Mommy, Daddy, and the evil MBA

I'm being crushed to death by business school. Wait a damn second, I'm not even in business school. Well then, I must be getting crushed to death in the the black hole left after my husband imploded during his first semester of business school.

Once upon a time, there was a nice little family where the mommy stayed home with the babies and the daddy came home at a reasonable hour after work. In this story, the daddy only had to go away every weekend for 20 games a year and 3 fucking horrible training camp weeks in the summer. The mommy could almost handle it, and the babies were good. Alas, something foul drew nearer.

As summer once again approached, instead of going away for 3 fucking horrible weeks, the daddy stayed home. The mommy was happy, until...the evil time sucking giant, MBA, curled his suffocating fingers around the daddy's neck, threw him into his pressure cooker, and turned up the fire. The daddy was trapped in the pressure cooker and all his time was being sucked away by the evil MBA. The mommy didn't know what to do. How could she get the daddy back? She could hear him mumbling about Statistics and Probability from inside the pressure cooker, but she couldn't reach him to set him free. (Meanwhile, the babies have taken over the home. And in order to fill the void left by the absence of their daddy, they have begun smacking each other to pass the time.)

The mommy had almost given up when she heard the daddy shout from inside the pressure cooker, "It's only for 6 months! After the first two quarters, it gets much easier!" The mommy was filled with a renewed sense of hope, until she realized that the daddy was muttering to himself about Statistics again and seemed to be banging his head on the inside of the pressure cooker's wall.

For now, all the mommy can do is to use her lightest child as a shield against the other two, and hope that the daddy can find some way out of the pressure cooker soon.

Is the daddy's goose cooked?
Will the mommy be crushed by the parental void?
Will the babies take over in "Lord of the Flies" fashion for good?

Stay tuned...I'm sure I'll have time to tell you the end of the story in another ohh...6 months or so.

Ain't No Woman Like the One I've Got

3 posts in 2 days? I clearly have way too much time on my hands this morning. The one perk about having a sick baby is that they sleep a lot. I'm an awful mother.

Anyhoo, just for the hell of it, I decided to google my own name to see what came up. Happily, I saw the first link was to my art website that I started earlier this year. I'm working on my third painting so far. Some are incomplete, all are for sale. Ahem...

But as I scrolled down the google search I came across this:

Click on it to look closer, because I am too dumb to figure out how to zoom it.

Just to clarify for those of you who don't know me well, I married this guy:

He's pretty much the opposite of small, pretty, and feminine. And he lacks the long smooth hair the other writer admires.

I would like to say however, that had I been born gay, I probably would go for the small pretty type too. And if I happened to be a gay penguin, I would prefer the short fuzzy, egg hatching type. Mazel Tov, little penguins.

Coloring America

This morning, Connor took out his crayons and drew a big circle on his paper. He told me he was coloring the United States of America. He chose a blue crayon and after a few squiggles, told me "This is North Carolina."

Next, he picked a red crayon and asked, "Mommy, what state is red?"

"Uhhh, Texas?" I said.

He busily began making red squiggles to make Texas.

Next, he picked a brown crayon. "Mommy, what state is brown?"

"New Jersey."

Disclaimer: I'm from Jersey. Only people from New Jersey can make fun of it. Don't try it or you might yourself sleeping with the fishes, capiche?

I'll be in my room with the door locked. If you need me, too bad.

Oh what a lovely week it's been. I'll spare all the charming details and just share a few of my thoughts.

To all the husbands of the world, when the dishwasher explodes and the kitchen becomes Lake Lanier, and your wife calls you? She is not calling for advice or recommendations of any kind. She already knows to soak up the water with towels and call a repairman. She is calling to scream at you and mock your suggestions. These are the facts of life.

To all the children of the world, when your Mommy tells you to go play outside, that is code for, "You are so far up my ass that you're coming out my nose. Go away and give me 5 minutes of peace and quiet FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" I like to think of Chris Farley screaming out that last part. Also, standing on the deck, peering into the back door with your hands cupped around your eyes like goggles, for an hour doesn't count as "playing" outside.

Or why you should just use dental floss

The other night, I was scarfing down my dinner in a big hurry because I was running late. As I rushed out the door, I did a quick "do I have anything in my teeth?" grimace into the mirror. Let's just say it's a good thing I did. I had a big honkin piece of something stuck right between my two front teeth. If I didn't bite all my nails off after watching 7 DVR'd episodes of a 'Ghost Hunters' marathon, I might have been able to get it out. By the way, I am addicted to that show now. If you've never seen it, it's basically a bunch of Roto Rooter guys (yes, they're plumbers - I suppose they are used to seeing a lot of creepy shit. HA! Did you see what I did there? You love it.) who go to places that people think are haunted with all their scientific equipment and try to catch evidence of paranormal activity. I love this show. Stop laughing.

Lennie is especially thrilled when he's trying to read The Wall Street Journal or The Economist or one of his finance textbooks, and I'm watching Ghost Hunters and I keep pausing and rewinding to see the ghost they caught on video, and shouting, "LENNIE, you HAVE to watch this!" And, he'll peer over the top of his newspaper in the Dick Cheneyist way possible, and say "Mmmmhmm." And, I'm all like "Did you see the ghost? Here, watch it again." But the key to any good marriage is balance: I now know more about finance reports, valuation and devaluation, opportunity potential, asset management, etc than I ever really wanted to, and most of my "lessons" come while I'm cooking dinner and balancing a cranky baby on my hip, or reading a book, or trying to watch Ghost Hunters.

But, back to the point. So, my stubby chewed-off nails didn't work, I only pushed the wad of food wad deeper. I tried to force a stream of spit through my teeth to push the food wad out , but only succeeding in spitting all over the mirror, and then, a stroke of genius: I have long hair, hmmm. Hair is kind of like floss... it just might work. So, as disgusting as it may be, I was desperate, I was late, so I flossed with my hair. It would have been a great plan if only my hair hadn't snapped in half and curled up like gift wrap ribbon.

Pop Quiz Time:
Q: What's worse than having a wad of food stuck between your two front teeth?
A: Having a black curly hair stuck between your two front teeth.

Dear TV Guide Channel,

When I step on the treadmill each day, I turn to you in a desperate plea for something to take my mind off of the boring torture I am about to inflict on myself. However, most of the time you let me down, and I end up watching CNN, which kind of defeats the purpose of watching TV to ease boredom.

Yesterday, as I watched the lines scroll by, waiting and hoping to see, 'Harry Potter' or 'Jaws,' my optimism began to fade because all of the good channels had already gone by with nothing to offer. 'Hot Girls in Scary Places'? Are you serious? I even briefly considered watching "Commando" out of a lack of options. But then you, TV Guide Channel, started running the "Top 50 Sexiest Men Of All Time" to brighten my day while I waited for something to watch. Thank you. Before yesterday, I'd never actually watched the TV Guide Channel for a full half hour.

Sincerely,
Katie

PS - I can't condone ranking Charleton Heston above both Patrick Swayze and Hugh Jackman. What were you thinking? Actually, I can't condone Charleton Heston being on this list at all. He looked like a cranky old dude even way back when he was just a cranky middle-aged dude.

Blog Slacker Says What.

What?
Exactly.

Some random mid-week thoughts:

I started a garden this week. It's something I've wanted to do for years, but we've never been settled enough to put some roots down (hey, did you get that? Sorry I had to). But now that we are home for good because, as Connor likes to say, Lennie's job is "nothing," I am finally able to make it happen. Just 2 days ago, I started the seedlings, and already I have lettuce sprouts. The motherly feeling of watching those little seeds spring to life is akin to giving birth, only with less screaming. Plus, the dirt doesn't need to be sewn back together after the lettuce pops out. Oh well.

What's up with the octuplets mom's lips? Inject much? No money for food, surviving off of student loans & website donations, but lip collagen galore. Come on. Who am I to judge though? I just spent two hours scaring the crap out of myself by watching Ghost Hunters International on the Sci Fi channel, instead of solving the mystery of why Sayde "can only breathe out of one of(her) noses." Also Connor wanted to know why "one of the Star Wars cut off the other Star War's hand," and again, I was unavailable for answers. What kind of mother am I?

A tired and grouchy one. And one with a throbbing jaw because dentists are sadistic.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. That peanut president who knowingly sent putrid food into the marketplace, is a total Scumbag. Why are there people like this walking the earth?

Mama said Knock You Out

Yes, that's right. Lennie and I spent this weekend in Tampa, where we collected seashells on the beach, went running, went to the movies together, and I got into a fistfight. But, more on that later. We also went to (get ready because I'm going to sing it:) The Suuuuperbowl La La La Laaaaaa! Since Lennie is still technically on the Browns' roster, and those days are rapidly coming to an end, I figured it would be my only chance for a long long time - if ever - to go see the Superbowl, la la la la. Plus, we haven't been away together without kids since Sayde was 13 months old. So, even though the Red Bitch was in town, we had a great time doing all the stuff you take for granted when you don't have kids, aka, peeing without an audience.





Oh, by the way, if you are ever in North Redington Beach, swing by The Frog Pond for breakfast. Holy Yum. After Lennie and I snarfed down an omelet the size of France, and a fruit plate that rivals the Chiquita Banana lady's hat, we were off to the game. We got there plenty early (5 hours early) so that we could walk around the NFL Experience, and get price gouged. We waited on a 10 minute line just to get IN to the *tent* store, and once inside, we discovered not only was it 1,000 degrees, but the acceptable price for a sweatshirt is apparently hundreds of dollars. So, empty handed except for a $10 beer (which was worth every penny), we wandered over to the stadium.

Our seats were about 2 rows from the very top, so we ambled up up up the ramp and walked along the concourse looking for our section. Whoops, you can't get to this section from this side of the stadium, so back down down down the ramp we went on our way to the opposite side.

If you have ever been to Raymond James Stadium, or watched a Tampa Bay Bucaneers' game on TV, you will be familiar with the pirate ship, which sits in one of the endzones:




It's pretty cool, except for one little oversight by the designers. In order to get from one side of the stadium to the other, 72,000 people have to squeeze through a concourse that suddenly shrinks down to about 10 feet wide in one section. Needless to say, this creates a bit of a logjam.



Here's where the fistfight occurred. Now, let me just preface this by saying that I abhor confrontation. I am typically a mild mannered suburban mom who smiles and waves at people while I putter around town in my minivan. However, I have now learned that I have a darker side and can suddenly turn into a screaming lunatic at a moment's notice. Lennie and I were inching our way through wall to wall bodies, smiling at the people trying to squeeze through and bonding over how much it sucked, when it happened: I felt a hand on my butt. "Ok," I thought, "It's really crowded. It could be an accident." Then, the mystery hand squeezed my butt... twice. Without a thought in my head, I whipped around to face the man directly behind me.

"How dare you," I snarled.


He immediately put both hands in the air and said, "It wasn't me." Guilty. And that's about the time when I LOST MY SHIT.

Here's me, face to face with Mr. Grabby, placing my right hand on his douchebag neck and shoving as hard as I can (which I'm pretty proud to say caused him to stumble back a few feet) and screaming, "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!"

A circle cleared around us, and a lot of people began yelling. That's when Lennie jumped in and I think pulled me out of the way so he could have some words with the disgusting pervert. The rest of it was kind of a blur...I hear rage tends to do that. After spending a few minutes convulsing with adrenaline, I decided to not let it ruin the game for me. But, I am still hoping the pervert got hit by a bus later that day.

After the unexpected discovery of a backbone, I also stood up for myself when someone cut in front of me in line to buy a t-shirt. I know, it was a big day for me. We also got to see The Boss, which was pretty awesome. Plus, the actual game was not too shabby either.

Minus one moment of guttural furor, the weekend was beautiful. Many thanks to Poppy, La La and D for watching the kids for us while we were away. We had such a good time, in fact, that we decided to expand our family. Meet "Prime" and "Sally".




We thought Sally was dead for a while. As it turns out, she is only shy.

Isn't it Ironic?

Definition of "missed opportunity": When a woman puts the kids to bed, cleans the bedroom, dons silk lingerie, lights candles, and comes downstairs at 9:00 pm only to find husband has fallen asleep on the couch. Woman tries to wake husband up, but to no avail.

Next day, woman gets her period. Not just a little 'ah what the hell we can just put a towel down' period - NO - more like 'recently stopped breastfeeding and now hormones are making up for approximately 17 period-free months by trying to cram the sum of all periods into one 5 day span'. No towel will do the job here, not even a ShamWOW. Husband spends week kicking himself and cursing womankind.

Insane, got no brain.

As Sayde and I were walking out the door last night to go to Tae Kwon Do, I yelled to Lennie, "Peace Out, Yo!" Here is the conversation that followed:

Sayde: "Yeah! Peace Out, HO!"

Me: "No! Not Peace Out, HO. Peace Out, YO!"

Sayde: "Peace Out. YO HO!"

Me: "Close enough. You're insane in the membrane."

Sayde: "Yeah. I'm insane in the breadbrain."

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This morning, on the way to Connor's preschool, I "jokingly" told Lennie he put too much Splenda in my coffee. This joke is only funny to me, since the day before, I "jokingly" told him he didn't put enough Splenda in my coffee. So, he "jokingly" told me that he was going to kill me. As I laughed and said, "That's not nice," a curious wee voice drifted towards us from the backseat, "Daddy? Why are you going to kill Mommy?"

Great. Good job, Lennie. I can only imagine what he told his teachers today at school.

The obvious solution? From now on, I'll just make my own damn coffee.

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Me: "Hey Sayde, what's the Spanish word for beach?"

Sayde: "I don't know."

Me: "La Playa."

Sayde: "La Playa."

Me: "Connor," (who was standing next to me during the above conversation) "What's the Spanish word for beach?"

Connor: "Beacho."

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Dr. Zibbs wrote a list of his favorite (and not so favorite) comedians, which got me thinking about this skit about Nursery Rhymes from Ricky Gervais. Everytime I start giggling, Lennie shakes his head in pity. I swear, if you laugh, I will not judge you.

This and $4 will get me a Cappuccino

Well Ladies and the two Gentlemen who read my blog (Lennie is not included here because I don't count the people whom I have to physically force to read my blog), today is my 100th post. I considered going out like Seinfeld. You know, calling it quits while you're number 1. Except for that I'm not number 1; I'm more like 5,742,001, and I'm not calling it quits. Because, as I figure it, the world needs me. Why, just today someone found my blog by googling the simple word, "parenting." I feel sorry for those fucking kids.

And, I ask you: where would the internet be without my little pearls of wisdom about farting, little mermaid erections, and dudes who put frozen shrimp in their pants? No where cool, I can tell you that.

So, in keeping with what other bloggers seem to do for their 100th post, I will hereby torture you with 100 things about me.

1.Besides "parenting", people have found my blog by googling "there's a demon in my house"
"how do I get a raisin out of my nose" and "minivan stench." I like to provide a variety of useful information.

2. My blog got it's name because I once spent an afternoon walking around the mall with a nice squishy raisin stuck to my ass. This never would have happened before I had kids.

3. Other things that never happened before I had kids include:

4. Catching puke in my hands

5. Being puked on (ok, well a few times I puked on myself, but that was in college and therefore does not count)

6. Picking someone else's nose for them

7. Wiping someone else's ass

8. Sniffing someone else's ass to see if smells like poop

9. Being totally vulnerable by the Intensity and Desperation of Love. MUSHY SAP ALERT.

10. I have my Girl Scout Gold Award - yes, that one was indeed random.

11. My first job was as a babysitter. I quit after a kid hit me with a baseball bat and then his Mom paid me $3.

12. My next job was a lifeguard. You can't believe the amount of drunk people that fall into pools.

13. I met Lennie in 7th grade. He was my lab partner and I had a crush on him.

14. Although we didn't start dating until senior year of high school when I finally got rid of the permed hair and rainbow bangs.

15. I hate libraries.

16. I could live happily the rest of my life eating only pretzels and Diet Coke.

17. Animal crackers and Nilla Wafers could substitute for pretzels if need be.

18. It sucks when massage therapists talk the whole fucking time.

19. I can move heavy furniture all by myself. Ask Lennie, he hates it. Once he came home to find that I had dragged a king size mattress up a flight of stairs during my 5th month of pregnancy.

20. Right along with #19: I'm stubborn.

21. I bite my nails when I'm stressed. Right now, they are nubs. I must have subconscious stress.

22. If left to my own devices, I would go to bed at 3am and wake up at noon.

23. I think it would be cool to buy a big boat and spend a few years traveling the world (and then I wake up)

24. I love hiking. I wish I did it more.

25. My biggest fear as a child was being eaten by sharks. It was a recurring nightmare.

26. Despite that, I still want to learn to surf.

27. I used to have 7 piercings. Now, I'm down to just one in each ear. I'm a suburbanite, what can I say.

28. Never thought I'd be driving a minivan either.

29. My other biggest fear as a child was animals. That is, until my parents got me a hamster when I turned 7. That little thing bit the shit out of my fingers but I still loved it. Then, they got me another hamster, and now we had one of each sex. Lots and lots of little baby hamsters ensued.

30. I have a lot more fears now. Most of them involve something happening to my kids.

31. I love a good bonfire. Marshmallows on sticks, stories, sitting on logs. Love it all.

32. I would kill for some ice cream right now.

33. I am content to leave a job only 1/3 of the way done.

The one where I humiliate myself

Remember way back about 10 days ago when I went insane? Sure you do, it was the day I vowed to post a picture of myself in a bikini on my blog. So much has happened on my short trip to certifiability. On the first week, I ran 52 and a half miles and dropped 5 pounds. OK, not too bad. Then the dreaded week two; so far, this second week, I've run 40 miles and lost a whopping 2 pounds. While normally, I'd be going ape shit over losing 7 lbs in 2 weeks, but after running all those fucking miles? Somehow 7 lbs seems like a cruel trick of nature.

*Ahem* Here's me straightening up and smacking myself upside the head.

While I didn't reach my goal of 10 pounds, I did however really increase my endurance. If you haven't ever noticed before, I can sometimes release a bit of anger from time to time. Normally, my blog is a nice little receptacle for that, but I also blow a lot of steam off on the treadmill. Usually, by the end of my run, I'm listening to hard core metal or watching ultra violent movies and thinking about how I could totally kill a lion with my bear hands if I had to protect my kids. That is, unless one of my children should make the mistake of walking in the room during the last few minutes of a run to tell me that the other one "Won't get out of my bedroom, even though I said to go play in your own room." Then my eyes roll back in my head and I start saying the strangest things, like, "GET OUT." But, I'm off on a tangent. I really did increase my endurance, and I'm sure that now I could easily kill any frail and toothless lions that try to attack my children, and then I could outrun the rest of the pride at super slow speeds over great distances.

So, even though I didn't quite make my goal, in fair assessment, I did alright. I give myself a B+ mostly for effort. And now it's time to pay the piper, here's that picture I promised you:


Oh darn. Something's wrong with my camera. Here, let me try again:



There we go.

Weekend Update

Yes, I know it's Saturday night. However, I'm confident enough in the awesomeness of my social life to write a blog post at a time when 10 years earlier, I'd just be putting the finishing touches on my mascara to go out for the night. And, by social life I of course mean sitting on the kitchen floor talking to my dog while I give him leftover scraps of chicken. Don't be jealous.

It's been 7 days since the mania began. I didn't quite hit my goal of 56 miles this week, but I did make it to 52.45 (if you throw in the miles logged on the Stairmaster, which I totally do because I think actually they can be counted as vertical miles, in which case I've climbed Mt. Everest a bunch of times already. Piece of cake, I don't know what all the fuss is about.) The good news is, I've lost 5 pounds. The bad news is, it was all on the first day. It's a teensey weensey bit frustrating because I've taken shits that make me lose 5 pounds. 52 and a half miles later, I was hoping more for something like this:

But instead, I got this:

This might be the photo I post at the end of next week if my slug of metabolism doesn't get the point.

Lord, let me not eat cake.

I had no intention of blogging about this, but this issue has taken over my life in the last three days and so it has become unavoidable. Today, as I was reading The Nice One's post about setting some real goals for yourself and actually kicking your butt into high gear to achieve them, I found the courage to comment on her post about my personal goals. And from there, it was a short leap to writing about it on my own website. It's a simple goal, really. Totally achievable and not in any way insane.

In 11 days, Lennie's parents are taking us all to the Caribbean to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary. It's a totally fabulous idea and I am deeply grateful to my parent-in-laws, and insanely excited to be flying away to a beach. The only thing that would have made it better was if my kids were not invited. Just kidding, kind of. I realize that would have defeated the purpose of all of us getting together, but maybe I can teach Ella to sit in the sand by my chaise lounge and hold a tray of pina coladas above her head, while Sayde and Connor each claim a foot to massage. It's worth a try.


So, anyhoo, my shockingly white flabby ass is in no way fit for public view. Passers-by may mistake me for some hapless beached beluga, the bikini might be the only thing that makes them pause before they attempt to start pushing me back into the water. (I have to give credit to my Dad for that joke. He's been using for years, as is his custom.) Seriously, I went to buy a bathing suit yesterday, and the woman who worked at the store picked out a ton of them, hung them in the dressing room, and instructed me to come out after each one so she could check the fit. "Ok, thanks!" was what I said. "No fucking way in hell," was what I thought. If I don't even have the courage to wear a bikini on the beach, how the fuck am I supposed to wear one in the mall?

I did timidly crack the door once to give Lennie a view of the final selection, a turquoise bikini with a little sparkly pin on the hip, which Sayde assured me was the prettiest one because it had "sparkles". As I crept out of the dressing room, my cheeks ablaze with self-consciousness, I asked him "Well, how is it?" Now, you would think any man who has been married for 7 1/2 years would know the answer to this question. The obvious answer is, "Wow, you look so sexy. You are the hottest woman I've ever seen, and if I didn't have this baby strapped to my chest I would ravage you right here and now." Yes, that's what the smart answer would have been. Lennie, however, likes to live life on the edge and so when I asked him his opinion, he simply replied, "meh," and was then stunned when the dressing room door abruptly slammed in his face.


So I decided to lay the smackdown on myself. No more cookies, excuses or time for slacking, I've got 10 lbs to lose by Jan 17th. Now, before you get all worried that it's too fast, it's not safe, let me first say that the slightly insane can accomplish great things.





Certainly my goal of losing 10 pounds fits right in with his theories... maybe if I try to lose weight while on the plane moving at the speed of light, it will appear to me that I've only lose 2 lbs, but when I get off the plane, I actually will have lost 20? And, everyone else on the ground will have aged a few years?? It could happen.


In order to reach my goal, I've decided to beat the shit out of myself on the treadmill. So far, in the last 2 1/2 days, I've run a total of 20.8 miles. If I can keep this pace up, that would mean somewhere around 56 miles in a week? After that, I plan on brokering a peace agreement between Israel and Palestine, and solving the world's green energy problem. I'll give you the update on how I did in the form of sticking my head into the guillotine: no matter what, I will post a picture of myself in that turquoise bikini on my blog before we leave for the beach. What better incentive could there be?

Peace Out, 2008

From one home to another, we moved across the street.
A basement and a cul de sac, hath our new retreat.
Built a guest room, bought a couch, framed a picture.
Expensive, ouch.
The street filled with children, our driveway with chalk
Playground in the backyard, evening family walks.
I waddled around Disney, Sea World, Universal
7 months pregnant, grouchiness dispersal

But then...

The Browns came a callin', and Lennie said "Once more",
From North Carolina to Lake Erie's rocky shore.
Shoulder pads, spit, grime, and mud
Goodbye toenail, Hello blood.

Back at home, Mommy's belly continued to grow,
Cradling the daughter we had yet to know.
Our family came to stay, in the countdown weeks,
Ready to lend a helping hand, a baby soon to meet.
Amidst the throes of a Carolina summer swelter,
In our arms a precious child found shelter.

Off to Cleveland, we drove through West Virginia's hills
Ready for apartment life, football pays the bills.
For one long month I was alone, 3 children in my care
It really sucked, and so, a blog was born to share
My stories and my heartache, my laughter and my faults
Posted on the internet, my mom needs smelling salts.

Lennie hurt his shoulder, back home we went once more,
Surgery and recovery. Kindergarten! Soccer score.
Quick trip to the mountains, I swear I saw a lion.
Maybe someday, our vacation will be Hawaiian.

The stock market let us down, The Rock Obama had our vote
Blagojevich and Madoff, those villains got our goat.
Baby's first Christmas, Hanukkah candles glow
2009, here you come. Get ready, set, GO!

Ass. It's what's for dinner.

After the never-ending road trip, we are back in North Carolina, just in time to escape the unseasonably warm temperatures that have moved into the North East. I am feeling pretty badly for one member of our traveling party in particular, my little sister's boyfriend. Oh, you poor poor guy. Not only did you have to ride in the back of the minivan with 2 kids and 1 occasionally livid baby, but you had to keep our snoring and gassy dog on your lap because there wasn't a single square inch of space to spare.

There was one other member of the carpool who was gassy, and while I'm not naming names, it's been an ongoing problem since that person has lost 75 pounds recently. In this person's efforts to remain anonymous, he repeatedly refused to open the car windows after dropping bombs. I can only assume the logic being that this person knew we would identify him as the culprit if he rolled down a window moments before the stench hit. Either that, or this person enjoys his own brand. Instead, he continued to deny that it was his ass gas, and stubbornly kept the windows rolled tightly up so that we could all marinate in the aroma of tomorrow's shit-to-be.

After my eyes began to water in the wake of one especially potent sneak attack, I rode the rest of the 11 hour trip with my window cracked. This had an unfortunate side effect. While it's true that the open window helped, it also served to suck the farts right towards my head. It was as if I held the checkered flags and the farts had to go whizzing by me first before they could cross through the threshold of the window and fly out into the night air. So, while I breathed in less of each particular fart because it was traveling too quickly, I also breathed in more total farts because they came from all corners of the minivan to fly out of my window. However, I figured a quick whiff of ass-stank is better than my skin melting off my bones in an undisturbed mushroom cloud of fart.

My little sister's boyfriend was too polite to crack his window and thereby admit he had noticed the stench being emitted by a certain passenger. He spent a large amount of time texting SOS signals on his cell phone before finally slipping into a coma. Today, I noticed the little lines he must have scratched into the wall in order to keep track of the hours he spent as a captive in minivan road trip hell.

So, what'd you get?

Sorry about my slackiness this week. While usually you can chalk it up to sheer laziness, this week I actually have an excuse, NO INTERNET ACCESS!! My worst nightmare come true. I heard this survey on the radio the other day, "Would you rather live the rest of your life with no internet or no sex?" Going a week with no internet really sucks, and I'll leave it at that.

We've been spending our holiday up in New Jersey shuffling back and forth between my parents' and Lennie's parents' houses for Christmas and Hanukkah. Surprisingly, Ella has been very pleasant and happy to show off her raspberry-blowing skills, and Sayde and Connor have, for the most part, been on exceptionally good behavior. Thank you, Santa, how did you know that's just what I wanted? Lennie, all on his own, went out and bought me 12 art lessons. When I was a kid, I was pretty good, but those dreams died out around the same time I realized I'm not really going to be The President of the United States. But, he knows I always regretted not at least trying, so thanks, Len. It's the best gift of my life (besides the 3 sperms that later became our children.) I also got a new camera, so move the fuck over, Ansel Adams, here I come.

I am so far behind on reading everyone elses' blogs I don't think I will ever catch up. But, I'm going to give it one hell of a try once we get back to North Carolina, and after I finish the last book in the Twilight series, which I had to slink into the 'Teen' section at Barnes & Noble to buy, and which my 12 year old niece is also reading. I like to challenge my mind by reading books at a 7th grade level.

So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, and Festivus for the rest of us. I hope you have a great holiday.

PS, the Limoncello was fabulously disgusting, especially when mixed with champagne. Maybe that's why I feel like the bottom of a shoe today.

I'm soooo honest, and I never use sarcasm

I got a little bloggy Christmas present from Susan! It's an honesty award, for telling it like it is. Thank you, Susan, and I'm sorry it took me 2 weeks to get off my ass to accept!

There are the customary rules, but I gotta tell you I'm feeling a little rambunctious today and may not follow all of them. (Oooooooooo, I'm tellin') At least I was honest about that.

1."When you receive the prize, you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back.

2.Choose a minimum of 5 blogs that you find brilliant in their content or design.

3.Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing that they were prized with 'Honest Weblog'.

4.List at least ten honest things about yourself. Then, pass it on!"

Ok class, since it's almost Christmas break, today we are going to skip over rules 2 & 3, roll in the TV cart, pop a movie into the VCR, and call it a day. Lights off, heads on your desks. Instead of the requested 10 honest things about me, here are 10 times I was a filthy sneaking liar:

1. In 5th grade, our teacher made us grade our own papers. Actually, she made us switch with the kid sitting next to us and grade each others'. I had a major crush on the boy sitting next to me, and so when he suggested that from now on we just always give each other A's, I agreed, without a single doubt that this would seal our love forever. Of course, we eventually got caught and because of our sneakiness, I wasn't recommended to be on Safety Patrol in 6th grade.

2. Also in 5th grade (it was a difficult year for me), I told one of my Girl Scout leaders that I hated her. She made fun of me too much. My mom was mortified and made me call to apologize. I said, "I'm sorry I told you I hated you. " I lied.

3. I didn't lose my retainer when I was 12, like I told my mom. I sat on it and broke it into 4 pieces.

4. I stole a bottle of Wet N Wild nail polish from the Harmon Cosmetics store when I was a teenager.

5. In geometry, I wrote the formula on my desk in pencil before the test started. (Which actually forced my brain to remember it, thus defeating the purpose of cheating).

6. All those times I called in "sick" to work. But in my defense, there is no such thing as "Just don't feel like going" days.

7. I wasn't too sick to take the final exam in my Research class in college. I was too hungover.
Thanks once again, Everclear.

8. When Lennie called and asked if I had gotten a dog behind his back while he was away at training camp. "Absoultely not," I believe my reply was.



9. I wasn't really on vacation when my old Virginia neighbor invited me to what was basically a "buy some sex toys" party. I was just hiding out in the basement with the lights off for 3 days so I didn't have to go.

10. I can't think of a #10 right now because typically, I don't lie, I avoid.

Lights back on, movie's over. Now, I am supposed to pass this on to 7 more bloggers, but I promised no homework. So, if you consider yourself to be a blogger who "tells it like it is" go ahead and steal this award right off my page. I promise I won't tell on you, pinky swear, it's our secret.

You can have some of my Limoncello ello ello

Somehow, I got it in my head this year that homemade Limoncello would be a good Christmas gift. It looked so yummy in the magazine, all wrapped up in pretty bottles, like lemonade - with
a kick. Plus, the recipe looked so simple (besides the whole "Cover and let stand at room temperature for 2 weeks" part). So, off to the grocery store I went filling my cart with lemons, sugar, decorative glass bottles, and festive ribbons.

The next stop was the local ABC store, which I cannot enter without turning slightly red, avoiding eye contact with the clerk, and smirking uncontrollably. It's like I'm in college all over again as I cruise down the aisles looking for vodka and this:

Whoa dogs. Anytime a recipe includes grain alcohol, you know it's gonna be good. I haven't seen a bottle of Everclear in about 10 years, and even then the memory is marred with an inexplicable feeling of blackness and spinning, and just thinking about it makes me start looking for a place to barf. Good times...

So, once I got home, I began peeling all the lemons by hand, 28 of them total. Lemons are frickin hard to peel! It's not like oranges or grapefruits where you can just peel it all off in one piece. No, the stupid lemons peels are super-glued on, and so centimeter by centimeter I worked, and was so relieved when I was done.

But before I added all the alcohol, I just wanted to double check the recipe from a different source. So, I googled Limoncello and found this and this, two great recipes, both of which stress making sure to use a very sharp knife to peel only the yellow "rind" off the lemon, leaving off all the the bitter white stuff, the "pith". The Limoncello will be bitter if the white pith is left on, so be sure to take meticulous care to remove it all. Um....crap. So, reading my magazine again, it doesn't say anything about pith. Stupid light cooking bastards.

So, back I went to my bowl of peels, to rip all the pith off the rind piece by piece. I now know why people who cook a lot buy those gel mat thingys for their kitchen floors, my back was killing me. I was all hunched over and my hands cramped up, standing there for hours peeling pith, piece by piece. I am also much more aware of the delicate bond that holds fingernail to finger.

But after all that effort, I have to admit, the yellow rinds looked rather pretty in my red mixing bowl (this is only the first half of the lemons - my hands were too crippled by the end to take any pictures).


What's that you say? Still some white left? Bite my ass.

I don't think I would have survived the Limoncello making experience without the help of my assistant, Chocolate Chip. Thanks, Chocolate, you're always there for me when I need you most.


So, now the pith-reduced rinds are soaking in a vat of vodka & Everclear on my countertop and we have only one more week to go before I get to taste the lemony goodness. Oh, by the way before I forget, while I was at the liquor store I picked up a bottle of real Limoncello just to see what it's supposed to taste like. It was disgusting. So, if mine is disgusting too, than I'll know I did it right. Cheers!


Disclaimer:
Never take a Limoncello recipe from an Irishwoman. A Hot Toddy, on the other hand, is a whole different story.

Oh the Things you can Buy on Ebay These Days

So when I was tooling around on Youtube looking for that vulture clip, I came across one of my childhood favorites, 'Garfield's Halloween Adventure'. Unbeknownst to me as a child, Garfield apparently drops the F-bomb, twice. See for yourself:

This got me thinking about all those Disney movies that have subliminal sex messages in them. For example, 'The Lion King'. There is a scene where supposedly the word "SEX" is written into the dust.

All I've got to say is, HELLO! It is.

Then I started thinking about the balcony scene in 'Aladdin' where he is trying to shoo the tiger away. Aladdin whispers, "Good teenagers take off their clothes." This, I know for a fact to be true because I personally paused and rewound that scene 5,000 times.

Next, I remembered discovering that on the old VHS covers of 'The Little Mermaid', there is a huge phallus right smack in the middle of the castle art, just kind of blending in with the other spires.

Nice one. Sparkly.

After that, I remembered the marriage scene in 'The Little Mermaid' where the minister gets REALLY excited to be marrying the Sea Witch and Prince Eric. So excited, in fact, that he pitches a little tent right there under his robes. I know, it's the most disturbing of all.

I also know this to be another personal pause-and-rewind fact. I have issues. Sorry, I don't have the where-with-all to show you a visual of that one though. You sick freaks out there will just have to do your own search, like I did.

Upon my Googling "Little Mermaid Erection", I found some interesting results. However, there was one peculiar invitation that stood head and shaft above all the others. Take a look:

Did you see it? Look closer...

Apparently, you can get a great deal on a huge selection of Little Mermaid Erections on Ebay.

Bid on Little Mermaid Erection Now! Bid, you slippery bitch!