfortune and think, how in the hell do I have the right to complain about having to get out of bed, or that i can't afford to get my roots done, or that my kid has an obsession with a certain shirt? I don't! I'm such an asshole! Just found out an old friend who I'm "friends" with on Facebook (yes, FB, the devil), has a kid with Cystic Fibrosis and had never broadcasted it. It just popped up in light of all the health care debate, and there was another whose daughter died last year from childhood leukemia, and I didn't know this for weeks after we "befriended." And the funeral we went to recently for a 60 year-old man who was all-organic, lived off the land and not an alcoholic or drug user, who died of liver cancer, pretty quickly after diagnosis. And, I read a story about a little girl whose parents fought for her life for over a year with a rare disease and didn't win, all the while having this amazing attitude.

I've done this before, but it always takes some kind of eye-opener, and so now 'm doing it again! Let's all just quit our bitchin' lest we haves us a DAMNED good reason, and I know some of you out there who do, and I should check up on you more often. Glad you're still out there!

Hey, do you need a drink now too? Go visit le wine blog!
http://wine4poorsihfolk.blogspot.com
~R

How Do You Cope?

2009-08-31T11:35:00.000-07:00

I don't know how I used to conjure up all of the B.S. that this blog has seen in the last year and a half, but I'm flat drawing a blank. All I can think up these days is what I have to do in a day.

I'm Becoming one of those moms who watches her language (at least during daylight hours) and cuts her hair so as to not come off as a lamb in sheep's clothing (or is it the other way around???). Alas, I'm the parent of an elementary school student, and still adjusting. Slowly. The daily 6:30 wakings are unwelcome, as my 2 year-old was always coerced back to sleep in the mornings with a little milk, at least until 7 or so. This reality bites, in some ways, but in others, I guess it's alright. I am forced to behave myself more at night now, and feel pressured to get tons and tons of things accomplished by 3 PM everyday. So that can't be all bad. Days go by reaaalll fast, and I'm trying to stop myself every now and then and go back to being grateful. Note to self: get that damned grateful symbol tattooed on arm as have planned for 6 months...like I have time and money for another tattoo...
Anyway, if anyone is out there, how do you cope? With it all?
Over and out
~R

I'm a Product of the 70s and look how fabulous I turned out!

2009-08-24T20:02:00.001-07:00

I think maybe Iz starting kindergarten is the answer to finalizing my memoir. See? It had to serve another purpose because my kid already knows anything they can throw at her. Right? Anyway, there has been this element missing, the one that kindof ties it all together and now, I think I might have the key to unlock it. It's something in my childhood and its funny and its lighthearted but probably totally dysfunctional but I think I'm going to pinpoint it now. Or soon. Because no matter how much you write about your past, you still forget, repress, omit things.

Izzy starting school is bringing my what I call "angst-less" childhood back on a daily basis, and making me think that if only I can give it to her as good as I had it back in the 70s, the kid will be alright. It's only been a week, a very odd one, and at this point time's gonna tell. I'm finding myself being more wrapped up in "mothering" than ever and leaving my own pursuits last (like late at night, like right now). I find myself raising my hand to be "homeroom mom" and to help make copies and Gawd, I hope I don't lose myself. But this is an important time, and I refuse to be unaware of what's going on in the place that takes care of my kid for six hours a day. Hopefully, I won't be the one who they're all whispering about because I'm pushing for more than a 15 minute recess, for foreign language, or Gawd forbid, I wear a tank top.

Now look, it's past my curfew 11 minutes. Good-night.

PS:
Susan made me question my dilemma: momwhodrinksandcusses or therebelmom? Which sounds less, I dunno, offensive? Still haven't found time to change the address. Too busy stalking playground.

The End of the World as We Know It

2009-08-19T11:57:00.001-07:00

I still haven't found the time to change the actual address of this blog, yet school has begun, and so has my fear that the PTO moms, whom, whether I ever thought I'd say this or not, I will be involved with, will be seeking out dirt on me, like that I drinkandcuss, for instance. Paranoia? yes.

So yeah, my Baby started Kindergarten today and I know now that I am not the only mom who cries and stalks her kid at recess. BTW, when did recess get cut down to 15 minutes a day? I recall two 30-minute sessions, at least. Of course, that was a long, long, long time ago. Like, back when we ran out after the dismissal bell and were free to roam the streets. As of 3 o'clock, I was on my own to spot my moms white T-bird with burgundy trim, and if she was late, I would just sit on the steps of the school alone, and pout until she got there. (This only happened once.) No traffic cops, no orange vest and no signs. Now the doors are locked and parents are more involved, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. I don't know how my mom surrendered to the school system, as over-protective as she was. If I had kids in the 70s I would have had to home-school, or camp out in the playground.

So, yeah, I'm a little bummed about my baby going off for 6 hours a day to be at the mercy of the System, the classroom of 75% boys who had BETTER NOT bully my baby, and of course her sweet cute 23 year-old teacher (who really is adorable and Iz will love). Probably will like her more than she likes her momma. Oh, look at that, the time has passed quickly, gotta go in 30.

I'm still in need of advice on changing blog address but keeping you WONDERFUL 13 readers, so throw it at me! I still haven't googled it yet, maybe I'll get to that before They are onto me.

So, here's to a new age, growing up, all the way up, and liking it.;) But that doesn't mean no rock ' n roll or no tank tops, right?

~R

My New Persona slash help me

2009-08-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

I've changed my blog name, for kindergarten-related purposes. A bit more subtle, ya think? Maybe not. But anyway, I'm apparently still a bit blog-tarded and couldn't figure out to get a new domain and keep my MULTITUDE of followers (thanks all 12 of you!!!), and let people know it's changed, so after great pains of exporting-importing, I just went in and changed the name to therebelmom and kept the address. Not sure if this will accomplish my goal, since the only way to locate the blog is thru the address...hmmmm. Any help out there?

Dammit, now I'm really irritated.
~R

Message to Mr. Big

2009-08-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

In Peet's coffee in L.A. last week, I walked out of the bathroom and walked smack-dab into the path of Mr. Big (ignoramouses: Chris Noth from Sex and the City, and some other show now like Law & Order or something). Well, I love me some Mr. Big and quite involuntarily, I schreeched, "Mr. Big!" and touched his arm. He grinned, barely, and kept going toward the coffee station. i know, he is sick and tired of hearing it, but give a girl a break. I was waiting for my friend to get her coffee, and sat down at the table near him, where he returned to sit and gaze starry-eyed at his sweet little tot, who he would take and throw up into the air, making the 3 women in the coffee shop make our "OMG that is sooooo adorable faces, swooning. I just have one question:

WHY couldn't you talk to us, Mr. Big? You want to be treated normally, you want to be able to take your kid and stroll to the coffee shop like the average Joe. So here's this, Mr. Big. Most men who have 3 moderate to highly attractive women swooning over he and his baby would at least say Hello. Maybe even engage in some light conversation. But you're no average Joe. You had to just sit there, knowing we're all dying to say something or ask for your picture on our iPhones, but we don't want to look like dorky tourists. So you play all hard-to-get. That's just rude. Let's face it, you're no spring chicken any more, and if you have some women in their thirties within five fee tof you dying to talk to you, you should take advantage of it, maybe even let us give your arms a break to hold the little tot.
Thanks for listening.
~R

Invaluable Insights from...me.

2009-07-27T12:11:00.000-07:00

Many of life's unfortunate events start with alcohol. We all know alcohol has a way of giving us infinite knowledge and the ability to judge others with abandon. It removes all modesty, all discretion, all censorship. So, when, inevitably, that person, has been holding something in against another, they will take an opportunity of having a major buzz and a wide audience to let it out. This is unfortunate.

Here's what I know: people still haven't figured this out about life:
1.You cannot make someone BE what you want them to be.
2.You cannot make their rules for them.
3.You cannot force them to THINK what you want them to think, feel what you want them to feel.
4. You can spend your time thinking about what they should or shouldn't be doing, to no avail, or,
5. You CAN just LET IT BE. (My son knows this, for he sleeps to the song on repeat every night. That kid's gonna bring the world peace, I swear it!)

I know, believe me I do, that it's hard once you've had a few drinks to keep your infinite wisdom and insights to yourself, but really, you may as well, because you're doing absolutely no good (see above, numbers 1-4). Realize that the only thing you can change is YOU! For realz! Stop thinking so much about everyone else, and give yourself a little credit. You'll be amazed. I don't mean 'don't think of others,' I mean don't think about what others should be thinking, doing, etc. It's so liberating. Set yourself free. Once you do this, even a few margaritas won't make you start a fight in the middle of the Black Panther party.
"...nobody knows anything about themselves cause they're all worried bout everybody else" ~ says Jack Johnson.

I make money!

2009-07-22T19:31:00.000-07:00

I got a Blogher check! I'm freakin'! Sure, it was only enough to buy me sandals at Old Navy, but damn, it's fun to get sur-prise monies!
Hey, PS: I need a new, notsoobvious blog name. Due to pending kindergarten kid,come August 19. Eff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Suggestions?
~R

...and things i'm not so proud of as a parent...

2009-07-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

Last time, I bragged about my daughter not having any prejudice and all that...and I'm still proud. But hey, no one's perfect.
As a momwhodrinksandcusses, it appears that I have let a few things slip, some that my very chatty 2 year-old has picked up. Not to say that Daddy is totally innocent here. At 2, Izzy wasn't the Repeat Pete that Beck is. That kid will repeat "supercalifragilisticexpealidocious" if you ask him to. So we reeaaaally need to censor ourselves around him more than we did her at that age. We tend to forget that. Here's my example:
I took both kids to Barnes & Noble last week to get a few books off the clearance shelves and to drink my Americano and read trash mags while they play in the kids' area. Upon leaving, Izzy and I are looking for a Horse book for Becks. He just loves "hordies." In the meantime, he's collected a number of things in his little arms: a horse puzzle, a horse that you paint, and several books. He's trying to carry them all, and suddenly we hear, "shit. shit. shit!" "Did he just say what I thought he said?" an employee asks me. "Ummm, I guess so." I cover my mouth in embarrassment. "That's cute," she actually said. What a cool B & N chick! Anyway, I approach him and he's just dropping all of these things and desperately trying to keep them all in his arms. "Can I help, Becks?" I ask. No! shit!." he responds. All I can do is laugh. A couple older men are shooting me dirty looks, and I keep laughing. Forget them! Didn't they ever have kids?
Anyway, lesson learned. And when I think about it, we probly let it slip with Izzy too, and at 4 and 5, she knew better than to say those things in mixed company. Hopefully, he'll do the same!
~R

Two Things I'm Proud of as a Parent

2009-07-02T18:35:00.000-07:00

forward: I can't stay away. I thought I had lost the will to write about my random thoughts, but turns out, I'm still here. And still drinking wine, so check the wine blog, too.

I love Ellen. Yeah, she's doing re-runs right now, but I can watch her over and over, like Seinfeld episodes. I mean if you've seen the ones with Gladys - "I love Jesus but I drink a little..." priceless. Anyway it's the only show I sometimes watch during the day, and today it made me pensive about two things - both of them concerning motherhood.
But first, if you haven't seen it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83JDXXKzOXg&feature=related

The first item of proudness: it was the first episode of the season (last season) where Ellen had just gotten married to Portia, and was talking about it and showing the pictures, like Ellen in a suit with Portia in the dress. Izzy was watching it with me, and the thought crossed my mind- my democratic, liberal, pro-gay rights mind - "what does Izzy think about this? and if she asks, what do I say?" But she didn't. That's what's so amazing about her. Yes, she's only five, but I do know that some 5 year-olds would scoff at a "two-mommy" marriage, because of what they've been taught or learned elsewhere. But mine didn't, and I was proud. However, I still had the concern about how to explain. "Some people just have two mommies," I thought sounded okay. But what if she asked whether everyone has to have a daddy, you know because she's been taught a very minimal amount of reproduction, what would I say? Well, she didn't, but she will. Is it too early to go into all that? For a child who only knows heterosexual relationships, besides her Uncle Matt, who she isn't really onto either, How would you word it?

Secondly, Michelle Obama was on the show, pre-election. Izzy knows her Obama, and that this was now our president's wife. This made me think of how she has never once said a word about the color of anyone, and for this, too, I'm proud. She has a step-cousin who is black, and she has never once asked why her skin color is different from her father's (Izzy's uncle). She just doesn't see color. Yes, Obama is the first African-American president and this is important to know, but she'll be hearing that in history class for years to come. For now, I just value her innocence. No need to point out differences she doesn't even notice. Since I was brought up to notice differences, I guess this is one (I mean two things) thing I'm proud of as a parent!
What's yours?
There, I at least tried for comments...even a woot would suffice.
~R

Summertime, and the livin's easy

2009-07-01T11:44:00.000-07:00

In my adult life, this is the first summer that has actually felt like "summer," you know, that summer feeling that you last felt at around age 18? The one that included sun, water, lazy days, probably beer. And well, I don't want it to end. As soon as late August rolls around, it's back to business, then on to flu season, and of course, those pesky holidays. And then at least three more months of flu's and freezing weather and oh yeah, spring allergies. Oh, Hi there, it's me, the eternal optimist. Did you miss me?

Maybe because of Izzy's age (5), and the fact that in less than 2 months, our life will change dramatically when we become Parents of a Kindergartner, when we have to get one of those stickers on the back of our car to replace the "Well-behaved women rarely make history" and Phish ones, that says: "Proud parent of an (insert school here) honor student." When we have to grow up, possibly join the PTO, start going to bed really early so we can actually get out of the house by 7:30 a.m. (to self-employed folk, this is insane). Maybe I'm over-reacting, but I have heard people say that it's life-changing. And it makes me realize we'd better enjoy our freedom and late mornings (and late nights) while we still got 'em. So the goal this summer? Fun, fun, and more fun. Sun, swimming, slip'n slides, trips, blind-folded ice-cream eating contests, barbeques, beer and chardonnay. And it's all goin' too fast.

The dreaded time also awaits when I must change the name of this blog so that my kids can actually make new friends. The ones I have now love me anyway, but let's face it, most moms aren't so judgment-free, especially if they think they may be sending their kid to play at a lush's house...

speaking of that, my last link to my wine blog apparently failed, so try this:
http://www.wine4poorishfolk.blogspot.com
~R

Have a Drink for Me...

2009-06-18T11:59:00.000-07:00

Oh, have I mentioned the wine blog? Lately, it's so much easier to just write about something I love than dig deep for something interesting to say...
www.wine4poorishfolk.blogspot.com

Disney in a Day

2009-06-08T19:35:00.001-07:00

We just returned Saturday from our trip to Florida with some BFFs and their little girl. After a week of living like Kings and drinking and sunbathing without consequences, here we are, landlocked again. We had a lot of fun, and I love vacaying to Florida, but Cali is still where my heart is. Florida is just too..too.... melting pot.
Anyway, yeah. One of the excursions in Florida was Izzy and I going to Disney World. Thought I'd share the little tidbits of travel know-how I've gathered for you regarding taking your kid to Disney World. Solo. We got the Disney Your Way (or something) pass and chose to just do Magic Kingdom, in about 5 hours.
So I came up with my Disney Dont's:
Top Ten things NOT to do when going to Disney World:

1. Take your regular purse. I was the ONLY woman there with my everyday purse instead of a fanny pack, backpack or over the shoulder satchel thing. Assuming they're thinking about the back here, and carrying all the insanely-overpriced merchandise their kids will con them into buying.
2. Wear a maxi-dress. If it's past May in Florida, you're gonna burn your ass up on all that pavement. Wear shorts, despite what your legs look like. L'Oreal Bronzer works great.
3. Wear a hat. The heat gets trapped underneath and your head will sweat like a bitch.
4. DO have your kid wear a hat that breathes.
5. Forget sunscreen. You cannot get even a taste of Disney World in less than 5 hours. You'll need it.
6. Think you can get out for under $250, for TWO people. Add $100 for each additional person.
7. Think you're doing it for your kid. You're not. You're doing it because you never got to go as a kid and you think it's the right thing to do as a parent so your kid won't be scarred for life, like you were, for never going. You can tell by the parents' faces there that they are definitely doing it for their own conscience. Just look!
8. Think you'll have time to drink. There may be a Mickey's Tavern, but there's no time for that shit. Someone has to drive eventually, unless you're one of the crazy people who choose to actually LODGE at Disney, for days. Insane, but at least you can drink at night.
9. Think that everyone is going to be all smiles and sunshine, and it's like the magical wonderland they make it out to be. It's not.
10. Think that your kid will even talk about it a day after. Once the $9 balloon ceases to float, so do her Disney memories. But at least we have 50 pictures to remind her.

What? Do I sound cynical or something? I guess I shouldn't expect her to understand the value of a dollar quite yet, but I did tell her how much it cost us to get in the door when she said "I wanna go home" after 30 minutes. All in all, we did have a lovely time, a little $200 mom and daughter's day out. In the 5 hours we had, we didn't even graze the surface of The Magic Kingdom. The Roller Coaster (Space Mountain) was closed for renovation, and we didn't want to wait in line to ride the elephants. So, I'll admit, it's possible there may be a next time, when Daddy goes and and does the more exciting stuff.

As for you, heed my advice, have fun, and make sure you alot at the very least 8 hours to do Disney in a Day.
~R

2009-06-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

Thinking that blogging is possibly becoming soooo over. Weep.

Food Psychology for Kids

2009-05-29T06:57:00.000-07:00

I'm still deciding on the wine blog name, but I just made a post on my long-forgotten cookin' blog:

http://goodcookinmama.blogspot.com/2009/05/food-psychology-for-kids.html

Don't abandon me yet! Come back if you're interested in my up and coming wine blog for poorish folk. Or in my occasional rambling here.
~R

I'm a Wino, Hear me ...whine?

2009-05-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

I wasn't kidding when I said I'm starting a wine blog. I think maybe my time here, ranting about life or being grateful for it or sharing with you stuff I like and hate, has kindof run its course. Obviously, I'm not destined to be one of those "uber-bloggers" whose readership skyrockets from 0-a gazillion in the first month, who gets 80 comments per post. For that, I would have to use a word like "vagina" in the title of my blog and well, I'm just not ready to do that. "Drinks" and "cusses" is risque enough, when you think about the fact that your oldest will be starting kindergarten in a few months and you will probably cave to the PTO and you'll actually have to finally grow up, really.

So, a blog sharing my infinite layperson knowledge of wine, which I study on a daily basis, seems logical and doable and fairly harmless, besides the fact that it screams "Wino."

I actually do have some knowledge, I'll have you know, albeit it doesn't involve words like "tannic" or "floral" or "anise." I'll use totally generic words like "trashy" and "sucks balls." I'll tell you the best wines I tried that week for under $10, what pretty bottle I found, and the newest red Zin I've tried, because it is one of my many missions in life to taste every. single. red zin out there. This is wine for real people, moms, semi-poor people. I'm not out to be all snobby. It's just gonna be about wine, but not Yellow Tail. Not that a bottle of that doesn't pop up here on occasion; It's just I've gotten more creative for my $8.

So, if you're still with me, I'm not totally deleting this blog, because, who knows, maybe I'll have a flash of genius that people will wanna read sometime. Just not regularly. I've really sucked lately and my last two readers may have even given up. So c'mon and find me over there, when I post it. And if you just drink beer, I guess you won't. Your loss, man.
In the meantime, I'll be at the beach, bitches!
Holla,
~Rhe

Perching drinking and watching

2009-05-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

Just when you think you have conquered time, time has its way with you. ~ I made that up.
I always get this way when June is near. It means the year is half-over, summer is just starting but will be over too soon, and there we go again, 6 months of colds and flu and icky weather. Gee, my glass is sorta half-empty, I guess.
I'm really not trying to be so effin' Debbie Downer, but you hear old, old people say how fast life passes you by, and you start realizing that, damn, it sure does. As a kid, a year is an eternity. Now, a year ago feels about like ten minutes. And all of these things, things, things we have to do, all these plans, that are supposed to be part of what life is about, seem to make it go by even faster. When your calendar is filled, you feel a little robbed of your time. Even if you do these things voluntarily. I know I'd get real bored if ALL of my spare time was spent drinking wine on the deck and watching the kids play, but man, on weekends when there are 3 birthday parties and a wedding, it sounds like paradise.
So, yeah, hold the invites, we're all full up here. I just wanna perch and drink and watch. it's summer, right?
~R

I surrender!

2009-05-15T07:09:00.000-07:00

I think I'm gonna start a wine blog.

Like Me!

2009-05-13T12:29:00.000-07:00

Wondering: what gets people talking(here, meaning commenting, yes, commenting)? Something that gets them 'riled up'? Something that pushes their buttons, something that makes them sympathetic? Maybe something that makes them sad? Angry? Happy? I'd say the latter is the least likely. And further more, writing about how great your life is would be the last way to really connect and have some interaction with people. Take Facebook, for instance (yes, I'm still there, cracked out, can't stop. Just wait til I get an iPhone). Nothing unnerves me more than someone being all, "My life is so great! Praise the Lord! Yay me!" It just turns one off. Appeal to the little people, for god's sake. Find a common ground, don't just be so fucking bragadocious! Being grateful is one thing. I guess it's all how you go about it. Then again, on the contrary, no one likes a whiner, either. No one wants to hear, "Shit, this day sucks." Unless you have a truly real problem, like a sick relative or a lost job or a broken heart, it seems that no one wants to hear the "woe is me" bit, either. I just wrote about my crazy toddler, and despite the fact that I know many readers are "mom bloggers" and have experienced just what I have,it just didn't inspire them to SAY SOMETHING! Really, I was just hoping for a familiarity laugh.

What I'm getting at, I suppose, is that there's a delicate balance. With the connecting to people. In the past, surprising topics have garnered me comments. Really, you just never know.

I'll never know! Do you?
Clueless,
~R

24 hours: A Day in the Life of the Terrible Two's (Boy Version)

2009-05-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

This week, my husband has been out of town, in a remote location where he gets crappy service and when I call for help or to complain, all I hear is "unta-gleeten-glotten-globen." (you're suspicious, aren't you?) This business trip just happens to coincide with the week that my newly-two-year-old decides he wants to show me the meaning of The Terrible Two's. Izzy never had them, it was more like the Terrible Fours with her, and he's a boy, so it could only be worse. I mean, like ten gazillion times worse. He's starting the detachment (it's really separation anxiety but I call it this!) anxiety thing with me, and he doesn't want to go to sleep - ever. He must be entertained at ALL times, and of course, when he is, it's only for 2 minutes. You know the drill. The kicker is that, unlike the demure and gentle girl that I am accustomed to, he is INSANE. He climbs, he plows, he bangs, he dumps, he destroys. He is MALE, hear him roar.

So, in the spirit of the Owen Wilson narration part on the movie Marley & Me, I am substituting Becks for the dog here. Read it really fast.

Last night: After we read 5 books and he had a mac-daddy head, foot and back massage with Burt's Bees lotion, Beckham screamed bloody murder until I sang "Let it Be" twenty times. He finally accepted the Beatles version on his stereo and allowed me to eat my dinner at 9 o'clock. Like an infant crying out for his middle of the night feeding, he awakened at 1:34 a.m. crying out "Momma Momma Momma. Da-eey(Daddy) at work? Wan call Da-eey!" Until I went in and gave him the treatment again. Then, YAY, my 2 year-old "slept through the night."

Today: Beckham poops right before leaving for pre-school and it comes out of a gap in his diaper and on to the rug and down his leg. I forget to pick up the turd on the rug and come home to greet it with my foot. I take the kids to a friend's to play outside and he immediately says "Wan go car," and sits on my lap in a lawn chair, right in front of a swingset and sandbox, as I try to get sun on my white-ass legs, as his sister steps in dog pooh. We get home and I had taken his diaper off so he could practice peeing in the back yard while he eats his ice cream. I suddenly find poop on the back deck. The poop deck. Again, it's down his leg and on his foot and I hose him and the deck off. Then, Beckham takes his cup of melted ice cream and dumps it onto the deck. Next he gets his head stuck in a chair. He tries to saw my leg and computer screen off with his toy chainsaw. He falls down in the spilled ice cream and hurts his knee.

I apparently like to write about pooping: http://momwhodrinksandcusses.blogspot.com/2008/04/dear-birthday-boy-you-pooped-on-my.html

Beck watches Fern Gulley with Izzy and I after dinner, snuggles up right next to me on the couch. He has no idea what's going on, he just wants to be there. He tries to eat all my sweet potato. He gets a big puzzle and sets it on my lap and tries to work it. "Mommy, c'mon," he says. He wants his milk and we read read read. Thankfully, tonight, when I lay him down and turn on "Let it Be" on repeat he says "Call da-eey," and when I return from getting my phone for Daddy to say goodnight, he is out. O.U.T. (Wipes sweat off forehead)

The kid is wearing me out but damn, he is cute, and I know I'll miss it when he stops being such a little titty-baby. Or maybe he won't stop altogether, and that's preferable, really. I'm just a bit worn out right now, giving praise to single mothers - nay, mothers- everywhere. I did that here, too: http://momwhodrinksandcusses.blogspot.com/2008/01/just-gimme-my-goddman-chicken-caesar.html

Waiting til 9:30 for my mozzarella, tomato and arugula salad, and glass o wine was worth it.

~R

May You Stay-ay-ay-ay-aaay Forever Young

2009-05-04T20:05:00.000-07:00

So, here's what you've been waiting for, with bated breath, I'm sure: my philosophy on aging in America.

Waaay back in college, I remember learning about how other cultures revere the elderly, how menopause for women in these places is not a horrid, stressful experience because the emotional stigma isn't placed upon them. How the older you get, the more you are celebrated. In our country, exactly the opposite is so. We celebrate young, green, superficial things like Britney and The Hills, and it's only getting worse. I love to look at Zac Efron's chest as much as the next pervy mom, but shit, people, what happened to respecting things a bit higher up on the anatomy? (don't get me wrong, my Lil Zac, in particular, has it all:)(lust lust).

To compare, take an age-revering country like India, for example:
http://www.hinduonnet.com/thehindu/fr/2008/06/27/stories/2008062750390300.htm

The only elderly we respect here are rockstars like Mick Jagger and Madonna. The Dhali Lama? Who gives a shit here in America?

I'm apparently getting up there. Friday was my birthday, and one that many people, it seems, feel the need to ask, "How old are you now, anyway?" I'm not SEVEN and proud of it, after all, I'm OVER 30 and would rather not speak the number out loud. It's as if they truly lost track, and maybe they did. "33, 34, 35, 36?" Keep going, asshole. "Yeah those all sound good," I say, pleased that the number is lower than reality but aggravated that someone insists on my coming out and saying it. The number. Why must I?

But...I don't want to be one of those women who hides from her age; lies about it. My mother never did. I never saw her giving much of a shit about it. She had me at 39 years old, after 3 children were nearly grown, and I sort of gave her a reason to stay young. And she still is, at 76. Do the math.

So, although I think I look, well, not my age, and I don't feel it, except in the morning, when I feel about 80, what do I do? Embrace it? Freak people the fuck out with it? No, I don't have crow's feet and only one frown line that I am able to press away with my finger if I try real hard and yeah baby, that's what 37 looks like. I have to work out twice as hard and long as I used to but I still get carded occasionally and notice a person's (namely women) sortof attitude adjustment when I do give my age. Because sometimes, when I sense someone's doubt in my competence because I have blonde pigtails or wear a tank top, I feel the need to put them in their place. Like I said in my Starbucks post, I take shits bigger than you.

So, here I am. I can't say I'm not where I thought I'd be at 37 because, honestly, I never thought about it. I remember back in 1999, living in Nashville, when I met this 37 year-old named Lori Vanzino who had living proof she was Job Bon Jovi's first high school girlfriend and I thought, "Shit, she is so old to be moving off to Nashville alone to be a songwriter." Eff that! I say! Go for it! Don't let a number get you down. I never went for my dream of being a rock star, but I'm no Gwen Stefani. I think putting words onto paper and doing the occasional drunk No Doubt song at karaoke might fulfill that need now.

How about you? Do you feel like you're where you thought you'd be?

Now I'm gonna go google Lori Vanzino.

Forever young,
~R

2009-05-03T08:18:00.000-07:00

Before my philosophical musings on age in our society next time, cause I'm too brain-dead right now to be clever, here are some pictures from my fun bday weekend drinking wine, doing tequila shots and birthing puppies. Not at the same time. And saw one song at a Cake show because the weather sucked ass.

I was doula to Marley and her babies.

~R

Broadening my horizons

2009-04-28T08:54:00.001-07:00

So here's why may weekend was good. Chris and I caught a Todd Snider concert, which was at a small venue, so ya know it was, intimate and shit. I used to watch him in a small basement bar in college, and I won't even mention how many years ago that actually was...but if you don't know about him google him, if you're not Republican and of the faint of heart type...

And then we did some cool landscaping and planted the Jap maple my BFF Susan gave me for the upcoming bday. I basically want to be home, either on the front porch or back deck, drinking all the time rightnow in this (finally) fabulous weather.

And here's the cool thing; I did a hash run on Sunday. If you don't know about Hashers, well ,they call themselves a drinkin' club with a runnin' problem. My friend Susan invited me for the firs time, and I was the Virgin who ended up leading several others back to the BEER. After downing a can of Bud Light, about 15 of us started trekking through town on road and trail that's marked by sprinkled flour by the organizer of the run, this time Susan's husband. I try to take the weekends off from working out, but man, this could qualify, and the beer, the cans and cans of beer, I drank afterward, I've been trying to work off all week. As you may know, I'm really a wine person, but one wouldn't be caught dead drinking wine in this bunch. If you were, you might be forced to down a full 8 oz. cup of Milwaulkee's Best Light. Yowzer.

Bascially, that's what you've been waiting for. Me broadening my horizons.

And now, hate to be all me me me(no I don't), but my birthday festivities have begun...although the bday isn't til Friday...cause that's how I roll. It used to be a month, now panned down to a mere few days. The MIL (yes, really) cooked me a fab dinner of pan-seared tuna tonight on an Aisian noodle salad and I already acquired tons of wine and wine glasses. Scary how well people know me. So, I've decided that although I feel obligated to dread birthdays, I actually like them, because even tho my number goes up, it's pretty cool to get a little special attention these days, and bottles of wine don't hurt, either.

So, tune in...in a few days, and I'll still be blissing on the me me me half-week I alot for my bday. Yay me! I'll be wine-saturated til Sunday, at least, depending on how long the stash lasts...But I have come up with some seriously (right) philosophical musings on age in our society. You can't wait, can you? ~Peace out
~R

Just Another (one-word) Monday

2009-04-27T12:37:00.000-07:00

uneventful

...but this isn't all bad because it was a great weekend. Tune in tomorrow and I'll tell you why.
~R

Kings of my Heart

2009-04-21T19:13:00.000-07:00

Just when I start to get down on my own creativity, I find something to inspire me, usually music. I don't listen to the radio, and the only new music I'm introduced to is thru VH1's top 20, typically. But, when I picked up the Rolling Stone that has been mysteriously appearing in my mailbox for 2 months (thankfully, and don't bust me out!) and read a story on Kings of Leon, that was all I needed to be in love with a fresh, new band. At least to me. They're southern bad boys that were raised by a traveling evangelist-gone bad, and they are the epitome of your skirt-chasin' whiskey-drinkin' rock stars. Gawd help me if I crossed their path. Heel, Cougar!

I had heard a couple of their songs, namely Sex on Fire, on my husband's Ipod, but because of all the hype, I didn't want to give them a chance. After reading the piece by Austin Skaggs, I was completely enchanted by their story. Their rock star life. That's what made me go for a run and listen to all three albums. At least I hope there are only three. If there are more, please enlighten me.

So, yeah, Kings of Leon, my new love, in New Orleans at Jazz Fest on my birthday weekend. Who wants to take me???

~R

Revelation at the Gas Pump

2009-04-20T20:45:00.000-07:00

I was standing there at the self-serve gas pump today, pumping the $20 worth of gas that gets me through the entire week in my Landcruiser, in this lovely little college town nestled in the mountains that I've called home for about a hundred years, trying to envision I was somewhere else. Like I was on a road trip and just stopped for gas and a Starbucks Doubleshot. I looked around at the all-too familiar signs and buildings and hills and trees, and tried real hard to see it as somewhere else. It was hard.

I love that feeling of unfamiliarity. Sometimes I think I would be happy with a life of vacations, or like my friend, Dana, a military one that places you in a different place every two years. And then I think about my kids, and how they need stability, supposedly. But Dana's kid seems to do just fine.

I traveled a lot in my twenties and even since I've had kids, I've discovered some of my favorite places. One of them, a place I feel like I could live and be perfectly content. Or maybe, the grass is always greener, and I should just stick to vacationing there, because once I lived there, it would take away the element of mystery. If you've been with me here on this blog for a year or so, you know I'm somewhat a malcontent, and southern California has been beckoning me since our visit there last year. And I do feel like the strong feelings I have for its offerings have somehow brought me closer to it despite lack of money or time or...whatever. Maybe it's the going I love, and not the one specific place, but it seems to be everywhere I look lately.

Besides living away in two other states for about a year, I've lived here. I wish I could be one of those "Gawd I love this town" kindof people (and we have many here), but all I see is shit I've seen one too many times. Nothing seems charming anymore to me in what most people deem a charming place. People sometimes (unless you're my nuclear family members) need a change of scenery. It's an age-old fact. There's an entire world out there, and spending your life - or even 95% of your waking hours - in one place just seems absolutely insane. But there are realities to take into account, especially if you have kids. If not, I say get the hell out, wait tables, sell all your shit, go wherever the hell you want to go. Do what you have to do.

Me, I still haven't made it to Western Europe, despite that guide book I bought back in 1995. It's still waiting on my bookshelf, a little outdated I'm sure. New Zealand (my husband's family are NZ natives) and Hawaii are also on the wish-list, but those may have to wait a few years, realistically. So, for now we'll travel as much as possible. I'll make my girl-trips out to L.A. to visit my friend Danelle and I'll send my manuscripts and I'll wait for Cali to come and get me. I'll see it on every channel on cable and I'll feel close to it and know I'll somehow find another way to get there again. We'll visit the auntie in NYC and we'll make it to Colorado and Florida once a year. That'll have to do, for now.

My friend M. ( I love you, but no comment!) says live here and travel, but I donno if that's enough. I don't know if I want my kids to go to the same old schools and if I want to be one of those 40-something hippiesh women driving around the same streets in their Subarus. Unlike the family I come from, I don't feel wrong or ashamed for not seeing the place from whence I came as the end-all be-all of existence. It's just a place to start, and shame on anyone who believes that there's nothing more to see out there. I love it that my kids are exposed to and talk about places bigger than their little bubble of existence. We get out the world map and teach them that we're just a tiny speck... and they can go anywhere. I wish I was taught that, but I know that it isn't anyone's fault - what I did or didn't do.

Any natives: do not, I repeat, NOT take offense! This is just a personal feeling. Opinion. delusion. Whatever. Just me and my never-ending neuroses of discontent.

Really, this was just what happened to me at the gas pump.
~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-04-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

hmmm......lemme look something up.

fortitude

Lost in the land of Preschool Mommies

2009-04-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

In high school, I had big hair. I wore blue eyeliner and eyeshadow, tight knit cotton minis with crop tops baring my tanned flat belly, and my fabulous white Keds. I would claim that I had no self confidence, but, damn, looking back, I must have at least had some balls.

Regarding popularity, I never felt popular, but I guess I was considered to be at least on the perimeters of the popular crowd. I hung out with those called "stoners" to the bubbliest cheerleaders. Some people hated me (I had some awful things etched about me in the bathroom stalls, and several older girls threatened to "kick my ass" throughout high school - but it never happened), but my friends, most of whom I have to this day, totally loved me. We were tight, and we had waaaay more fun than those A-list goody-goody cheerleaders ever dreamt of having. And we lived to tell about it. Of those tight friends, one was a stoner, another a Stepperette (that meant dance team), one a cheerleader (that was the A-list at our school), one a rich girl with awesome clothes, another a poor girl whom everyone loved because of her contagious personality. Me, I was kindof in the middle. And just like today, in my thirties, I always wondered how in the hell those who didn't like me had the audacity not to. I might have been a little self-conscious, but hell, I thought I was pretty damned cool. They were missing out.

Later in life, you look back and realize that things like jealousy, boys, judgment, and a ton of other issues that were not your fault were probably why this person or that didn't like you. Or maybe, they did like you, but you didn't give them the time of day. Maybe you didn't say 'hi" first. Maybe you gave the wrong facial expression at the wrong time. A little thing like that is all it takes to damage someone's ego forever. Sometimes.

My theory is, high school politics doesn't end with graduation. It starts all over again when you have kids starting school. Preschool included. To me, preschool is like going back to high school. The sad thing is, we all should have learned by now.

Last year, I wrote a post about a fellow preschool mommy (and potentially my child's future teacher) who made it clearly apparent she didn't like me. I had be-friended a friend of hers, and was friendly with many others at the preschool, but she and a couple of her comrades were like he homely version of Mean Girls. They barely responded to my obligatory "hellos" and made an effort to turn their heads when I walked past. And there I was, back in high school. These girls, they would have been the ones threatening to beat me to a pulp. But now, they're battling baby weight and too tired. Lucky me.

That particular mean mommy is gone, and thank the sweet baby hay-seuss she's not my little girl's teacher. But I still don't fit with the preschool mommies, besides a few of my close friends who have kids there. I forget it's pajama day, I don't volunteer to cook for teacher appreciation day, and I ask dumb questions because I don't actually read the gazillion papers we lug home. Either the mommies are just as pissed as I am about it, or they're generally tired, or they feel like they don't fit in, either. Still, sometimes I wonder if one of them has heard a story or rumor of my checkered past, like my being a wild girl married to a musician who hung out in bars until morning, or maybe they heard I have a blog titled "momwhodrinksandcusses." Maybe it's the Obama sticker on my rig. Mommies talk. They certainly couldnt' allow their kids to associate with the likes of mine. This pre-school is in a church, after all. And us, we don't go to this or any other church. Go ahead, damn us to hell. This is the Bible belt, and quite frankly, I think we've outgrown it.

Now, I'm the mommy with her windows down, music loud, wearing a funky hat with pigtails, flips-flops, no blue eyeliner. While they all loiter in the lobby and chit-chat, I breeze in and out quickly to get both of my awesomely cool kids, whose rapport with other kids is fantastic, and whose friendships I will not try to control because of my preferences for what kind of mommies they have. I can only hope the other mommies do the same. We have plenty of our own friends, but after two years here, Izzy hasn't had been invited on one "playdate" with a classmate. And no, we haven't invited, either. I know from observation how much many of the kids like each other, and a couple of her girl classmates seem downright obsessed with her. But, for all I know, we are all doing the same thing - keeping to ourselves and our own friends. I know that most of these mommies and I wouldn't have much in common, and I have enough friends to keep up with, but if Izzy wants to have over little Kathy whose family goes to church twice a week and views drinking and cussing as a mortal sin, then so be it. C'mon over, Kathy, you just might have a little fun here in Heathenville...
I truly dread Kindergarten.
Whatever,
~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-04-13T06:46:00.000-07:00

restless.

Somehow, I feel like I've used this one before. Gimme yours.
~R

The Cliche Birthday Letter

2009-04-06T06:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, I don't care if everyone is doing it. I have to. He's just too damned adorable for me not to write him a mushy birthday letter. Now, a day late.

Hey Little Dude,
It's somehow, somehow, been two years since you came roaring out, all 9 white and pink fleshy pounds of you. Thank you for making it fairly easy on me. Compared to my 30+ hour labor with Izzy, 3 hours of contractions and no drugs seemed pretty tame. The fact that you came out looking like a 3 month-old sort of made us miss the whole infant thing, but you were worth it. To me, you still look almost the exact same as that day.

In the past month, you've started turning your rambling jibberish into 3 and 4 word sentences, my favorite of which is "Momma don't cry (pronounced "kai")." It's not that I cry all the time, I just fake it when you won't puff your fat lips out and give me a kiss. That's probably bad psychology. You also say, with words all run together, "Mommalookatme!" while you lie on the floor and stick your leg up a wall or something. You also totally worship your Daddy, but when you get hurt, you always run to me. You're fearless, and it freaks me out. Whenever I sit on the floor, you are certain to plop down right in my lap. I love that.

You love "hordies" (horses), for some odd reason, and now have a plethora of plastic ones. Actually, all farm animals excite you. And your new chainsaw. (yikes). You also rock out to music, but you are semi-particular. You dig Daddy's skater music (Rise Against, I call skater music) and Coldplay, Maroon 5, anything with a little groove. You move your head around in circles all psychedelic-like and move your arms like a composer. I don't know if you'll be a rock star farmer or what, but you're super-cool.

I now understand what women mean about having a son, and how it's somehow different. Kindof like fathers and daughters, I guess. You had me at "Momma don't kai."

With Immeasurable Love,
Momma

2009-04-05T14:54:00.000-07:00

My lil man turned 2 today. Instead of getting all wishy-washy and writing the now all-too common (granted, it is charming and endearing) "letter to my baby" I'll just share some photos of his party from yesterday, involving a blindfolded ice-cream eating contest (a la Ellen), a pinata, cupcakes and adults drinking beer, as usual. It was a fabulous day, although it was a bit windy. You should totally try to blindfolded thing. The key, though, is for both people on each team to be blindfolded (we didn't have enough). This makes it unbearably funny. It could make for hours of entertainment and brain freezes...

This picture layout thing is killing me. I give up.

~R

More Musings on FB, and my no-cheating cleanse

2009-04-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

I won't lie to you; I just checked my FB, and guess what? Nothing exciting. I'll say it again: knowing that my friend just cleaned her toilets jsut doesn't do it for me. It is, however, useful in that it can be used to get and give information. That I get. For example, I used it to get my local mom-friend opinions on elementary schools...I have to register my baby tomorrow. My once six and a-half-pound little baby is going to effing Kindergarten this fall. And ya ask me, she's too damned smart for it. And as much as she drives me nutbags, I'll miss the hell out of her all day.

Anyway, there's my confession, and I haven't quit it yet. All the time I put in uploading pictures! That would be a waste. Just like when I was kicked off MySpace for lying about my age. I said I was 79.

In other news, I'm cleansing this week, and I mean it this time. No cheating, no dairy, no meat, no booze, no coffee, no nothing. Not fun, but man, do I feel better. Started Sunday, four days and going strong. Every cleanse up until now, I made the executive decision after a couple days that a little glass or two of vino couldn't hurt. But this time I'm sticking. At least til Friday. And Sunday, my 9 pound uber-baby turns two.

I'll be here, instead of FB. Come see me.
~R

Bloggers, save me from FB!

2009-03-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

Calling all bloggers:
Get me back into blogging and away from FB! It's the devil! People can post photos of you - whatever the hell they want - where your arms look like old lady arms! It's like a nobody US Weekly! And guess what? You can't delete them! Like ever!

I'm so sorry I have sucked SO HARD and resorted again to posting nude Dr. McDreamy pics (altho quite funny, right?). My writing urge has been met with freelancing lately and my interaction one with FB, I guess. I don't want to delete it, but I must really stop going every single day. SUckage!

Oh, and to add to that, I have brain-deadening shows like the Real House wives of NYC and Millionaire Matchmaker to keep me busy when I'm not juggling kids, cleaning up food off the floor or working out to rid my arms and ass of granny fat. And I have to wait until effing fall for Californication to start. Altho I do plan to stalk Duchovney in Venice when it starts shooting this spring...

Now I must go and see what you all have been up to...Hang with me! Blogging rocks! FB sucks.

~R

2009-03-25T10:31:00.000-07:00

Caught in the act.

Just Another (picture) Monday

2009-03-23T19:56:00.000-07:00

I'm running outta one words. How's about a change? Picture Monday! I'll never run out of those!

Check it out, yo. My five year-old's got skills. This has nothing to do with the following pictures...

My friend the Donkey

For realz? Cuz I am a bit peckish.

And lastly, Rock Star Bunny.

Beastily yours,
~R

Desperate Attempt at a Post

2009-03-17T09:27:00.001-07:00

Now that the most severe bout of PMDD in the history of woman-kind has passed, I'm a civilized (somewhat) person again. But to be honest, freakin' Panera is kicking me off the internet in exactly 2 minutes. WTF are they thinking that 30 minutes is enough time to as much as check email and get all of the very important facebook updates? They are whacked. I really should get my lunch somewhere else. Jerks.
Anyway, a desperate attempt at a post here, and an admission that I have not been making trips to other blogs and vowing to catch up asap, honest!
happy spring, especially if you aren't allergic to it like I am:)
~R

2009-03-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

If I said I drank my hatorade today would I be totally copycatting Mommywantsvodka? Cause I really did drink it.
~R

Stashing in the Attic

2009-03-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

Hi all, it's me, World's Worst Blogger. So, here I am, attempting to write something, anything, just to let you know I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Also that I can come up with more than One Word on Mondays. Guess I've had other writing outlets lately, and got sucked into that damned FaceBook that is nothing but time-suckage. You don't even know what hit you, and you're stalking someone who befriended you or replying to your comments, and checking out old high school classmates photos to see how good they still look. And you know that when they use a shot of their kid or a logo or something for their profile pic, it's probably not so good...

But anyways, here's a moment in the life of moi, the non-domestical goddess still recovering from Cali and these damned allergies that completely demolish for me what would otherwise be my favorite season.

The husband, he has this problem. He loves to get rid of things, or hide them. Loves to stash things- mostly mine- anything and everything - in the attic. The skimpy, dark clusterfuck of an attic. If I leave something hanging around in his precious man-garage, and come to find it missing, you can bet it's up there. In the past, it has been something as miniscule as a little ladybug drink cooler I got from Target, or a babyswing I was about to sell on consignment, or maybe a stroller that I really need to have in the back of my car. But it's not there when I get to the mall; it's in the effing attic. About two years ago, he hid Izzy's baby Bratz doll because he didn't like the way she looked - in the very top of Beck's closet, and denied having any knowledge of it when she asked about that doll. Then, I spotted it out of the corner of my eye one day, way up there on that shelf. We knew there could only be one culprit: the Daddy who hides dolls from his daughter.

This morning, it wasn't the attic. it was the Salvation Army. I also have bad habits, one of them getting bags of clothes together for the Army and leaving them where else? In the beloved man-garage. Somehow, they escaped transport to the attic- for weeks. So he had to use my car this week, and took it upon himself to take them for me to the Army. How sweet right? Well, today I asked him to leave me the Target bag, within which was a blouse I bought and needed to return. $17.99, not expensive, but hey I could buy dipes plus wipes with that money! He can't find the bag. Did it go to the Army? Oh yes it did. He actually went down there and FOUND the damned shirt, still in the Target bag, and got it back. Amazing. How in the hell it went from the front seat to in the back with the donation stuff, well, is beyond me but not really. He just has to stash stuff. He doesn't like to see it if it's not his. It IRKS me to no end. But I have my return item and he gets credit for actually going back there! Which he did knowing that my PMDD would send me over the edge if he didn't. Smart man.
Irked,
~R

Moms Gone Wild

2009-03-04T09:56:00.000-08:00

Re: debauchery from Monday. I really must explain, shouldn't I? Don't get waaay too excited just yet. I left Thursday for the first time in 5 years - alone - and flew to California to visit a good friend who's also a mom of two, who also hasn't left her kids, like ever. The only time I left Izzy was when she was two and Chris and I had our belated honeymoon to Jamaica...anyway, we have named our trip "Moms Gone Wild" for a reason. Or several.

All in all there was indulgent drinking, eating tons of fish and sushi, and lots of socializing with anyone who crossed our path. There was watching the sunset on Laguna beach with a bottle of wine, and having the best seabass ever at a swanky restaurant looking at the sea! The walk home from there is fuzzy, but involved yanking a bunch of lavendar from some landscaping because we loved the smell, and then laughing about that all the way back to the room, where we failed to lock the door. Apparently, Laguna Beach is the ONLY place you can do that and live to tell about it...?

We drove Pacific Coast Highway 1 (that's PCH) to revisit my favorite place, Venice Beach, whiuch was awesome, and at the Figtree Cafe we were greeted with free champagne and loveliness. I will def. be back to Venice when Californication starts shooting in Spring...

Our hotel was supa-sexy, and we barely made it to our Geisha House res. on time, since I got pushed down by a bum on Hollywood Blvd. Yeah, seriously, it was fucked up. He was totally messed up and yelling at everyone in his path. I just picked myself up and kept truckin' the opposite way, and vowed to never walk that Avenue of the Stars again..altho I did get Motley Crue's star photo....

Our waiter was cute enough to keep us there til 1 am., where I, me, the SAHM, got a cute Aussie's # written on my wrist (SHUT UP! I totally showed Chris the pictures!). and we made our way back to the Grafton bar, Boa, at last call. Obviously, another Moms Gone Wild night is needed, as we didn't hit but ONE of our intended spots.

Took me all week to recover. I'm getting waaaay too old for this.

Anyway, if you're planning yourself a Moms Gone Wild Trip to Cali this spring or summer, consider me your guide. We all need this, it makes for better mindsets, better marriages, better lives!

~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-03-02T13:45:00.000-08:00

debauchery

Lesson: Learned.

2009-02-22T16:34:00.000-08:00

The Universe seems to be throwing lessons at me left and right lately. The last of which happened last night. It was a friend's 30th birthday party we were headed to, on one of those nights that just wasn't panning out. We showed up to the restaurant and were told that the time had changed from 7:30 to 9:30, and they were totally booked for dinner. We were starving, so decided to go get dinner, find out from someone the new plan, and show back up there at 9:30. Turns out, 7:30 was the time, but no one would be eating til 9:30. They'd be drinking in the bar, with no appetizers.

Anyway, Chris begged me to go into a drug store to get him some - GasX! I suggested he go to the Walgreen's over a local, more pricy pharmacy. Coincidence? I think not. So, with my selfish motive of needing some hand cream, I obliged him. And had it been me and tampons, I wonder what would have happened? As I walked out of the store in the more seedy part of town, I got a little eery feeling, like someone was going to pull up and rob the place or something. Before I knew it, we had turned onto a street, chatting away, deciding where to eat, and BAM! My head flung forward and Chris slammed on the brakes. We'd been rear-ended. Chris jumped out to find the driver who hit us open his door and fall to the pavement. "Call 911! He's convulsing or something."

So, in my panic mode, I called and all frazzled gave them our location. Those 911 people drive me effing crazy. Like they expect a person who's in a panic, been shot, being robbed, whatever, to be totally calm and collected and chill when they call. They never seem to be in a hurry themselves. They're just sitting there eating their snacks and drinking their Mountain Dew, and I don't know, that 's just how they come off to me. Like the time my toaster oven caught on fire and after a string of questions, I had the fire put out before they even began to send a truck out.

Anyhoo, random people started to stop, and finally a couple firetrucks, a few cop cars and an ambulance - finally. All I could think was one thing: Thank the sweet baby hay-seuss that we were totally and completely sober. No pre-dinner drinks, no cup of wine in the car, no beer bottle between Chris' legs. Sober. Innocent. All dressed up like respectable citizens. Not guilty.

The convulsing guy, it seems, had been chasing three women in a car all over town, trying to run them off the road, they alleged. He had "anger issues," they said. So, after being detained a bit, we were told to call tomorrow to get more info, like whether he was insured or not. The kid was under 20, and I suspect he was faking convulsions to get himself out of trouble. According to the cops, he was going to jail regardless. After they carted him off on the stretcher.

We weren't hurt, even though Chris didn't have his seatbelt on. But, like they say, it's always the unexpected. He doesn't wear his seatbelt just driving around town, but you never know when someone is going to ram you, maybe because they're having a stroke or they black out or who knows! Ya never do. Our bumper had only a dent, and Chris' head didn't hit the windshield. I could personally care less about the dent, but he does. All I care about is that we didn't go to jail due to red wine spilled all over my blouse or Chris smelling like a brewery. C'mon, admit it, know you've done it too. But we were totally innocent, and took away with it: take a freaking cab. If we're gonna have more than 2 drinks, take a cab or stay our asses at home and booze it up there.

I do also care about that guy, if he was really convulsing, but it does appears that he may have been a little bit dangerous. So, lucky again. When we call tomorrow I guess we can ask for a copy of the police report, but I say we leave him alone. Don't want some angry teenager with a vengeance after us, right?

So, that was our eventful evening, The End.

~R

Tuesday Night Geek Club

2009-02-17T21:01:00.000-08:00

I am writing this without a clue as to where it's going, but I just had to get my one-word Monday offa here. Playing single mom the last couple days while the hubs was outta town, and not being single and lovin' it. But managing. It's cold as shit here, and apart from the McDonald's playland and the library, little to do around here. So tonight, a reprise of HSM III, cause I bought it today. Possibly more for myself than the five year old. I heart Troy.

After some Facebookin' and Ebayin', two glasses of wine and risotto, this pseudo-single Mama has nothing more to say but buenos noches.

Tomorrow's RhoRho's Day Off, so who knows, maybe I'll find strange things afoot at the Starbucks.
~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-02-16T05:32:00.000-08:00

rest

What do you need after this weekend?
~R

The Dew - it's a Drug?

2009-02-12T05:46:00.000-08:00

Here's a bit of interesting news today(the Today Show, that is): Mountain Dew is addictive in the mountains of Kentucky. Like, seriously addictive. Mountain Dew. For whatever ridiculous reasons, I recall deeming the Dew a sortof redneck-ish drink, somehow inferior to Coke and Pepsi products. Around here, we were always "Coke" people. Pepsi "made you ugly." This slogan came from my dad's BFF, LC, who was a Coke salesman most of his life, an adorable guy. But, what a pointless thing to talk about, right? Which soft drink made you ugly, and which was "better?" Mountain Dew is a Pepsi product, and has like twice the caffeine (and sugar?) of the others. And it's causing the people's teeth to fall right out of their mouths in the hills of Kentucky. They apparently even give it to their babies in bottles.

So, the story today got my attention after I turned on the TV for background noise, waiting for Regis and Kelly (my yearly obsession with the Beautiful Baby contest. Vote for mine!). There was this teenage girl talking about how they can't afford "food after food after food," and how they only have ranch and butter or something in their fridge. Her mom has few teeth and walks 2 hours every morning to take GED classes, which is admirable. She also says she is "trying to stay off drugs," and, like the others, trying to stop drinking so much Mtn. Dew. That damned Dew. But the drugs, I ask, if you have only ranch and butter (and the Dew?) in your fridge, how do you afford the drugs? I say lose the Dew and the drugs and buy your kids some damned milk and a can of Spagettios. They are like 67 cents.

I don't mean to be an asshole, but, when I hear about people on drugs whose kids are hungry, I don't know, it just "irks" me. And the Dew, don't get me started. I haven't "used" soft drinks, besides at Taco Bell occassionally, in years. I'd rather get 150 calories from something more fun. But cola drinkers (or is it "pop" or "soda"?), don't run off, I'm just sayin' it's a calorie thing for me. Sometimes, the first drink from an ice cold can of Coke is absolutely divine.

So, in the end, we've solved a couple very important issues here today: the mystery of missing teeth in the South, and, your kids have no food? Lose the Dew and the drugs.

Glad I could be of service this morning.

over and out,
~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-02-10T09:11:00.000-08:00

ravenous!

Please share
~R

Fighting Gravity

2009-02-09T21:09:00.000-08:00

So, on another note, I'm an exercise whore. The last ten LBs from Izzy never left, and those same ten are still here from Becks. I've been working out since he was 3 months - actually still in the SAME JEANS from when he was 3 months- things have just shifted a little.

But anyway, I 've gone on and on about Jazzercise (this time last year), yoga, pilates and spin class. I've pushed 60 lbs. in a double stroller, played raquetball, swimming, and tried the "no exercise method" in January. Tonight, I did a Body Combat class, right after 20 minutes of road rage thru 5:30 traffic, and it was totally cathartic, and unbelieveable. I think maybe it's my blood type or something, but that kind of aggressive exercise really does it for me. But I do love yoga too, and it's the one thing (partly because of the OM tattooed on me forever) that I'll never let go. I'll never let you go, yoga.

So anyway, I realize that, after 2 babies, nothing is going back easily, and definitely not after just 20 minutes of treadmill walking 3 times a week, which was what kept me in shape in my 20s. Those days are over. So, if being a ho is what I must do, it's what I must do. Back then, it never really mattered half as much as now, when I see how far down the body can go. Far, far down. Raise it up! I say. I'm fighting gravity, and determined to love every minute of it.

To all the non-Angelinas an Tori's out there, what's your secret? or struggle?

Tomorrow, join me for One Word Monday.
~R

On Writing le Blog

2009-02-04T09:44:00.000-08:00

"Let every man take care how he talks, or how he writes of other men, and not set down at random, higgle-de-piggledy, whatever comes into his noddle." ~ Cervantes

This quote from Good Advice on Writing by two guys with curiously similar names, Safire and Safir, makes me reconsider my premise for this blog. Lately, my content has been updates on our being part of the "Nat'l Disaster Area," and sometimes rubbish like Dr. McDreamy the Flasher - but I don't know, I just found it waaay too amusing when I asked my daughter where McDreamy's (actually he's Dempsey's Enchanted character) pants were, and she said they were lost. So, with only a trench coat, what was I to do but create a McFlasher scene? She, of course had no idea why Mommy got all excited, laughing hysterically, and started setting up her dolls and photographing them; she was just thrilled I was playing with them....So, the quote, it made me ask myself if I put any thought into my posts here. And my answer is, 75% of the time, yes. Just looking back over the year, I can name several "meaningful" posts. They may not be meaningful to you, but they are to me. Take, for instance, this one from December, or this one, or maybe Walmart Mommy from November. Or, my early masterpieces like Just Gimme My Goddamn Chicken Caesar, and my ode to Stuart Smalley from March.

Why so pensive, you ask? Today, my travel piece came out in a really nice local mag, and I have another couple at an online travel site linking me to my blog. Totally excited about building my portfoilio but again, the paranoia. It has returned. That damned paranoia that I will be linked to my blog locally, this ranting blog where I post photos of Barbie dolls partying and cuss, sometimes, like a sailor. But ya know what? Oh well. It's my space, my catharsis, my totally uninhibited creative outlet. MINE!

For anyone who feels like me, like they need to censor themselves for someone else's sake, take these quotes:

"Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self." ~ Cyril Connolly

"Writing is one of the few professions left where you take all the responsibility for what you do. It's really dangerous and ultimately destroys you as a writer if you start thinking about responses to your work or what your audience needs."

Heed those words, and write on, Bloggers!

Peace~
R

In An Uncivilized World...

2009-02-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

With no television, no internet, no lights, no shower, Dr. McDreamy goes all flasher and shit.
He scores some hot babes.
A Couple Years Later...

Dr. McDreamy wishes he hadn't gone all flasher and shit. How will he ever afford to feed all these kids? He totally lost his Dr. gig after becoming a flasher.

...and that's what you do when you're bored out of your mind.

~R

Before, During, After the (kindof) Silent Storm

2009-02-02T11:13:00.000-08:00

The first pic is the day the ice first hit, the second and third, the days of ice in-between, and the fourth, the day it melted. That is a large tree limb on the left hanging on the power line, or whatever kind of line that is. And I had to drive under that. I donno, kinda freaky. To come? Pictures of what you do with kids when you have no electricity - no computer, no television, sometimes no light. You get creative with Barbies, of course.

Homeless in the Starbucks Parking Lot

2009-01-31T12:11:00.000-08:00

We are in part of the area that was declared a National Disaster Area (ice storm), apparently, and things are starting to get back to normal around here. last wrote after 24 hours, having no idea it would be another - I can't figure the hours - five (FIVE) days that I would be without a home with a husband, two kids, a bunny and a dog. It was so surreal not having a grocery store, liquor store, a Starbucks, a gym to go to! We were resourceful, and scoured the town to find the only open ones. What was our little lesson learned?: We take soooo much for granted.

I can't complain, though. We had great friends with a big powered house (thanks Foss, my only male reader:), three families, four kids playing and lots of food and booze to get us through. It was actually like a mini-vacay, but trapped in a house. Yesterday, we moved our family to my brother's empty house, and got some sleep, recovered from the indulgent eating and drinking, and SLEPT. For the first full night all week. Now, I'm en-route home to our hopefully powered house...husband working.....probably no internet though, and I wasn't risking it so here I am with one sleeping and one fidgety kid in the Starbucks parking lot. I just missed you guys. And Showtime. And my bed. And the gym.

Better run...
~R

Newsflash: I'm a Spoiled Little Brat

2009-01-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

So I know the reason that Mother Nature decided to dump an assload of ice on the middle part of the country: to remind me that I'm a spoiled little brat and I better toughen up. After 24 hours without central heat or most importantly, the INTERNET, I was done. I was home alone with both kids all day, doing puzzles and reading them a book about wine regions of the world. Luckily, we have a real fireplace with REAL fire! and a gas range, so we were still able to have spaghetti last night by candle light. Then, we dragged our ginormous foam mattress in front of the fire and attempted to sleep to the sounds of frozen trees crashing to the ground and onto rooftops.

Today, nearly frozen, we scouted out some friends with power, a big cozy house and yes, the INTERNET!!! So here I am. Home.

I have to go wash my newly highlighted and cut hair, for the first time professionally in months. You seriously do not want me with you in an Apocolypse; I would absolutely have to find a shower.

~R

Karma, Ain't it a Bitch.

2009-01-25T08:17:00.001-08:00

Say there is this person in your life. A person that has been there since the day you were born (not your parents). A person that should know you as well as anyone, a person that should love you, a person you should respect and admire. A person you should be able to say anything to, a person who should care about what you do in life, what you dream about, about your happiness. A person who, if everyone else was suddenly gone, would be there for you. In a perfect world.

Say that as a little girl, you did respect, admire, even idolize this person. Say that she loved you, too. You watched her as she grew into an adult. You thought she was beautiful. You listened when she spoke, you mimicked what she did. You watched her marry, and divorce, and marry again, and start a family. You watched as she raised her children. You listened to gossip, and back-stabbing, and you heard fighting and yelling. You learned it. You watched her children learn to say ugly things about people, to call them names, to judge them. You watched them eat junk. You watched as they learned about hatred. You learned to be materialistic. You took on all of the traits you observed as your own. She was your idol. You watched as that tumultuous marriage ended and another relationship quickly began. You welcomed another child into the world and loved it as if it were yours, although you were very young. You watched the two older children suffer through divided, warring parents, being thrown smack-dab in the middle of their hatred for each other at a crucial time in their lives. Just say.

Then, say you started to grow up. At least, grow up physically. You still had all of those behaviors you learned: judgment, back-stabbing, gossiping, putting others down to make yourself feel better. You were young; it was all you knew . You didn't see a connection between the body and the mind. You were completely un-evolved. You didn't learn from your mistakes. Say that person was still there for you. She hadn't yet pushed you over to the other side - the one that she judges and back-stabs. Not as far as you knew.

Say you proceeded to live your life. You made mistakes, and you even started to learn from them. You met new and interesting people, and learned from them. You started to change, to be different from her. You set out to take a different path, one without gossip and negativity and hatred. Her life being a series of disappointments, she grew more and more angry and manic and judgmental, and the more things in her life turned out to be the exact opposite of what she had envisioned, the angrier she became at you and others she was supposed to love. Say that she talked mostly behind your back (you were made aware of it), and everyone else's, but every now and then, she told you exactly how she felt about you, and everything you had done wrong in life. Say that she did this to the others, too. When she did this, say that it was harsh, and hurtful, and she always managed to make herself out to be a victim, as if your living your own life was an insult to her in some way. Say that no one- no one ever did this to her. To do so would have been suicide. Say that everyone forgave her. Say that unwanted things continued to happen in her life, and she continued to wonder why. Say that it appeared as though she never felt responsible for her own life; that she was the only one who could make herself happy.

Say that she proceeded to turn those children that you loved and watched grow up, against you with her gossiping and judging. Say that, the funny thing is, she didn't know you at all. She never once, as long as you can remember, asked you about you. About what you wanted in life, about what you loved or dreamed about. About your beliefs. About anything. Yet, she presumed to know you. Maybe for the reckless teenager that you used to be, that she could not let go of. Say that, when you had tried in the past to sit down and talk, anything you said in defense of yourself went unheard. Say that she held onto things from the distant past, and she was unable and unwilling to live in the present. Say that you knew, save a miraculous act, that she would never change, nor did she think she needed to. Everyone else needed to change. Everyone but her. Say that you, and many other people, recognized that either there was something wrong physiologically, or that her unhappiness was manifesting itself, and that karma was paying her back. But she would never see this. She would call it "hippie shit." Just say.

Say that she still always gives expensive gifts, and acknowledges birthdays, and this, in her eyes, is the most important thing. That somehow, the material things will fix it all. Make it disappear. But they don't. Say that your relationship, the one you had known since you were born, had been reduced to a series of pleasantries. Say that, knowing her disdain for you, and your degrees, and your way of raising your children in a healthy environment, and your bohemian lifestyle, you shrink in her presence. So, say that you make those occasions as few as possible. Say that, sadly, when she was on occasion nice to you, you knew it was an act. You knew that, when you left the room, your back would be stabbed. Say that you are fine with your differences, and if it weren't for her continual lashing out and anger, you would be fine with the reality of a distant, yet civil, relationship. But say that, feeling totally powerless and exhausted about the situation, the relationship, you let go.

Say that the relationship with her son, the one you always stood behind, the person in your life who was the closest thing to a brother you had, had been altered by her, too. It's difficult for anyone to realize imperfections in their parents, and say you knew it wasn't your place to point them out. Eventually, we figure out things, even the most disappointing things, on our own. Sad, but true.

Say you recognize that, in times of your despair, she is and has been there for you, and that's a respectable quality. But for your happiness or successes in life, she appears resentful. Say that, although it is heartbreaking to realize, if the two of you were the only ones left, you wouldn't even be friends. You are as different as night and day. Say that, although you realize that relationship, and possibly others related to it, are lost, you go on. You strive to be happy. You have your own family, and you have people in your life that will be there for you and that love you unconditionally. People that you respect and admire. Say that you aren't willing to sacrifice yourself, and that you refuse to shrink anymore. Say that since there's no one that you can really say these things to, you have to put it somewhere. You vow to be done with it, despite what may happen in the future. Say that you know this isn't the first tragedy of its kind. It's a perfectly common thing. A fact of life. Just say.

(All content in this blogpost is purely fictional. Really.)

Clearly, I'm Clueless.

2009-01-22T12:39:00.000-08:00

I have a question: when did the word "clearly" become the most popular and over-used one in the English language? I've never even used it and I think I'll miss my chance before it becomes what "awesome" was in the 80s.
Your eternal student of human nature and language,
~R

My Mistake

2009-01-21T10:14:00.001-08:00

I'll write this as if I have daily, devoted readers...
A couple corrections: first, the aforementioned nephew was apparently at the dinner honoring John Mc, not the Inauguration one, and I can only hope he didn't yell out any profanities! I got the wrong info thru the family grapevine and don't know how it went because I'm just the Old Auntie he won't text back. But anyway, it must have been overwhelming to be there yesterday...and it was his birthday. He was born on Reagan's Inauguration Day.
And, when I said I never thought I'd say Happy Inauguration Day, it's just because for the last several elections, I was totally depressed about the results...
It's MeMeMe Wednesday and I'm off to productive things. Like drinking so much coffee I puke.
And eavesdropping on these geeks next to me having some sort of blogging meeting. A little techy-talky for me, but I'm catching a little of it...
Happy Hump Day
~R

I Never Thought I'd say this...

2009-01-20T11:25:00.000-08:00

But, Happy Inauguration Day!!!
Change has come, and it looks gooooood.

Teary-eyed again today, but in much better mental state. Bet you can't guess what my major malfunction was yesterday. What? Did you say hormones? That's right, babies. Forgot my magic Chinese herbs for my PMDD, won't let that happen again. Never underestimate the power of the hormone.

Watched the Inauguration speech today with some other like-minded mom friends, thinking this is how people might have felt during JFK's speech. I don't remember ever watching an inauguration speech or motorcade before...except maybe possibly Clinton's...
Today, we were all just a bunch of hopeful, teary-eyed moms being given hope that our kids' future will be what they deserve. And I'll say what I said during the election - Damn, that man sure can talk. Despite that the country is divided in half over it, the unity and beloved-ness you get from watching makes me kinda goose-bumpy. And kinda scared. But like my friend Noel told me, don't worry about the next moment, just take in this one (yeah she turned me on to Eckhart Tolle). Don't worry about the motorcade, don't think something this amazing can't actually happen without a hitch. It's happening.

And we didn't end our little Inauguration party without commenting that da-zamm! our new president sure is HOT! Yep, I said it, he's a sexy man. We all know it. It's not like he's a Priest for Christ's sake, he's the President. It's not like it sacrelige to say it.
So, here's to our hot new Pres and all things new and hot. Except the earth. We want that cooler.
There.
~R

Just Another (one-word) Monday

2009-01-19T14:38:00.000-08:00

self-loathing

(ok, this is cheating. This hyphenated word will have to do. Also, guilty would be another word I might use to describe how I feel today. For being all wrapped up in my own self pity and it's a holiday and that I can't even get excited about tomorrow. Watching CNN and The View on the elliptical this morning, I was crying about MLK and Obama, just because, and cursing Elisabeth Hasselbeck. I can cry at the drop of a hat today (or curse, for that matter).
Certainly this will pass and I'll happily bawl my eyes out watching tomorrow, being envious that my Presh Nephew who never reads my blog will be at the Inauguration Dinner...
Until then...
gimme yours if ya got one. or two, hell I'll take anything.

2009-01-18T09:57:00.000-08:00

Dude, did I dance my junk in da trunk off last night? That would be yes. Ultimate 80s Dance Party with a killer 80s cover band. Total un-inhibited F-U-N.
I'm the one with the leg-warmers.
~R

I'm Back and More Paranoid than Ever

2009-01-13T14:18:00.000-08:00

Here's the deal. I haven't been writing lately for a few reasons, the predominant one being this: I am paranoid. Also? Hooked - no, totally cracked out - on yet another Showtime show that will remain un-named due to said paranoia.

I've been really working on getting freelance work the last few months, and I've scored some, most of which does not pay. Why, I ask, are writers one of the only professions that people feel should work for free? Does it not take brain power? Does it not take hours of our time? Do I have to be first published in Vanity Fair for you to pay me enough to buy a bottle of wine? These are questions I am working on, and wondering why in the hell I got a MA in journalism, anyway. Oh, wait, I know why, because I freaking need to write. I want to write. It's not like I thought it would make me a millionaire.

Get to the point- right. Being an "anon" blogger is a pipe dream. Impossible, eventually. At least, it's proving to be difficult, because once you have some online writing pieces, ones that note: "is the author of the blog momwhodrinksandcusses," under your byline, ones that you use for writing samples, well, they have pretty much found you out. They can google you, and there you are, on Facebook, because you were stupid enough to join. You idiot, why did you list your blog there? You're found. Then, you write some stuff locally. Locally is in what is considered to be a "liberal" and "open-minded" community, for around here. But compared to places like LA or New York, even possibly Omaha, notsomuch. In other places, being the author of momwhodrinksandcusses would hardly raise an eyebrow. But around here, you just never know. If someone wants to find out anything about you, all they have to do is google you, and once they do, if you're out there anywhere, you can indeed be linked to your blog in a few clicks. The place where you vent your frustrations and say goddammit whenever the hells you want. Hells yeah ya do. But not anymore, because you need work.

I was inspired to write this, something I've been feeling for a while, wondering if I should just quit or stick to a cooking for kids blog or something, by partywithaninfant, a real writer(author) who has the opportunity on hers and now another blog to write freely about motherhood in any way she sees fit, including the option to cuss a blue streak. She's totally funny, and in a way cooler location than me, and I envy her, along with the many others out there with similar blogging "voices." I really don't want to give mine up. I might possibly go crazy if I did.

My travel feature (on of course, Venice Beach), is being published (finally, since I sent it in like July), by a great area magazine, and I'm crossing my fingers they don't track me down here before it goes to print and yank it. But I can't help it if I cuss like a sailor, and although I call myself intelligent(well, maybe just smart), maybe it means that I can't find the appropriate words in my vocab so I just cop out and cuss. Like when I play raqcuet ball (yes, this is new). I have effing Touret's. So, I donno, should I clean it up, and appeal to the masses (not that the masses are reading this little blog), or stick to my guns, hoping someone will accept me for my own "voice," drinkin', cussin' and all? And starve.

NOTE: I do believe that intelligent, even highly intelligent people cuss. It's all in how you use it.

As I've said in the past, I suppose momwhodrinkshotteaandknits doesn't really have the right ring to it. Besides, I don't knit.

Additionally? Totally paranoid about local people finding me thru damned Facebook and ratting me out on the MIL posts. Now I have to delete them.

PISS!!!!!!
~R

Just Another (one word) Monday

2009-01-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

transition

now give me yours
~R

Bad Luck in Triplicate

2009-01-05T17:53:00.000-08:00

So, if you believe in the theory that bad luck comes in a string of threes, then I'm all set now for the year. The bad luck I've experienced so far this year isn't devastating, life-threatening or even anything that made me cry. Not even close. It was just plain old annoying crap happening to me, in multiple. Stuff that made me think: what the hell did I do to you? Other people have had much more devastating things happen recently - a best friend who just lost her dog, who was basically her child of nine years, on New year's Eve. A close friend who just miscarried. I know someone whose good friend, who was nine months pregnant, and her baby, died suddenly. I realize I don't have it so bad. Just want to make that clear.

But here is my trivial string of bad luck - the poor me's, the aww, shucks. They are totally fixable, non-catastrophic things, but sometimes, at that moment, those little things can seem totally it's-the-end-of-the-world-as-i-know-it-ly. First, our ancient white washing machine broke, then after being fixed, it fell out of my husband's truck onto the driveway, falling into pieces. Issue for me here: money. Secondly, the other day I opened the garage door to get the kids out of the house after being holed up with their hung-over parents, to be a good Mommy and take them to the library and ba-zanggg! The garage door belt or something snapped. Bang! Broke. Yay. More money. Then, a few hours later, after my always-pleasurable trip to Wal-mart with the kids, I discovereed that my keys were missing. Not just deep in my purse or still in the ignition, or the keyhole of the door, as they have been in the past, but seriously GONE. I went to customer service to see if they've been turned in. I retraced my steps. Nothing. My husband was working out of town, so I called my brother who lives nearby now, to rescue us. We were like the homeless people waiting for the bus, with our cart-ful of groceries at Wal-mart. The car wasn't locked and couldn't be locked without the key (no keyless entry here), so I cleared everything valuable out of it (CD's)and left it there. Oh, and no, I didn't have an extra key. Not one.

Thankfully, the husband knew a key could be made from the VIN number. Amazing, right? I was thining it would cost like a hundred bucks for a locksmith to make it or something. Anyway, no one was hurt, just inconvenienced and annoyed. All down-on-her-luck. Don't you just hate that shit?

Turns out some decent person turned in my keys to customer service, which made me happy because all I really missed was my Hello Kitty keyring I got at the Sanrio store in NYC six years ago...

Could always be worse,

~R

Thank Gawd It's One-Word Monday

2009-01-05T17:28:00.000-08:00

persevering

Obligatory "Happy New Year"

2009-01-02T11:57:00.001-08:00

On the first day of the year, we were officially a big ole fat cliche over here in this Den of Slack. Our New Year's Eve non-party turned out to look quite like one, and keep us up until 2 a.m. - later than I've stayed up - on purpose - in a long, long time. So, the husband pulls the infamous all-day hangover (men are weak) and I eat junk food not once, not twice, but thrice, on New Year's Day. That's my new ritual, eating what the eff ever I want allllll day that day. Last year, we ate Ben & Jerry's for breakfast. Pizza, a Royale with cheese, and nachos were on the menu yesterday, even (somehow) a couple glasses of wine, so as you might imagine, the next few weeks will be all about the cleansing yet again...oh, and if anyone's interested, there are two opened bottles of flat champagne in my fridge just dying to be mixed with some OJ.

I have some serious mental issues, especially with saying the same thing that everyone else is saying that day. That's why I texted everyone Happy Festivus on Christmas. Such a rebel with out a cause...but, here's the obligatory Happy New Year, and I give you my word I won't go all resolutions and happy happy on ya. I know, that would be totally dull and boring.
~R

Just Another (Manic) Monday

2008-12-29T07:51:00.000-08:00

Blah

Since no one has been reading lately, FYI, this is one-word Monday.
If you're out there, gimme your word!

Same Old Lang Syne...nah

2008-12-28T07:30:00.000-08:00

This is the End beautiful friends. Of the year. So, here's hoping we all learned at least something in 2008.

Stuff I've learned over the past 365 (err, like 362) days:
On the spouse:
1. He's like a puppy; he needs praise, and a little rub on the belly sometimes.
2. He will sacrifice just about anything to avoid an argument with moi.
3. If I don't want him to eat my food, sprinkle Tabasco and olives all over it.
4. I'm too lucky. He thinks I'm cute even with B.O., scraggly hair, black-rimmed glasses and no eyebrows.

On the Pre-school-aged girl:
1. She's like a puppy; she needs praise, and a little rub on the belly sometimes.
2. She is far more intelligent and aware than we have given her credit for.
3. Unlike her mother, nothing she does is half-ass.
4. When you take her to a movie in which the beloved pet dog dies, be aware of that fact first.
5. She's going to be some sort of artist. Even when she says she wants to be an "ice-cream worker" or a vet, I know she is an artist at heart. And she's obsessed with being barefoot.

On the Toddler boy:
1. He is 75% his rebellious mother, and will test you to the very limit.
2. He is a lap-baby-snuggle bug who speaks in adorable tongues.
3. If I don't want him to eat my food, sprinkle Tabasco and olives all over it.
4. His thing is music. I know, it should be hard to tell at this age, but since the age of 8 months this child has boogied down at the first note of a song. I don't know if he'll be a Justin Timberlake, guitar god or composer, but this kid's got the music in him. And he's obsessed with hats and shoes.

On extended family:
1. I'm lucky to have them around, no matter how much I sometimes resent their very presence, and they are the people who, even if we were a million miles away, would drop anything if we needed them. *although some may charge $20 .

On Friends:
1. Good ones are just as important as family. What else is there?

On Accomplishment:
1. If you spend all your time agonizing over it, you'll miss all the good stuff.

On Health: Moderation. I don't care if my holistic doctor says, "no coffee, no wine, no cheese, no meat, no sugar, no fun at all." I quote this dude I saw on TV this year, "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants."

On Life:
1. You never know what you're gonna get, but you can certainly focus all of your energy on the inside being the gooey caramel.

On Myself:
That if I remember the things and nurture the people listed above, closer I am to fine. And that having music makes everything that much better.

~R

It's a Festivus

2008-12-25T08:50:00.001-08:00

So, the Grinch didn't steal Christmas after all. It's not over yet, but I got on to search for a rice pudding recipe, and just wanted to spread the love to all my blogger ho's! I'm feelin' it, a little.

So's, Have a Happy Hannukah, a killer Kwannza, a Festivus for the rest uv us...
Oh, and Merry effing Christmas too!!!
Here are some warm fuzzy images for you...
and here's to NOT gaining 15 pounds on wine, cheese balls and little weenies now through New Year's...
but eat, drink and be a merry ho like me.
~R

(above: why didn't they have dollhouses like this when we were little?)

Just Another Manic Monday

2008-12-22T08:34:00.001-08:00

This is my attempt to do that clever bloggin' thing - to give one day a week a theme. More like one where I get a free pass to be dumb, and not have to come up with anything remotely clever. Except one word. So I'm calling it Just Another Manic (insert your word here) Mondays. I feel manic quite often, but however you're feeling today, tell it to me here. You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine. C'mon, it's so easy.

So next Monday, it really will be just the one word.

Determined

Loss for words Sunday

2008-12-21T08:20:00.000-08:00

I'm - imagine this - at a loss for words today, so I stole somethin' my girl Tami stole from someone else. It takes waaayyy too much time, and makes you wonder if the person who came up with it actually did all this stuff. If so, they must have a major trust fund. But if you are bored, or whatever, feel free to steal it from moi should you also be in dire need of a new post on this freeeeezing cold Sunday. Get creative with it. Don't laugh. It's painfully long.

(things I’ve done in bold are supposed to be in bold and things I haven't done un-bold, but I can't un-do any of the formatting so oh, smell.)

1. Started your own blog - This would be it.
2. Slept under the stars - Maybe because I passed out there, but still.
3. Played in a band - Does singing cover songs, half-drunk on stage with ex-husband musician count?
4. Visited Hawaii -(sigh) someday....

5. Watched a meteor shower - I think so, circa 1992.

6. Given more than you can afford to charity - Not really in dollar amount, but agreeing to be the neighborhood drive person for two years was a mistake.
7. Been to Disneyland/World - not yet (tami i can't un-bold it?)
8. Climbed a mountain - just a hill
9. Held a praying mantis - no (or un-italicize it)
10. Sang a solo - about a million times. Karaoke and the aforementioned.
11. Bungee jumped - No, no, NO!!!!
12. Visited Paris - unfortunately not yet
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea - scary. no.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch - s'pose it was partially self-taught
15. Adopted a child - No but I now want to adopt an Ethiopian baby after holding a friend's the other day.
16. Had food poisoning - Yes.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty - no, I never get down that far when in NYC
18. Grown your own vegetables -yes
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France - no, again.
20. Slept on an overnight train - no
21. Had a pillow fight - Hells yeah
22. Hitch hiked - am I fucking crazy?
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill - hells yeah
24. Built a snow fort - too time consuming.
25. Held a lamb - odd question.
26. Gone skinny dipping - Hells yeah
27. Run a Marathon - I walked the Komen race?
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice - erggh. it just makes me mad I haven't been to Europe yet.
29. Seen a total eclipse - yeah?
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset - I've watched both. Sunrise, rarely
31. Hit a home run - softball
32. Been on a cruise - no, they all seem so cheesy.
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person - when I was eight I think
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors - Ghengis Khan was apparently one of my ancestors. But no.
35. Seen an Amish community - no
36. Taught yourself a new language - took four semesters En Espanol.
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied - Ummm...no.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person - no
39. Gone rock climbing - I have no desire to do this.
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David - Gah! Quit rubbing it in.
41. Sung karaoke - more times than I can count.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt - no
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant - no, but I should do that.
44. Visited Africa -no
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight - I have.
46. Been transported in an ambulance -no, thankfully
47. Had your portrait painted -no
48. Gone deep sea fishing- no
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel -Eff you!
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris - I'm getting sick of this. Whomever wrote it was just bragging about going to Europe. I'll bet every answer on theirs was YES, right?
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling -no
52. Kissed in the rain - Yes...
53. Played in the mud - Absolutely. We used to make mud pies and hope our neighbor Leah Ann would eat them.
54. Gone to a drive-in theater - Sure!
55. Been in a movie - No, but my pal Tami was apparently in Mallrats as an extra!
56. Visited the Great Wall of China - no
57. Started a business - kind of sometimes
58. Taken a martial arts class - no
59. Visited Russia -no!
60. Served at a soup kitchen- no
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies - hells yeah and worked for the Girl Scouts once.
62. Gone whale watching - no
63. Got flowers for no reason - Yes. Walmart 4.99
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma - No, I don't have enough of my own
65. Gone sky diving - I'm scared of heights and NO I haven't been to Europe already!
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp - no!
67. Bounced a check - duh
68. Flown in a helicopter - no
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy - yeah
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial - no
71. Eaten Caviar - no
72. Pieced a quilt HELLS NO
73. Stood in Times Square -YEAH
74. Toured the Everglades - no but i'm sure the person who wrote this did
75. Been fired from a job - laid off.
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London -NO BUT YOU DID
77. Broken a bone NO
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle - not speeding
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person - yeah I was 13 and pissed
80. Published a book - no, but I will dammit
81. Visited the Vatican - No, and you?
82. Bought a brand new car - dumb but yeah
83. Walked in Jerusalem - NO You?
84. Had your picture in the newspaper - when I was a kid, and at 18 I think. No, not police beat.
85. Read the entire Bible - er, no. But I have thumbed through it.
86. Visited the White House -no
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating - ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!! Who wrote this shit?
88. Had chickenpox -yeahs
89. Saved someone’s life - not in a literal sense...but maybe emotionally.
90. Sat on a jury - noo
91. Met someone famous - my Beloved, Jackson Browne at a benefit concert in Nashville, and at the Peabody in Memphis in an elevator. Jakob Dylan in St. Louis behind the bar the Wallflowers played - Mississipi Nights. Eddie Money at a bar...i don't know, probly lots in nashville I don't remember now...
92. Joined a book club - no
93. Lost a loved one - literally or figuratively?
94. Had a baby - two, in fact.
95. Seen the Alamo in person - think we drove past it
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake - no isn't it cold?
97. Been involved in a law suit - no
98. Owned a cell phone - ok how old is this?
99. Been stung by a bee - just a couple times, cause when i see one i RUN like the wind.
100. DON'T YOU WANNA ASK ME IF IVE BEEN TO, I DONNO, EUROPE again? I've only "abroad" to Mexico and Jamaica.
Like I said, I was desperate. Here's to total time suckage.
~R

HoHoHodeyHoHo

2008-12-19T12:07:00.000-08:00

I need to check my calendar. This could have all just been PMS this past week. I feel like Dinah the Christmas Whore (David Sedaris, Holidays on Ice). Turns out, this Grinchy Xmas Ho Ho is getting into the spirit a bit. About shopping for books for the kids tonight with my husband, about all the yummy food, about seeing friends from out of town, and about maybe a party or two. Not to mention the fact that the aforementioned Queen is being totally non-pressuring and extremely cool about the time of our arrival on Christmas day, so I feel like a dick. On my familial side, Xmas eve at Drama Queen's house will be bearable because I get to see my Robert Downey Junior presh nephew who's home from D.C. for the Holidays. And, there will be alcohol, because Rehab bro won't be out of the addict pokey until January. So, crossing my fingers it goes off without a hitch or any naughty words like cu*t or bit*h being used as they have been known to on Christmases past.

Oh and I can't wait to take Izzy to see Marley and Me the day after Christmas!!! Loves me some Owen Wilson.

Top Five Holiday-ish Movies for Big People:
1. Home for the Holidays
2. Family Stone
3. Bad Santa
4. Christmas Vacation
5. The Holiday

But, Rudolph in clay-mation is my favorite Christmas movie of all time. As for music, every year I must must must listen to Dan Folgeberg's Auld Lang Syne, and A Very Special Christmas CD(the red one) with Jon Bon Jovi and Bono among others. See, even I have traditions. What d'ya'll got?
~R

nothtatthere'sanythingwrongwiththat

2008-12-18T11:16:00.000-08:00

K, just need to clear this up re: my last post. So I don't appear to be a total hypocrite, a drinkincussinjesusfreak (notthatthere'sanythingwrongwiththat), the part about his holiness was a little line from the Oscar and Cannes Film Festival Winning film, Talladega Nights. Um, okay maybe it won an MTV movie award or something. I shouldn't assume that every reader is dumb enough to have both watched and enjoyed that film, as I have, and get my quote. And, I really don't know what frankencense and mirrh (sp) are. Like incence and some herb? I should have asked the guy sitting across from me at - where else - Starbucks yesterday. He could not complete a single sentence with praisin' his almighty. loudly. And getting on his phone and praying. I mean, c'mon, enough already, I'm trying to write about my debaucherous life over here. Give a girl some room.

Honestly, I respect everyone's views, but like anything else, sometimes it's just enough already.
So, label me a heathen if you must, since I'm of the godisinallofus type philosophy. I could go into how, at age four, I was scared away from organized religion when my mom sang in church, but I'll save that for another day.
what if god was one of us? (Joan Ozbourne said that, sometime in the 90s)
~R

Stealing Christmas

2008-12-17T15:56:00.000-08:00

Ummms, I have to write something. Anything. Anything to get off the damned everybody's-trying to-piss-me-off rampage I've been on. Over it. But the gas thing does still make me fume when I think about it! Maybe I'll start some shit at Christmas and tell him about it!!! Play the Drama Queen! Jokes.

Speaking of that joyous holiday, yesterday I was contemplating a post about my dread of Christmas, about how it seems to be about everyone else but my kids somehow, and about how I am doing my damned-est to not let on that I think it downright sucks. But I didn't want to come off as bitching, being victimized, yet again. So I surfed. And guess what I found? Lots and lots of other bloggers who feel just like me. Aunt Becky summarized it quite accurately, and I was happy to know that I'm not alone. What do you mean? You say? Of course you're not alone! They make freakin' movies about this shit (like my aforementioned favorite Home for the Holidays). And I did know, I just needed a little validation. Thanks to my kickass blog-sistahs, I found it.

So all that I'll say about it is this: Christmas, for a lot of people, is about the sweet baby Jesus, others, it's about giving and getting gifts, and for most, it's about family. But it has definitely become, more than anything, a big consumer-crazed holiday for which we rush in and out of stores and spend all this money we are supposed to suddenly have in December(if I barely have a savings account, how could I have a Christmas savings account?), to buy THINGS for people who will neither use nor appreciate them. Just the fact that you give them someTHING is enough. You did your part. No one asks what you need or want (WINE) or a wishlist; they just buy a box of bath beads and call it a day. Honestly, I'd rather have the five bucks. But it's all about THINGS THINGS THINGS. And have you considered the fact that Santa jumbled spells "satan" and he wears red and black? Think, people. He's just there to scam you out of your hard-earned money. I mean, really, even in the Good Book, it says right there that they brought the Sweet Baby frankencense and mirrh(sp?). Now, I'm not sure exactly what these things are but I know you cannot find them at Target or Macy's.

For me, most of all, it's about my kids. Not showering them with material things, although they do receive things, but making happy warm fuzzy memories for them. And instead of yet ANOTHER Barbie princess doll or dumptruck, I asked my mom if it would be kosher to send out an email saying: "no gifts, but if you must, money for college, or backpacking Europe, whatever the case may be." She didn't think it the best idea. I had tried it, graciously, for Izzy's 5th and she got mostly TOYS, and a few bucks here and there. We are seriously teaching the kid about money now at five, and she has more in her savings than us, which doesn't say much. But still. No, I would not be pocketing the money, I even gave her account number or the Roth fund her other grandma started when she was born. Whaddaya think I am?

Additionally, my angst surfaces when I think about the fact that, as a kid, I spent all my Christmases at home, and we visited Grandma sometime during that week. I look back with awesome memories, so my childhood cannot be to blame for my current disdain for the holiday. So I started to wonder if a precedent had been set, one that would be hard to wrangle out of should we, one year, decide to do something a little bit out of the norm. We are lucky that my family prefers to gather on Xmas Eve, and his on Xmas day. For the past several years, we have drug ourselves and kids away from our tree, our fireplace, our coziness, by no later than noon, on Xmas day to journey the 30 miles south the G-ma's house (and last year, a bit hungover b/c my family obliged to come to our house, and this resulted in an all-out Xmas eve party). She is one little person, but we all flock to her. Every. Single. Year. No question. It's what we do. This year, I made the request that we be given up until 2 PM (gasp!) to arrive, and then I just started resenting the leaving at all. Why EVERY year? What, for the next 18? For realz? C, being a guy and all, had never given it a thought, and now sympathizes with my mental dilemma. The kids, they could probably care less. So, it really comes down to me, being a woman, standing up for my rights. Again.

So, this year, so be it. But next year, I plan on having a nuclear family Christmas in the Catskills or my beautiful California beach. Period.

Funny, I said "This is ALL I'll say about it" about ten paragraphs back. And the not bitching thing, well, maybe next time. Wait, not. Tune in tomorrow for yet another strange things afoot at the Starbucks.

Merry Merry Ho Ho Ho!!!
~R

Family or Frenemy?

2008-12-12T18:59:00.000-08:00

All this attempting to evolve really is testing me; I keep being thrown all of these opportunities t o take the high road, keep my mouth shut, yada yada. Am I attracting negative energy? Does becoming enlightened mean I'll have no opinion of all the assholes out there? I'm sure the answer's in the book somewhere.

So, took the kids down to the little Winter Wonderland Friday night, the same place we were one night late for the pet parade last week...anyway, Izzy got to ride her camel and a pony. Obviously the child didn't inherit her mother's fear of heights - that freakin' camel was up there and she was not a drop scared.

So then we went for pizza, of course where there are also beer taps on wall, that's a pre-req. It was busy, so C sat down with the kids and I bolted up to the bar to get beer cause we couldn't wait, of course, for the waiter. Anyway, I couldn't read all the taps but I cold see some of the logos - which I am very familiar with. I wanted something kindof lo-cal like New Belgium Skinny Dip but that's out of season. I asked the bartender, about 50, long beard, shaggy, ole hippie type, if there was anything, "like" Skinny Dip, not Miller Lite, maybe an import. He proceeded to edu-macate moi on the definition of "import" and that none on the wall were actally imports, yada yada. As I said, I couldn't read them all, despite wearing my contacts. So, unable to control my natural tendency to be a smart ass, I cut him off: "Honey, don't try to tell me about beer, I know everything there is to know" as I pointed to the taps, "Boulevard: Kansas City, New Belgium:Colorado, Diamond Bear: Little Rock. My husband will have a Sunshine Wheat and I'll just have a Yellowtail Merlot. Forget my beer." I mean reaaaallly! Don't be fucking smarting off trying to tell me where the fuck beers come from! I'm starting - no I've known this- to think my appearance is truly not indicative of my captivating personality and infinite knowledge of important things, such as booze. Even after I went all brunette! So, bearded bartender turned kinda nice on me after that. I've realized that you can't always walk away. Sometimes you gotsta stand up fo thy-self. Word? I got back the to table and told Chris, who high-fived me. "I want you to act like Cokey Smurf all the time." (reference: Califor....you know. I won't say it again.)

And, whatever, one more thing: here's a hypothetical for you:
Say you run out of gas with your whole family in the car on a Friday night. You call your brother, the younger single one, the one who is sitting at a bar a few blocks away. You beg him to come bail you out so you can get your kids in bed. To bring you a can of gas. Luckily, gas is now the only thing that's cheap in this world these days. $1.42 a gallon. Wow! Aren't we lucky. So your brother brings you the gas, and wails on your wife for letting the car run out of gas. After all, he had some highly important Friday night shit to do at the bar. Muy importante.
So, the beloved sibling, the one is supposed to be there for you through thick and thin, to love you unconditionally, charges you $20 for driving half a mile to bring you a gallon of gas. Do the math. Are you getting fucked in the left ear here?
You might want to rethink the unconditional love thing. I could call a frenemy who would do it cheaper than that.
The End.
BTW: I do have less trivial issues in my life as of late, such as Becks puking twice today and therefore the dread that I will awaken at 3 am and regurge all the yummo spinach lasagna and wine I had tonight, but I figured the other will be much more entertaining for you.
I aim to please.
Still's a Bitch,
~R

Just Walk Away

2008-12-11T11:17:00.000-08:00

I was presented with a challenge today. Again, an experience at Starbucks. I don't know what it is about that place...

Often when the kids are in pre-school or on my "Day Off" I sit in this certain Starbucks for hours and write, surf, Facebook. I should be a familiar face there by now. All of the boys - See how I call them boys - are totally funny and nice and helpful with my internet technical difficulties. The girlies are alright, but you know how chicks are. Anyways, there's this one girlie, who by looking at her, you'd think would be rather cool. I still assume you can tell by looking? Very short natural blonde hair, no makeup. Appears to be a nice chick. I'm a friendly gal, not overly so anymore, but still. So yesterday, it was so trivial - I just went to throw something away and there was no trash can and there she was. "Oh, there's usually a trash can there!" I say and smile, giggle. I still think I'm cute, I guess. She just looks at me like you idiot. You know the look, don't pretend like you don't. So, whatever, chick's in a bad mood and even my charming-ness can't make her smile. Oh smell.

But today, well, she pushed me to question the whole I'm enlightened, I don't care, walk away thing. I'm typically a hardcore Americano girl, but I had a Signature Hot Chocolate yesterday and fell in love. Off caffeine temporarily, and it's so festive, right? So today I stopped in for another, even though I wasn't doing any surfing, since the drive-through line was so long. So there she is, and it's one of those situations where if you give the story in detail, it just doesn't work, so all I can say is she was a total BIOTCH to me. I was basically confused as to whether she was helping me or the middle-age woman standing sort of beside me. Then I asked if I could get the Signature Hot Chocolate non-fat, because yesterday one of the nice boys said you cannot. Of course I can, dumbass. "So which do you want?" she demands. "Uhhh, ya just threw me for a minute there," I stammered, "What? Oh, the Signature. And a blueberry coffee cake," I reply, dumbfoundedly. I couldn't even think. To validate my feeling of being shit on in the Starbucks line, at least that woman beside me said, "You should talk to a manager. She was looking straight at me as if for validation, and I didn't give it to her." I was happy that the middle-age, heavy-set woman was on my side. Blondie disappeared to go hock a lugey in my cocoa and someone else rang me up, asking what I had. Here's what I wish I'd have said: "Well Ellen over there said it was free since she was such a fucking BITCH to me. Thanks!" The older lady waved at me in the parking lot. I knew I was the good guy.

I could call the manager, but I didn't want to get a chick fired before Christmas. Even that chick. I drove over to Old Navy and contemplated going back. What the fuck was her problem with moi? I mean I hate to go on appearances, really I do, but I curled my hair today (altho it was under my hat), I had on makeup. I was all scarfed up. Was that it? Was I all "fru-fru" in her eyes (this is a term I use for high-maintenance chicks)? Or did I somehow just come off as a bitch myself? Maybe, if I didn't have the older comrade to vouch for me.

Sometimes to these little 23 year-old (if that) I'm cooler than thou hussies, I just wanna say: Do you know how old I am? I could be your much older sister. I have cans of soup older than you. Ok, LP's. But you don't even know what an LP is. Maybe even my Black Crowes CD is older. I gave natural childbirth, TWICE. I take shits bigger than you. Something along those lines.

Here's what I was going to do when I went back:
Walk in, hope she was still there. Order another hot cocoa, like a big wussy. Say to her, "Exactly where do you get off being fucking rude to customers? Regular customers? I think you owe me a free cocoa. Venti. You big Barista. And I, too, used to have supershort, messy blonde hair. You're not so special." I donno for sure what I would really say, but anyway, the whole time I was thinking of the post I would write. And how I wanted to say I up and kicked her ass. Verbally. And then I thought about the one I wrote last night, about Patrick Swayze, and walking away. About the Power of Now and how I DONT CARE ANYMORE, right? It wouldn't be prudent at this juncture. And really, I feel just as good getting it off my chest here. So, thanks.
What would the Internet do? (WWID?)
~R

Enlighten Me

2008-12-09T19:50:00.000-08:00

I have failed to mention this for a few days, but you must know that I'm all enlightened and shit now. Yep, finished The Power of Now, purchased sometime back in September, possibly even before that. Ain't I a quick read. It's different with self-help-ish books than fiction. They don't really leave you on the edge of your seat, other than to find out what the hell else is wrong with you and how you didn't even know it for all these years. And, what is wrong with every-fucking-body-else. The Bridges of Madison County, though, I finished that in three hours back in 1991. That was some riveting stuff. I must have been totally disgusted with life then, and totally desperate to escape, right? I mean, of all books...

Anyways, about my being enlightened and all, well don't get all scared and shit. I'm still just like you. Only better. Cause I don't give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about me anymore! And if they try to start shit with me, I channel Patrick Swazye in RoadHouse and just walk away. Liberating, right?

No really, in all seriousness, the book has helped me tremendously, but it's gonna be a loooong work in progress. I really believe in what he's saying, and I think true enlightenment is a far reach, but I'd sure as hell rather go down that road than the unconscious, drama-laden one I've been traveling for a large part of my life. Whether the drama queen has been moi or someone else forcing me into the drama, it's been there. A lot. I won't say present, just there. Cause if you read the book, you'll get what present means, and you'll realize that most people are not. I know I've been looking backwards and forwards and anywhere but here my whole damned life and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to miss a moment. It could be the one that changes everything. Says Hank.
~R

The Most Romantical Love Letter Ever Written

2008-12-09T18:18:00.000-08:00

If this doesn't make you cry like a little girl, you have no heart, no soul, no appreciation for the beauty of the English language! This is undeniably, unquestionably, without a doubt, okay I'm being redundant, the greatest love letter ever written:

Dear Karen,
If you're reading this right now, that means I had the courage to mail it, so good for me. You don't know me very well, but if you get me started, I have a tendency to go on and on about how hard the writing is for me. But this, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to write.

There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it: I met someone. It was an accident, I wasn't looking for it, I wasn't on the make. It was a perfect storm. She said one thing, then I said another. Next thing I knew, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. You know, there's this feeling in my gut that she might be The One. She's completely nuts, in a way that makes me smile. Highly neurotic. A great deal of maintenance required. She is YOU, Karen.

That's the good news. The bad is that I don't know how to be with you right now. And it scares the shit out of me because if I'm not with you right now, I have this feeling that we'll get lost out there. It's a big, bad world full of twists and turns, and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment. The moment that could have changed everything.

I don't know what's going on with us and I can't tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me. But damn, you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent coffee. That's gotta count for something, right? Call me.

Unfaithfully Yours,
Hank Moody

I mean, what if a man wrote you a letter like that? What can I say, I'm a sucker for the written word (or the one spoken so believably by a fantastical actor like David Duchovny). So, yes, still crackin' on the Californication and this is yet another attempt to get you in on it. You have to rent it if you don't have da Showtime but it's worth it. It's sexdrugsrocknroll plus real emotion that isn't fucking corny as hell. Their teenage daughter may be the most poignant person on the show. This was from the 21st of 24 episodes, the last two of which C and I are saving for a special date. Cause we'll both mourn for months, when it's over, until next season. C says the roller coaster of a love relationship between Hank and Karen reminds him of us, and I think I can see what he's saying...minus the genius writer, the most gaw-geous woman ever and the compulsive sex thing. It's been years and years since those days. ha ha.

Why wouldn't I fall head over heels for a show about a writer? I don't know if the show is to credit, or the fact that I haven't had a drink since our anniversary date (which, BTW, was completely tame, involved sushi and dessert and champagne and did not end up in an hot tub quasi-orgy or titty bar or the like). I'm just all inspired and shit, so I'm writing like the wind, and I'm finishing that memoir - now "personal essays." No, no one is waiting impatiently for it. It's like fiction, ya gotsta finish that shit first. Then bust your ass to get someone to beg for it.

And yes, it took me a better part of the night to type this up, so ya'll damned well better get on to the Californicatin'!

~R

The Dog and Bunny Show

2008-12-07T07:32:00.000-08:00

All week long, Izzy and I had been planning to take Luci, our barrel of a Welsh Corgie, to this Christmas pet parade thing, where you humiliate your dog by dressing her in "high fashion" and, of course, parading her around. So we decide that Luci should be a princess. Forget the high fashion crap, princess is how we roll. And, it helps that we have tons of princess apparel. The plan is to do the parade and get back in time for me to get ready for my big anniversary date. I'm totally regretting this whole thing, but my kid will be crushed if we don't make this damned pet parade. None of the princess stuff would stay on, but we get Izzy's pink leopard print scarf around her fat neck. The purple sequined skirt fell off in the car. We get down there, five minutes until it's supposed to go down. Just my style. And we walk the square, past the horse-drawn carriages and ponies and camels, and...no dogs dressed to the nines. Nada. "Where's the pet parade start?" I ask a chick who appears to know what's going on. "It was last night."

Fantastic. I am the world's best mother, ever.

And did I mention that we now have a bunny? Here she is. Luna. Or he. We're not sure.

~R