tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43975114116379653322024-03-04T20:11:22.955-08:00Yes, I meant to have four kidsSJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-12847199504816772732012-10-16T12:00:00.001-07:002012-10-16T12:00:17.838-07:00No Good Deed Goes Unpunished<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No Good Deed Goes Unpunished<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that is the mother f-ing truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A true story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last Friday night, I took my son, ‘D’ to the eye glass place to get his eye glasses fixed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had ‘accidentally’ broken them at school and oh yeah, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Could I get a different kind?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the way these look anymore.’</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve only been to this place one other time and that time, my son and I were the only two people in the whole place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that Friday night at the Eye Mart Express was like the Post Office at 5pm or the Social Security Office at 8am?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Packed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With every kind of personality you could ever hope to find, all jammed into a 1200 sq ft. place – trying on eye glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every five seconds you could hear, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘What about this pair?’ ‘What about these?’ ‘How do these look?’ ‘Que estas gafas se ven bien?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘D’ and I joined in the fun and, thankfully, it takes ‘D’ about as much time to pick out a pair of eye wear as it did for him to decide that the casserole I’m serving for dinner is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘gross’.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We head to the front to purchase the glasses and have to wait for the sales lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is busy, trying to explain to another couple that even though their Medicaid will cover a pair of eye glasses, it will not cover brands such as ‘Coach’ and ‘Calvin Klein’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are able to choose from this lovely little assortment of frames that includes a pair that looks like what the eye doctor gives you to drive home in after your eyes have been dilated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laugh internally at that because I guess that’s the government’s way of saying, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Sure, I’ll pay for all of your crap, but by God, you aint gonna like what I pick out!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I think I’ve said something similar to my children before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which I think brings me back to why I am here with my son in the first place and how his glasses ‘accidentally’ broke. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we are waiting, I see a couple of elderly women walk in the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guessed by looking at them that they were a ‘mother/daughter’ team and were about 70 and 90 years old respectively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They shuffle over to the long table where you can sit and try frames on and look at yourself in those round mirrors, that move back and forth and magnify your face so that you look like the Red Queen from ‘Alice In Wonderland’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sales lady grabs my attention as she finally comes to check us out and as I am putting my wallet back in my purse, something knocks into my leg, right at my knee actually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look down and what do I see?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The 90 year old mother’s chair that had crashed into me and the 90 year old mother as she rolled out of it like a ninja and wiped out face down on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">OMG.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I, of course, drop down to help her up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew she’d broken a hip at the very least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve injured myself when I missed a step walking up a flight of stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This lady swan dived off of a roller chair and executed a perfect dive roll before coming to rest on her face; there was no way she was going to come out of this store without being on a gurney. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Apparently when she went to sit down in the chair, she put her hands on the arm rests and of course braced her weight on them so she could gingerly sit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chair had wheels on it and continued to roll back as she continued to sit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure at what point she realized that the seat was no longer directly under her, but about 6 inches behind her, but in a panic, she tried to shuffle her feet back to try and catch up to the rolling chair – while still hanging on to the arms rests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea how that spurned her into a forward roll; I missed that part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, in any event, down she went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I’m helping her up and asking her if she is okay and she keeps telling me she’s fine and she’s actually laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, what else can you do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to admire her for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also notice that I am the only one in the store that even tried to help her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sales lady didn’t come around to ask her if she was alright, which my jaded-self thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘she should come check on her; if I was her, I would worry about being sued and having to pay for this old lady’s artificial hip!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Her own daughter didn’t even come over to help her – which in her defense - I don’t think she even knew that her mother wasn’t sitting beside her anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked back at us and looked so surprised - like she wanted to ask her mother what the hell she was doing on ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was just dead silence in the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did hear a few gasps when the old lady hit the floor, but then….crickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone just sat there staring as I helped her up – which was just f-ing ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was the big deal?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, my God – I’ve taken worse spills at Henry Hudson’s on a Saturday night after one too many So-Co and lime shots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get a grip people!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I get the woman to a sitting position and help her to roll to her knees so she can come up one leg at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she rolled over – bless her heart – her sweatshirt rode up her back a little and her sweatpants were hanging low on her (as the elderlies’ pants are wont to do) and the entire store got a very wide shot of a very white pair of the granniest panties I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned over to try and cover her a little and she was finally on her knees kind of leaning forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, of course my head and body were kind of close to her back side and…….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She farted right in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She farted loudly right in my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the middle of the f-ing store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the whole f-ing store heard her fart in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son heard her fart in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My son shot a wide-eyed look to me and I had to give him the ‘look’ before he said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Oh, that old lady just farted in your face; did you hear her fart mom?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I finally got the Golden Girl to her feet and returned her to her daughter who said without pause, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘So, mom, did you bring your coupon with you?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I left the store with my son and his glasses and as soon as we cleared the door, he said, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Hey, mom did you…..’ <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Shut up, ‘D’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to talk about it.’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yep, you help an old lady up off the ground and she shits in your face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No mother f-ing good deed goes unpunished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-35588366936838518692012-10-16T11:59:00.001-07:002012-10-16T11:59:20.956-07:00It's All In The Genes<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s All in the Genes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or rather in my mother’s genes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or I guess if you want to get technical – in her mother’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A history lesson:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many, many years ago, my maternal grandmother died from breast/ovarian cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They aren’t really sure where it originated from first because many, many years ago, women did not go to the Dr. regularly and I think my grandmother was one of those ladies who thought that letting a male physician stick his fingers up her who-ha meant that she was a ‘loose woman’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother was pretty young, so she doesn’t recall many of the events surrounding the diagnosis, but ultimately, my mother lost her mother to cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think my mother was around 14 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too young to lose her mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And obviously, her mother was far too young to lose her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was in the 5<sup>th</sup> grade the first time that I realized that the money our family spent on feminine products was solely because of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother had been complaining that her stomach was hurting and she was feeling bloated and I suddenly shouted out, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I know!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re pregnant!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s got to be it.’</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother tried to explain to me the divine likelihood of that ever happening, but I wouldn’t listen to her and told her I was 100% sure she was pregnant and I was so excited to be having a little brother or sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘S’…….,</i>my mother sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I can’t be pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m fixed.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What do you mean, ‘fixed’?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I mean, I don’t have a uterus anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to have it removed.’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Why?’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that’s when my mother explained to me that she had pre-cancerous cells in her cervix that would not go away and so to keep her from getting cancer, they gave her a hysterectomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was in her 30s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yeah – her 30s; that meant squat to me when I was 10.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And yes, before you do the month – I hit puberty waaaay tooooo young.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast forward to a month or so ago- and now <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m </i></b>in my 30s and I’m sitting with my mother in a doctor’s office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took an act of God to even get her in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother hates going to the Dr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think that losing her mother at such a young age from cancer would make her hyper vigilant about her own health, but instead it had the opposite effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother chose to go the route of the ostrich and stick her head in the sand and simply ignore her family history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had not had an annual appointment in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">forever</i></b> because, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘if you don’t even have a uterus, what are they digging around in there for?’, </i>and because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I feel fine.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mother would wait until a tumor was so big, it looked like a third boob before she would go to the doctor’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, here we are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother, me, and her new doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not like her last one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, come on – you shouldn’t be able to call your doctor up and say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Yeah, I’ve had this cough for a couple of weeks, but I really think it’s just the ‘crud’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you call me in a steroid pack?’ – </i>and the idiot actually do it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I made my mother a deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would let me come to this appointment and I promised that I wouldn’t shout out, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘NO – SHE SMOKES A WHOLE PACK A DAY!’ </i>when she claims that she is down to 5.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fair trade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, since it’s the first time he’s ever met my mother, he is asking her for all of her history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to give her credit, she gives it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somehow, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I had pre-cancerous cells and so they removed my uterus’ </i>turned into……<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had pre-cancerous cells and so they removed my uterus.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then a few years later, they discovered a lump in my breast – which turned out to be pre-cancerous – so they removed that too.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, and my other Dr. </i>(Mr. Idiot)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> discovered some kind of growth on my ovary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, actually he thought I had an abdominal aneurysm </i>(WTF!)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> but once he got to looking around in there, he saw that it was actually my ovary and there was a cyst on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, it turned out to be not a big deal.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m still reeling over the fact that for the last 30+ years my mother has been going to see some quack who cannot tell the difference between an ovary and an aneurysm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How long as it been since he followed up on that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmm, well, I mean I had a couple of ultrasounds immediately following that, but nothing since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that was when I was in my 40s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>(Yeah, you know 20 years ago!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, I did make sure to keep up on my mammograms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had those yearly……up until about 5 years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think even the Dr. was not sure what the best way to say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘ARE YOU CRAZY?!’ </i>was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We left an hour or so later with a whole sheaf full of slips for different tests, labs, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to credit my mother, she kept each and every single appointment for each and every single test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a ‘health check makeover’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I held my breath for those few weeks until all the results were back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And do you know what they found?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not a damn thing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, except for the fact that she smokes and needs to quit because she does have a touch of COPD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">About the time my mother quit congratulating herself, she received a letter in the mail from the physician who did her mammography. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They want her to come in for genetic testing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To see if she has any of the harmful genetic mutations that put her at an increased risk for breast/ovarian cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An increased risk?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doesn’t the fact that she’s already had various cancerous things removed assess that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At this point, I’m even skeptical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, my God, if the woman has gone this long with the health history she has and has not even bothered to see a real doctor in years, I’m thinking that she should save her money that she would have spent on the damned test and go buy lottery tickets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only thing that convinces my mother to have this testing done is that she’s not only doing this for herself, but for me and my daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh – yeah, ummm….I forgot my own genetic destiny hanging in the balance over here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, tomorrow my mother goes to have her genetic testing done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being the ostrich that she is, she will surely tell her friends that she’s off to have the oil changed in her car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can almost hear her say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Ok, well thank you for telling me’</i>, if the tests come back that she does have harmful genetic mutations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being the hypochondriac that I am, regardless of whether I, myself, am actually tested, I will surely run right to my Dr. and beg for a double mastectomy and hysterectomy, if the tests come back that she does have harmful genetic mutations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Genes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those pesky little chromosomes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-60154418546704717902012-09-10T08:02:00.002-07:002012-09-10T08:02:36.311-07:00Random Observations About Life<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I turned 32 a couple of weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">32.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sigh<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know 32 is not old, but it is the oldest I’ve ever been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I had not even grown accustomed to being 31 yet and had only gotten used to be 30 about 6 months ago – so the years are starting to pile up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, as I have been reflecting on my decades on this planet, I have come to notice a few things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">opinions</i>, these are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">observations.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there is a difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An opinion is attached to an emotion and that emotion is almost always negative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as you hear someone say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Well, in my opinion….’</i>, you can almost guarantee that what comes next will be something like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘she is white trash and a crack whore.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Usually if it’s not a negative statement, than the person will use the word, ‘believe’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">believe</b> that Erik from ‘TrueBlood’ would make the best Christian Grey.’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘What?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No way! In my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">opinion</b>, Erik is too old to play Christian Grey.’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Well, anyone would be better than Robert Pattinson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sooo tired of him and I think he’s not even cute; he looks creepy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, that’s just my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">opinion</b>.’ <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">See how that works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, like I said, I have compiled some observations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Observations are neutral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They stand in the middle of Ms. Opinionated and Mr. I Believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An observation is just stating the obvious; it is what it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, at least in my opinion, that’s what it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hehe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grey hair happens long before you are ‘old’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always thought that the greys started coming in sometime in your early 50s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even though my own dad was already getting salt and peppered in his late twenties, I still had a mini breakdown when I discovered my own silver strands right around the 30 mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I even said to my husband, “Hey, look!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been coloring my hair so long, I didn’t even realize that my real color is still blondish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look – right here by my temples – my hair is blonder.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband laughed and then pointed out than in addition to going grey, I must also be going blind.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pimples happen long after you are no longer ‘young’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I think I get more pimples now that I’m older than I did when I was younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But someone explain this to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is it that you can have pimples covering your chin – but then your cheeks be so dry that nothing, short of mayonnaise will bring moisture back into them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe because, just like everything else on your body, the slowing down of your oil production is a very gradual thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe in regards to your face, it starts at your scalp and works its way down?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to believe that old adage that if you had pimples as an adult, than your face would probably retain its youthful elasticity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I estimated – based on that – that I shouldn’t see my first wrinkle till right about the time I saw my first grey hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early 50s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent last Friday night getting my grey colored and sitting on the couch with a Biore strip covering my chin, anti-aging cream around my eyes, and mayonnaise on my cheeks. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People will tell you that life isn’t easy…..but they won’t tell you it sucks ass a lot of the time either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone might say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their</i> life sucks (which you then attribute to something they have personally done to themselves) or someone might say that, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘life isn’t fair’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>The problem with that statement is that you can’t help but recall being a child and whining because your brother’s piece of cake had more confetti sprinkles on it than yours did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just not the same as whining because your insurance company won’t pay for your prescription medicine and you have to decide between being able to go to the bathroom without pain or your daughter being able to attend cheer classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in the end, it doesn’t matter anyways because one way or the other, you are going to suffer your decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If your bladder doesn’t kill you, your daughter will.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If someone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does</i> tell you that life sucks ass (for everyone, in general), they usually won’t tell you why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s because it’s different for everyone and my bladder could be another woman’s handicapped child, or sexist boss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all relative, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe it’s because there are white elephants that no one wants to mention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the term ‘marriages go through cycles’ is really code for, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I go through cycles where I want to back over my husband with my car.’</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, you can’t really say that of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I think I did say something to that affect one time, but my mother-in-law failed to see the humor in it.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And speaking of those ‘elephants’….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">’raising children is hard.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Code:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are days that I do not like my children – at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go ahead and gasp, but there are days that the only thing that’s keeping me from packing a bag and moving to the beach all by my lonesome is the fear of what others might say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not worried about the irreparable damage to my children, but the irreparable damage to my reputation from the ladies of the PTA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure when I was a child, there were days when I ‘hated’ my mother and imagined running away and finding a new mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone says so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I don’t take it personal when my son, ‘D’ packs his baseball bag with all of his toys and marches out the front door screaming, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘SEE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THIS IS WHY I WANT TO GO LIVE WITH MY DAD!’</i> Likewise, my son shouldn’t take it personal when I grab my purse and march out the front door screaming, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘SEE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THIS IS WHY I WANT TO GO TO THE BAR!’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Being Happy’ is over-rated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, I guess I should say it’s over-emphasized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happiness is just like any other emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It comes and goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can be happy one day and sad the next or both all in the same day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can go through weeks being in a pleasant mood or a whole year in your doldrums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like the weather and in as really the only thing you can do when it rains is to grab your umbrella or stay inside – but you cannot make it stop raining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happiness like all the other emotions is affected by so many variables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, it comes down to the simple fact that a certain hormone has shat on your parade and even though it was sunny the day before, you are going to have a shit storm that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess the prevailing thought is that overall you should be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As, in you should have more happy days than sad ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, what about all the other emotions out there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I’m not limited to just two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had days where I was anxious and days where I was giddy, days where I was a woman on a mission, and days when all I thought about was going home and holing up in the bedroom with my husband for the whole night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To me, horny is a whole lot better than happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, instead of happy and sad, it can be broken down into positive and negative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your life should be positive overall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, if your life isn’t positive overall – does that mean your life has less value?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not an overly religious person, but I’ve read the bible and it seemed to me that many of the great men in the bible did not have ‘positive lives’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men that were sainted and revered by us today were beheaded, tortured, enslaved, crucified….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t necessarily call that a positive experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t tell my children, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘All I want is for you to be happy.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>For starters, my son, ‘D’ would be most happy sitting naked on the couch, surrounded by all of his toy guns, and eating candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day – all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s not what I want for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want him to grow up and have a singular goal of being happy and doing whatever he wants to achieve that goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s perfectly ok to just be ‘marginal’ sometimes. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hope my ‘observations’ do not cause any one to have a ‘negative’ day today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To end on an enlightened note, here are some observations that are very random and really don’t make a whit of sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">-For the most part if you eat a cheeseburger and then eat another one, someone will almost certainly comment on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Wow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must be hungry!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>But, if you eat two or three pieces of pizza, usually no one will notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I find that to be true, no matter how big or small the slices or burgers might be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- The same is true for soda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you drink a can of soda or a bottle of soda (8-16oz), then you usually feel kind of bad if you reach for another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least, I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear myself say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I can’t believe I just drank 3 cans of Dr. Pepper.’</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, when I’m at a restaurant or I get a fountain drink from 7-Eleven, I think nothing of getting the ‘Big Gulp’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s 46oz of Dr. Pepper and 0% remorse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- I don’t know why, but I always have these little impulses to do something shocking in totally inappropriate places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it’s a place where I’m supposed to be quiet (like church or the library), I totally want to just start singing and dancing around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it’s a meeting with my boss, than I want to just blurt out something crazy while he’s talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘And my little nipples do the cha-cha…cha-cha…..cha-cha’ – Bruce Almighty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I’m constantly afraid that one day I might actually do something like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully it’s when I’m old and then people will just say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Don’t mind her; she’s old.’</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- I’m convinced that the ‘middle’ is the devil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any equation, the middle is always up to no good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you’re young you can say crazy things and people will just blame it on your youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you’re old you can say crazy things and people will just blame it on your Alzheimers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, all those years in between – you better just shut the F-up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s Medicaid for when you’re young and Medicare for when you’re old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And uninsured for the rest of us – if you can’t afford insurance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welfare for the poor and nanny’s for the rich.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And poverty for the middle class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beauty in your youth and wisdom in old age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maternity jeans and anti-depressants for your time in between the two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your first born received all the attention before the siblings came along and the baby is cherished because he’s the last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The middle child is almost certain to have ADHD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course if either the young, old, rich, or poor is in need – it will be up to the middle to provide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God said he was the Alpha and the Omega.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First and Last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even God wanted no part with this wretched piece of the pie!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- I’m so glad the Nook came along because I felt so guilty buying books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love to read and it would usually take me 1 to 2 nights to finish a book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, then what was I supposed to do with it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have any book shelves to display my books and even if I did, I just don’t think I want ‘Virile Rogue’ to grace it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- Greeting cards and photo Christmas cards confuse me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the books I used to buy, I don’t know what to do with them after I’ve read them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously I want to keep some of them for sentimental reasons, but the b-day card from the office where I worked 5 years ago does not bring a tear of nostalgia to my eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I display the photo Christmas cards during the holiday season, but then what do you do after?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I’m going to get another one next year from the same family – so am I supposed to bring out the old one to display alongside the new one?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will I have wreaths hung up displaying all the photos throughout the years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One for each family?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Here’s the Smith Family Wreath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are my parent’s next door neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can see in the first one that Kate was about 16 and in this most recent one, here is Kate with her brand new grandbaby.’</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I do like receiving cards and photo Christmas cards; they just confuse me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s enough observations for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was probably more than enough three observations ago….but that’s just my opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-52428484445542383632012-08-31T07:14:00.000-07:002012-08-31T07:14:23.371-07:00‘South to drop off, north to pick up moron!’ – Mr. Mom<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday, August 16th was the first day of school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first day of 2<sup>nd</sup>, 3<sup>rd</sup>, and 6<sup>th</sup> grade for ‘D’, ‘A’, and ‘M’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moose is still navigating life in the 1 & 2 year old room at his daycare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had been really looking forward to school starting again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really looking forward to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past summer was rough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys are a little too old to go to daycare in the summer; not to mention finding one that had available spots just for the summertime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We enrolled them in some summer camps for some of the weeks, had my parents watch them a couple of days here and there and had my daughter keep an eye on them at the house when she was at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I have joint custody with her dad and she does week on/week off.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband is at home during the day, but he sleeps – so he is basically only useful if the house catches on fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The boys weren’t home many days, but the days they were…..SUCKED!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was almost guaranteed to receive a call from one of them by 9:00am and it usually went something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ME: Hello.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">SON:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Umm, mom – it’s <em>[whichever son was calling].<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ME: Yes, what’s going on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">SON:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Umm, I think I broke my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ME:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You broke your head?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">SON:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ME:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did that happen?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">SON:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, see I opened the cabinet door to get some instant oatmeal for breakfast and the cookie box fell down and hit me on the head and now I think I have a concussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure I was dead for about 30 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ME:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow – really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">SON:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, and also mom, umm, when you get home, don’t get mad because I didn’t eat the cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the box hit the floor, it exploded and all the cookies busted up and I picked them all up, but that’s why there’s crumbs all over the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Translation:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son bi-passed the mythical instant oatmeal in the cabinet (we haven’t had any for a month) and was standing on the counter, trying to reach the cookie box on the top shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On his way down, he accidentally knocked his head on the cabinet and dropped the box on the floor – which probably did result in some crumbs getting on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then proceeded to eat most of the cookies and then as he was trying to put the box <em>(the empty box)</em> back in the cabinet, he was busted by the other brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there were no more cookies left in which to bribe the other brother with, my son had to think of a lie so he wouldn’t get in trouble after his brother told on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the day, I was sure to get at least three or four more calls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if it wasn’t one son tattling on the other, then it was always a call about something random; like letting me know that ‘Harry and the Hendersons’ was on TV – or that a telemarketer called.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt even more sorry for my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had to listen to them wrestle and fight in the living room and hear one of them shout, “QUIT IT; YOU’RE GOING TO WAKE DAD UP!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or – my son ‘A’ who is a tad OCD would wake him up no less than three times and say, “Dad, it’s 3:00pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think you should wake up and go get the baby from daycare?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">School could not come quick enough this year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Tuesday before school started was ‘Back To School Night’ at their schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically, we heaved all of their supplies up to their classrooms and met their teachers, filled out whatever information forms they had for us, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additionally, I had to reassure ‘D’s teacher that he is in fact taking his medication and has made great strides in his behavior over the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(All the teachers at the boys’ school either know or have heard about my son, ‘D’.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I’m not entirely sure he <em>has</em> made great strides in his behavior and it wouldn’t matter if he had, because his teacher probably didn’t believe me, but we all smiled and put on our happy faces and pretended that the public school system is just and kids are given the benefit of the doubt and a second chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Can you tell I’m just a tad bitter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, another soap box for another day.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Going to my daughter’s school for her ‘Back To School Night’ was emotional for me this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year when I walked her down the 5<sup>th</sup> grade hall, we passed the 6<sup>th</sup> grade hall and she told me that she couldn’t wait to be in 6<sup>th</sup> grade because the 6<sup>th</sup> graders got lockers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we walked by, I saw the row of lockers and all the little 6<sup>th</sup> grade girls putting their things in them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could tell they really thought they were big time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if I stick a set of lockers in the hallway at my house, will the kids finally pick up their crap?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even get to walk her into her class on the first day of school last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had me drop her off at the front of the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now she’s in 6<sup>th</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has a locker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is big time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, school has started and has been in session for about two weeks now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course I already had a meeting with ‘D’s teacher, principal, speech therapist, and the special Ed teacher to discuss the ‘plan’ for ‘D’ this year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His teacher gave me a detailed account of what their day consists of and I’m supposed to come up with ideas/tricks on how we can help ‘D’ learn what he needs to learn each day and disturb the classroom as little as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As of right now, I’ve stalled out on what idea/trick to use to keep ‘D’ from saying the word, ‘buttocks’ out loud every five minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I have no idea why he loves that word so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think maybe it’s because it’s one of the few words he can pronounce very crisp and fluently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says it very precisely and enunciates it very clearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I think he considers it a ‘grown up’ word and therefore he must be very smart to say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose it is much better than ‘ass’ for instance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I should teach him the word, ‘gluteus Maximus’ just so he can have some variety.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week kicked off ‘Howdy Week’ at the kids’ school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howdy Week is usually the first full week after school starts (heck, I had it when I was a kid) and basically everyday has a different theme and the kids dress accordingly. For instance the 1<sup>st</sup> day was Hawaiian Day at the boys’ school and they could dress Hawaiian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I do realize when I chose to have 3 kids with 3 different dads and inherited a step-child that there would be times when the dads would be making the decisions regarding certain things and that sometimes they might even make decisions that were not only different from what I would choose, but of course different from what the other dads would choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much as I would love to have a monthly ‘parent meeting’ where all the dads and new wives/new husbands and myself get together to agree on all the ways we wish to timeshare our children, I realize that is never going to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so I find myself with two boys going to one school and a daughter going to another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The baby, of course, had to go to a daycare, so no one really had much choice in that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids are spread out all over the city we live in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And I thank God every day we at least all live in the same area.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, back to Howdy Week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think that the entire school district (luckily all the kids are also in the same school district) would get together and decide on the theme for the week and they would all have the same themes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, the 1<sup>st</sup> day was Hawaiian Day for the boys and Hat day for my daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then Moose’s daycare – not wanting to miss out on all of that school fun – decided to do their own ‘Howdy Week’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, it was completely different than the other kids’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the 1<sup>st</sup> day of ‘Howdy Week’ for Moose was favorite T-shirt day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then it was PJ day for the boy’s, Red, White, and Blue day for my daughter , and funky hat day for Moose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And of course, ‘D’ sleeps practically naked so he wanted to strut off to school wearing his ‘Shrek’ boxer briefs and a wife beater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘A’ (who has this weird thing about climate changes) sleeps in old man PJs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the end of August and 100 degrees outside and he still sleeps in flannel PJs with a long-sleeved top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he likes to maintain a constant 98 degrees on the inside and the outside of his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they’re Christmas PJs at that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what he wanted to wear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘M’ looked cute – but she always does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moose had no clothes that morning because all of his where dirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I hate laundry.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, he wore only a onesie to daycare with long socks and his tennis shoes…….and a winter snow hat with a Mohawk on top -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that he hated and kept trying to throw out the car window on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I swear I could not have a job and my kids could still be in school and daycare and it would still be a full-time job; managing their school careers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh yes, let’s not forget what a typical morning for me is like when the kids are in school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The baby wakes me up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, it’s at 4:30am, sometimes it’s at 6:00am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I have to wake him up; he likes to keep me on my toes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wake the boys up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tell the boys what they need to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s usually about 4 or 5 things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to physically put my hands on ‘D’ shoulders and turn him towards me and re-tell him the 4 or 5 things a second time just to make sure he’s paying attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to physically walk with ‘A’ through the 4 or 5 things because he cannot remember more than 1 thing at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to physically separate both boys because there will almost certainly be a fight over who stole the other one’s underwear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to go find ‘M’ and apologize to her because she’s been trying to ask me ever since she got up if she can borrow my flat iron and I haven’t been paying attention; I’ve been investigating the case of the stolen underwear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘M’ grudgingly says, “That’s ok”, but I’m given the silent treatment for the remainder of the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m ready to walk out the door….and realize I’ve almost forgotten about the baby, who either is still sleeping, or awake – but walking around the house in either a wet diaper, or naked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Make it out the door with baby and daughter in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘T’ takes the boys to school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are variations to that of course, but that is pretty much how my morning always goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys will have a fight, ‘M’ will get mad at me for some tween-hormone reason, and Moose will barely make it out the door dressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh yes – school is definitely in session!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-84130307611859108252012-06-06T10:50:00.000-07:002012-06-06T10:50:14.668-07:00Shooot - I'd Rather Be A LesbianI am a f-ing genius. <br />
<br />
I am.<br />
<br />
I have solved a riddle that has caused much controversy within our society for years. The question of nature vs. lifestyle.....genetics vs. choice.....right vs. wrong, blah, blah, blah has been answered!!!!<br />
<br />
Lesbians. They neither were born that way or chose to be that way. <br />
<br />
They simply ran out of other options.<br />
<br />
No shit.<br />
<br />
This past Saturday I went out with my friend *Anastasia. Anastasia met her husband in high school, married him soon after, stayed unhappily married through most of her twenties, and today is a single mother learning to window shop for men. She is just browsing - not interested in buying. Curious about what's out there; what updates have been added to the newest version of men available on the market. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately...it's less like 'Williams and Sonoma' and more like your local thrift store. You end up poking through what others have 'weeded through and gotten rid of' and hope to find that rare vintage piece that the previous owner dropped off in a box alongside three pairs of women's orthopedic shoes. You hope he's worth a million dollars and only cost a penny. Just imagine yourself showing off your new man at the next BBQ and telling all your friends, "Yep - I was just looking through 'housewares' and there he was. Barely used. He came with a job and his own home and everything. I swooped him right up. You just never see one that's used in that good of a condition. Got a few minor dents - ex-wife and child every other weekend - but just couldn't pass him up for the price they were asking."<br />
<br />
So, Anastasia, my husband, and I go out last Saturday night. We were going to a local bar where a band was going to be covering 90s rock songs; think Matchbox 20 and Candlebox. My husband was going to invite some of his friends and cohorts from work in an attempt to pull together some kind of Saturday night awesomeness. I say 'attempt' because after 3 years of marriage and 4 kids, our version of Saturday night awesomeness is still being awake after all the kids have fallen asleep and getting to watch 'Real Sex' on HBO. Yee haw.<br />
<br />
So, there we are - the three of us, plus three cohorts - jamming out to psuedo-Pantera. My husband and his friend are talking about either boobs or going in on a deer lease and Anastasia and I are scoping out the latest and greatest that men have to offer as they sit perched atop their bar stools. I go down my checklist that I had when I was single. Eyes, teeth, nails, brains. <br />
<br />
For me - the eyes must be dark. Or, rather the eyebrows must be. Blue eyes are fine, but sometimes blond hair comes with blue eyes and then comes blond eyebrows....blond hair on the legs.....you get my drift. Dark eyes almost always mean dark hair. Teeth must be nice and straight. I'm fortunate in that my teeth are naturally straight and I didn't require braces growing up, but I do love a man with perfect, straight, only achieved with braces, teeth. For some reason, every time I notice that a man has perfect teeth I can't help but think he must be a good kisser.....and good at kissing other things....you get my drift. Nails must be short - and CLEAN! I don't think any explanation is necessary there. And then finally brains. I love, love, love smart men. In high school I always had a thing for the nerds. Give me a dark headed boy with braces on his teeth and a calculus book under his arm and I will show you a woman in love!<br />
<br />
My husband has dark brown hair, brown eyes, works on airplanes and had braces the first time I met him. :)<br />
<br />
So, I'm scanning through the crowd - going through my checklist - and I get nada. Well not, quite true; I did find some dark eyes. Couldn't really tell about the teeth though; hard to see hidden under the full beard. Of course, not all the men with dark eyes had a full beard. I might have been able to check out those grills when they opened their mouths, but the cigarettes hanging out of their mouths - bobbing up and down - was kind of a distraction. (Even now, I must admit I am fascinated by the ability that some smokers have to talk, inhale, and exhale with the cigarette in their mouths the whole time. And without the use of hands! Just amazing!) And, I know it's not always possible to judge the intelligence of someone in the first five minutes without ever having met the person.....but when a guy who weighs about 350.....and is bald....and is wearing a shirt that says F.B.I. Female Body Inspector.....watches a less than supermodel woman walk by and says to his friend, 'Man - look at that ugly bitch'......well, I have a pretty good idea as to the level of intelligence residing there. I'm going to go out on a whim and guess that man did not ever carry a calculus book in school. Just a hunch.<br />
<br />
Man - the pickens are looking slim for my friend. At this point we're just looking for a guy....who probably has hair.......most of his teeth.......and a waist under 40 inches. Eye color is optional.<br />
<br />
I glance back at my husband - who is no longer talking about a deer lease, but is now admiring his friend's lifetime hunting and fishing license.<br />
<br />
There is no way in hell I would want to be single again. Fuck that.<br />
<br />
As I'm watching the band I start thinking back to my single days (after my divorce and before I met my present husband) and have to admit that things were bleak back then. I remember some of the bozos I dated. <br />
<br />
Let's see.....<br />
<br />
There was the douche that told me he didn't want to date anyone but wanted to be my friend and 'hang out'. 'Hanging out' involved 'hanging' at his house and eventually 'humping' at his house. Oh, I told myself that even though he didn't want a relationship he must surely care about me. I mean, he did want me to stay the night. Yes - he wouldn't let me sleep in his room in his bed; we always slept on the living room floor, but still....I knew he loved me. And I loved him in return. In fact, one day he did call me and tell me he was ready to be in a relationship......only not with me. With the other girl he had also been 'hanging out' with.<br />
<br />
Next came the guy who was from Alaska. He was in the military and had a son from a previous relationship. His friends would always tease him about how much he loved kids. I thought, 'What could be better than a guy who is also a great dad to his young son!' I'll tell you what's better. A guy who is a great dad to his young son....and a dad to another son by another ex-girlfriend that he didn't tell you about....and also a dad or rather possibly a dad (DNA results pending) to his latest ex-girlfriend who was still pregnant and due to deliver anytime. Now, being the understanding woman that I am, I forgave him for those little lies of omission. Especially after the DNA test came back and it turned out he only had two kids and not three. But I could not forgive him when he went MIA on me for a week and then called to tell me that the reason he would not return my calls was because he had woken up one morning with sores all over his junk and freaked out, thinking he had an STD. He had to go to the Dr. and get the sores swabbed and sent off. It took a week before he found out that he didn't have an STD, but did in fact have some type of skin infection. At that point he decided that since I obviously hadn't given him an STD he should give me a call and fill me in on what was going on. Oh, and could he also come over that weekend and 'hang'? Real winner there.<br />
<br />
Moving on.<br />
<br />
There was the guy who was a seemingly nice and was even going to college and trying to get into Pharmacy school. Yes, he was over 30 and still lived with his mother and her 15 cats (I counted them) but I thought he had potential. I just couldn't used to having to sneak out of his room in the morning before his mother woke up. <br />
<br />
And of course, who couldn't forget the guy that I discovered was actually my friend's ex husband. I had never met him when I was with my friend. I told him that I couldn't go out with him and that it would be best for us to not even be friends. He was persistent though and told me that his ex was crazy and that eventually she would go crazy in front of me and then I would know she was nuts and would not want to hang out with her anymore. He said when that happened he would be waiting for me. Yeah....um....okay. You want to know what happened with that guy?<br />
<br />
I married him.<br />
<br />
But that's a crazy story for another time that deserves a lot more explanation.<br />
<br />
Poor Anastasia. Her dating pool freakin sucks.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of the night I started to notice the drummer of the band. What I noticed first was that he was drinking water the whole night. The other guys in the band would do a shot with the crowd every now and then, but the drummer just kept on drinking his water. I like things that are not easily predicted. He also had a great smile - with great teeth. His mother spent thousands of dollars on that smile, I can tell you that. He just had a really friendly approachable look about him and kind of resembled Ryan Reynolds. I pointed him out to Anastasia. "That is your man." I said. "You should buy him a drink after the show."<br />
<br />
During the last song of their set, Anastasia and I got up and stood in front of the band - dancing and swaying along. There was some pretty significant eye contact made between my friend and the drummer. She was looking, he was noticing.....he was smiling back, she was flirting. So far so good.<br />
<br />
The set ended.<br />
<br />
This drummer got up and walked right up to my friend and started talking to her; just like that. I turned my attention elsewhere, but kept one eye on their conversation. <br />
<br />
Now - having only one ear on their conversation....and that ear being slightly deaf from listening to loud psuedo-Pantera all night, I thought I had to be mistaken when I heard Drummer Boy say:<br />
<br />
"If you really liked the show, you'll show me your boob."<br />
<br />
WTF!<br />
<br />
No - I really couldn't have heard that. What he probably said was, 'If you really liked the show, recommend us on YouTube.'<br />
<br />
I look at Anastasia and she gave a laugh and tried to brush the comment aside but I could tell she was thinking, 'He wants to see my boob; I just met him. Is this how things are done now? Is showing one boob acceptable, but showing both boobs slutty? Wait - did I even hear him right? Should I clarify that we are in fact discussing my boobs and if we are, does he have a preference on which boob?' Do I slap his face or grab it and motorboat him?'<br />
<br />
She ended up laughing like he was being sarcastic and pulled her dress strap down on her shoulder just barely to show she was playing along. Both boobs firmly contained and a possible misunderstanding avoided. They continued their conversation and I wandered over to my husband to tell him that I either wanted to go get some fries with mustard or go home and have sex. Either one was fine with me. I walked back over to Anastasia to let her know we were leaving and hear Drummer Boy say:<br />
<br />
"You know what's really hot? When two girls kiss." (Looking back and forth between me and Anastasia.)<br />
<br />
WTF!<br />
<br />
Now, I have no doubt what he said this time.<br />
<br />
I look at Anastasia and she gave a laugh and tried to brush the comment aside but I could tell she was thinking, 'Two women kissing; is he sharing his opinion or making a request? Does he think I'm a lesbian? Is it because I didn't show him a boob; maybe he throws this out there to see which way I swing? Wait - did he specifically mean my friend or just me and some other girl in general? Should I clarify that and ask him if he has someone else in mind?'<br />
<br />
She ended up having to do nothing - because right after that a girl walked up to him and made a point of asking him (right in front of us):<br />
<br />
"Hey! I didn't even get a chance to say hi to you. Where is Tisla at?"<br />
<br />
To which Drummer Boy replied:<br />
<br />
"Oh, she's at home with the kids."<br />
<br />
To which Anastasia and I turned right around and left.<br />
<br />
I just could not believe that guy! I felt so sorry for poor Tisla waiting at home...with the kids.<br />
<br />
On the way home, I told my husband what had happened. My husband just couldn't understand why Anastasia kept meeting losers. Anastasia is smart, funny, pretty, has a great job and a great pair of boobs. All the single guys that me and my husband know are unemployed couch potatoes who still live at home with either their parents or no less than four roomates and are always getting their cell phones turned off. And it's not just the guys you meet in bars. Out of all the idiots I dated when I was single, only one I met at a bar. Losers are everywhere.<br />
<br />
And that's when it hit me.<br />
<br />
There is no rare vintage piece out there. They're all gone. All that's left are orthopedic shoes. The good ones really are taken. I am so glad I manged to find my husband. (Ironically - he really was the good thing that his ex threw out. True - she didn't exactly offer him to me after she decided she didn't want him....but I didn't exactly rifle him out of her garbage either. I prefer to think of it like his ex and I went to a rummage sale together and I found him. How was I supposed to know she was the one who donated him?)<br />
<br />
But, like I said, I am lucky to have my husband. I can't imagine being single and trying to date now.<br />
<br />
Shooot - I'd Rather Be A Lesbian.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-47407663774690517492012-06-06T10:49:00.002-07:002012-06-06T10:49:59.003-07:00Boudoir Shoot 2012<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, I'm a litte late with this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunday, May 6<sup>th</sup>, 2012 was my first boudoir shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been preparing for this for the last few months. The photographer who did my shoot was <a href="http://www.intimateportraitsbyjoanne.com/">Joanne Olsen</a>. (Shameless plug) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the day that I committed to doing to the shoot, I weighed 169.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the day of the shoot I weighed 143.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although that is not my ultimate goal weight, it did give me the confidence to go forward with the shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I approached this shoot like I did my wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made hair appointments and spray tan appointments, manicures and eyebrow waxings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even made a playlist of sexy music that I put on my I-Phone to take with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Scratch that – I didn’t approach this like my wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I approached this like any girl does before she goes on a date with a guy and knows that night is going to be the night that they have sex for the first time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shaved legs – check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaved pits – check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaved lady business – check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My photo shoot wasn’t until 5:30pm and my hair appointment wasn’t until 4:00pm, so that gave me the whole morning and afternoon to just be the mommy that I am; cleaning up the house, doing laundry for the upcoming week……things like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around 2:45pm, I hit the play button on my playlist and stepped into the shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I washed all the ‘mommy smell’ off of me when ‘Dirty’ by Christina Aguilara came blasting on my I-Phone, I came busting out of the shower…….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">”let’s get dirty; it’s about time for my arrival.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew I was going straight from getting my hair styled to the shoot, so I knew I would have to take my outfit and all of my other things with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For funzy, I decided after I did my makeup, I would put on my outfit, chicken cutlets, and hooker heels and see how I looked (sans hair fixed).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My outfit by the way was a baby doll-looking thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was sheer white with the tiniest ruffle at the bottom, covered by a layer of white silk, and then covered by black lace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the middle of my cleavage was a teeny, tiny white bow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was pretty and sexy and showed off just enough while covering up just enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was perfect.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am so glad that I did put everything on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that I needed to do some minor adjustments, tweaking here and there – and then I was glad that I didn’t discover all of this when I was at the shoot and didn’t have anything handy to tweak or adjust with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paused as I was going to take everything off and wondered if I should just leave everything on and just put a cover up on over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, it took me a while to get everything situated just right and it was as perfect as I could get it; why chance having to do it again at the shoot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked in my full-length mirror as I was pondering this and standing there 26lbs lighter, tan, and appearing to have monstrous cleavage, I decided that I really just did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> want to take it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, I was so proud of how I looked, I seriously would have strutted myself on down to the club just like that – if showing bare ass cheeks was something you would not be arrested for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, decision made, I went into my closet for a cover up and about the only thing I could find that would not totally wrinkle or runch my ensemble was this short, blue cotton robe that I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put it on and rolled up the sleeves and tied it at the side and it actually looked like a wrap dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outfit on and ready to go – check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I headed to my friend’s house (who is also a hair dresser) to have her do my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had told her to make my hair look like I had just spent an evening with the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (see the 1<sup>st</sup> season, episodes 1 & 2 – I highly recommend it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we’re talking as she’s curling and scrunching and spraying and I couldn’t really tell how it was going to look, but I just hoped that her definition of ‘sex hair’ was not the same as my definition of ‘hung over – slept with my head smashed up against a wall after skinny dipping in the lake hair’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, she finishes and I go to look in her full-length mirror and thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Ok – that’s it; I am going to strut myself on down to the club just like this – I don’t care if showing bare ass cheeks is something you can be arrested for.’</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked H-O-T.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hair styled – check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Off in my mini-van (I’m so caught up in all of this, I almost wished I had rented a flashy sports car), I go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, again, turn on my sexy playlist and head to the shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At every light or every car I pass, I smile to myself and wonder what their expression would be if I just ditched the robe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost felt like I was sneaking over to a lover’s house (I DON’T HAVE A LOVER) and surprising him with the ole ‘nothing underneath the trench coat’ routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pour Some Sugar On Me” came on my playlist and I laughed out loud at the irony of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I AM MY SEX DRIVE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SERIOUSLY! (*See my post, ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A light caught my attention and I notice that my gas light has come on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that’s a little awkward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point, I’m going to have to get out and get gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess the next time I decide to drive across town in lingerie, I need to make sure I have a full tank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then another thought comes to me as I remember that my tag on my van is actually expired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It expired a few days ago and I just hadn’t made it to the tag agency yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh goodie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had joked in a previous post about getting pulled over on the way to the shoot half naked, but that was in reference to getting drunk before the photo shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t really intending on getting pulled over half naked because of an expired tag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t ask me why, but for some reason having an expired tag seems a little white trash to me; I know, I don’t get it either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I’m going to be pulled over, driving a mini-van, because I have an expired tag…..and I will be half naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CALASSSY!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wearing this outfit to the shoot was a bad idea…….or was it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting pulled over while looking totally hot, flirting with the cop while showing him small glimpses of cleavage, and getting to cross that off my bucket list – check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do stop to get gas (which the gas station was deserted) and arrive at my shoot, which was actually taking place at a hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I strut right into that lobby, wearing a short robe, sex hair, and 6 inch come-fuck-me-heels……. and carrying no luggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look like a hooker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was straight out of ‘Pretty Woman’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the elevator I picture walking into the room – where there is a smoke machine and wind machine going – and I throw off my robe, hop up on the bed and boom; I’m already in the perfect pose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lights are low and all the other girls who did their shoots are there (standing around naked) and everyone is drinking champagne and the photographer says, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Oh, there’s been a change of plans; I decided that the shoot needed a little something, so I brought a friend.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>And out of the bathroom steps the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (see the 1st season, episodes 1 & 2 – I highly recommend it).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, let me say that I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> it was not going to be anything like that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I go into the room and the only two people there were the photographer and my friend (who organized this).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I guess there were actually 2 and ½ people there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The photographer brought her baby with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me just say I have to give that photographer/mother props.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My baby is only just a year old and I remember what it was like when I was nursing him and pretty much had to take him everywhere with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did she travel from out of town with this young baby by herself, but she also managed to do a boudoir shoot and keep an eye on her baby at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, she strapped the baby in a snuggly to her back and stood on top of the bed to shoot a photo from above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The baby never even made a peep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It totally gave me new respect for women of the bush who deliver their babies and then the very next day are out in the field shucking corn with their infants strapped to their boobs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The room is also…….very bright.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the curtains on the windows are open. (Thank God we were on the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not expecting that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have; I mean, I get that you have to have light to take pictures and natural light is the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I couldn’t help but think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘I do not believe that I should be wearing lingerie with this much light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even have sex with my husband with this much light.’</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to feel a little less confident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not just throw off my robe as I had intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waited until I was already on the bed and the photographer was ready to start shooting before I shyly peeled it off and tossed it in the corner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yep – this reminded me exactly of how it was when I would go on a date with a guy and knew that night was going to be the night that we had sex for the first time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wondering if your weird moles are noticeable – check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wanting to hide under the covers – check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Feeling awkward – check, check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The photographer and my friend saved the day though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just kept talking to me like we were just hanging out – like I wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed caressing my own boob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also told me exactly how to pose – I didn’t have to wing it or anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason, I had it in my head that the photographer was going to say something like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Ok, show me what you got – come on, work it, work it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, give me sexy…..you’ve just came home from work and feeling naughty – very naughty.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>It was all very matter-of-fact though, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Ok, scoot down here – closer to the edge, bring your knees here, and smile.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Kind of like the gynecologist – well, except for the ‘smile’ part.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The photographer did one other thing that helped me tremendously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the first shot I took that was pretty good – she showed it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t believe that was me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was all I needed for my confidence to come back in full force and to start really getting into it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I knew it – the shoot was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so much fun.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I strutted right back through that lobby, wearing a short robe, sex hair, and 6 inch come-fuck-me-heels…….exactly one hour after I had arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front desk clerk had no doubts that I was a hooker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was straight out of ‘Pretty Woman’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was on such a high that the whole drive home, I just couldn’t wait to walk into my house and pounce on my hubby.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course when I walked into my house, the only pouncing was done by my four kids – all jumping on me at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then after they had all gone to bed, my husband had to go to work. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sigh.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh well, another night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sitting on your couch –all four kids asleep – with the TV completely to yourself and watching the Dothraki Lord from Game of Thrones (the 1st season, episodes 1 & 2)……..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Check, check.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-50068001340647907542012-05-06T09:08:00.000-07:002012-05-10T10:57:18.994-07:00Others who are in da mooodI just wanted to add a little something to my previous post.....<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While I was thinking of my playlist and what would be on it, I sought out the help of some friends who I knew would also have some good suggestions and who I also knew would not be surprised or bothered by my imagined video montages. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First, I inquired of my friend, Sasha (*see my post, 'You Got Toilet Paper Down There'), what her sexual playlist is. As most of my songs were also some of her songs, she did have a few goodies to add.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Crazy Bitch</b> (Buck Cherry) - This is totally a 'Sasha' song. Sasha is neither crazy, nor a bitch (well, not unless she purposely wants to be; like most women), but......I would venture to say that some of her lovers have woken up after a night with her - hungover, clothes half-ripped off, covered in love bites/scratches......still tied to their beds, and thought, "OMG - did I dream that?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Get Off</b> (Prince) - '23 positions in a one night stand'......'let a man be a woman and a woman be a man'....</div>
<div>
Enough said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>You can Leave Your Hat On</b> (Joe Cocker) - I actually share a fond memory of this song with Sasha. It was the night I met 'ET man' (*See previous post about the ET song by Katy Perry). Any ways, we had met him and his friends at a bar and after closing time, everyone went back to someone's house to continue the party. Sasha turned on the stereo that was in the living room and that song was on. Since we like this song, we started being kind of silly and dancing and acting like we were really holding a hat and putting it on.....(ladies, you know what I'm talking about). Now, we weren't like doing a full on production of this or anything; just a few little moves - just being silly - and really not thinking anyone was even paying attention. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Wrong. It was like a roomful of crickets.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We look around and all these guys (who just seconds ago were drinking and burping and trying to decide who did in fact have the biggest johnson) are just staring at us.....saying nothing......like they thought that at any moment we might really start taking everything off. It was like they couldn't believe their luck and didn't want to say anything and jinx it. It was funny and a little uncomfortable actually.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Put Your Hands On Me</b> (Joss Stone) - this is what Sasha is rocking to at the moment. She is recently single and currently in the process of reconnecting with an old flame. I told her I want a full report later.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next, my friend - who is also the photographer of the upcoming booty shoot- sent me her list. And she had some really, really good ones that I had forgotten all about. Some them were:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Crash </b>(Dave Matthews)</div>
<div>
<b>Closer</b> (Nine Inch Nails)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Wicked Games</b> (Chris Issak) - Man - oh - holy - hell, if you ever seen the video to this than you can totally understand why I'm not sure who I'm more attracted to; Chris Issak or Helena Christensen. Or......maybe both at the same time?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Crazy</b> (Aerosmith) - For this song, my friend (the photographer) said this: </div>
<div>
<i>"I can't listen to Steven Tyler's twangy "c'mere baby" without picturing myself strutting across a room in a trench coat, with nothing underneath. And then I put myself in that Liv Tyler/Alicia Silverstone set up, where Liv is dancing around a stripper pole. I was, so early junior high, but I STILL remember that video and it's first in my mind when I think of a sexy playlist."</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Lastly, my friend, "Anastasia" gave me "<b>T-Shirt and My Panties On</b>" by Adina Howard. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My friend suggested this song to me over the phone. She suggested it to me over the phone, while I was at work and editing a very important document for my boss. Because I am so busy and haven't a moment to spare, I wrote the name of this song down on a teeny tiny blue post-it. Guess what else I put all over teeny tiny blue post-its? Yep, all of the corrections/notes that I saw on that very important document for my boss. And guess exactly which teeny tiny blue post-it was nowhere to be found when it was time to leave (<i>after</i> I had hand delivered that document to my boss)? Yep, on that very important document - among suggestions like, <i>'need more information on supervision here'</i> and <i>'maybe take out this paragraph'</i> was Anastasia's suggestion of, <i>'T-Shirt and My Panties on'</i>. Hand-delivered to my 40-something year old male boss, who is also a physician.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I grabbed my stuff and was prepared to actually tackle my boss to the floor so I could get the document back and remove the post-it. Luckily right before I clothes-lined him, a tiny scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. It was in fact the very blue post-it I was looking for. I had forgotten that I had put in on the back of my phone - so I knew I would be sure to take it home. <i>Phew!!!!!!</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Who knew making a playlist could be so dangerous?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wasn't really worried that if my boss had seen the post-it that I would be fired. In fact, I could probably tell my boss exactly why I wrote that down and he wouldn't be mad. Embarrassed definitely, but not mad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I guess what I was really worried about is that he would ask to see my playlist and then say something like, <i>"Yeah, those are all good songs, but have you thought about these........."</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Wish me luck today! </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-47614043414300622812012-05-06T07:11:00.000-07:002012-05-06T09:08:27.644-07:00But first, we got to create da mooood – Sebastian, Little Mermaid<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, today is my much anticipated photographical debut (A.K.A – The Booty Shoot).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve just about lost the almost 30lbs I gained with Moose (but still have 20 or so to go after that). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was suggested to me that drinking some wine at the shoot might help to loosen me up and allow me to get more into the spirit of things.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyone who knows me, knows that I am extremely tightly-wound little person.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t think my ass cheeks are ever unclenched.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was that way when I was a little girl and the only thing that has changed over the years is that – thanks to the many traumatic experiences people usually go through in life – I went from being a serious, slightly sensitive little girl to the neurotic, hyper vigilant, hypochondriac I am today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – I guess what I’m saying is that it is probably a freaking great idea that I drink today. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But true to form, I am even obsessing over that part just a little. It’s timing really. I mean, I don’t want to start drinking while I’m getting ready for the shoot, like while I’m still at home. If I did that, I might not even make it to the shoot. I would find myself sitting on my couch watching re-runs of the ‘Golden Girls’ on TV – crying about how I use to watch this show with my grandma (who’s dead now), smashed, and wearing a thong teddy. Did I mention today is Sunday? And my shoot is in the afternoon? Yeah, that would look real good when my kid’s grandparents bring them home from church. Besides, I’m having my hair and makeup done this morning, before I even go to the shoot. So, think of all the places my drunk ass would have to remember to go, not to mention that I am an upstanding citizen and would find it completely unforgivable to get pulled over for something like this. I mean, getting a DUI when you’ve been out at the club with your girls is one thing, but I just will not tolerate getting a DUI on a Sunday, while driving to a hotel room so me and several other girls can take nude photos. I do have some principles people!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – drinking before the shoot is a no-go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suppose I could take a bottle of wine and drink <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> I get to the shoot, while the other girls are getting their pics taken. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Except…….I know that waiting for my turn and seeing the other women do their sessions will probably make me even more nervous…….which will then lead me to probably drinking more than I would normally…….which will then lead to me probably being more drunk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – yes, while I would probably end up just throwing myself naked on the bed, or on the chair, or on any other immoveable object – I would also probably end up strutting my drunk, naked ass out to my mini-van when it’s time to go home. Not to mention that I am an upstanding citizen and would find it completely unforgiveable to get pulled over for something like this. I mean, getting a DUI when you’ve been at a hotel room with several other girls having nude photos taken is one thing, but I just will not tolerate getting a DUI on a Sunday, while driving naked. I do have some principles people!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok – so maybe drinking period for this event is a no-go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was also suggested to me that bringing along some inspirational music (sexy jams, not freakin Amy Grant) might also help to relax me. Ok – so I could do a playlist of sexy music; no problem. I could listen to it while I’m getting ready, on the way, during the shoot – the possibilities are endless. And really, what’s the worst that could happen with that? I might leave the house really believing that I did in fact bring Sexy Back?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – sexy playlist it is!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, on to the list.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Ok – so up front, I’m just going to put it right out there that I am that weird girl who has a video montage playing in my head every time I hear a song I like. Judge me or not; I don’t care.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sexy Back</b> (Justin Temberlake) - (might as well start there) – This came out when I was about 25ish. This was one of the few songs that I loved immediately the first time I heard it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every time I listened to it, I would picture myself at a club. Only, in my scenario this particular club featured a group of well-trained, hot dancers (think Pussy Cat Dolls) who come out every so often and do a choreographed dance routine for the club patrons. I, of course, was one of the dancers. To add more to the plot, when I would run out onto the dance floor, I would discover that among the crowd was one of my exes. (At that time, it was this guy who had jerked me around for a few months. He would tell me he didn’t want any kind of relationship; that he just wanted to be friends and ‘hang out’. Except – guess what else he wanted to ‘hang out’? He just wanted me to be his FB (F-ck Buddy) and then one day he told me that he was ready for a relationship……with some other girl.) So, this douche would be in the crowd at my imaginary bar where I was an imaginary dancer with this imaginary dance troupe. He wouldn’t see me right when I came out or maybe he didn’t recognize me because I looked so hot; so un-like anything I’ve ever looked like. At this particular part in the music – right at the crescendo – I would find myself dancing right in front of him and would stare him straight in his eyes and just blow him over with my overwhelming hotness and confidence. Of course he would recognize me and his eyes would pop out of his head. His friends would ogle me and tell him what a fool he was – even though he already knew he was a fool.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ahh – I loved that song. I loved that montage. That was when I had just separated from my first husband and had lost all of my married/baby weight. I was able to take care of myself and my two kids completely on my own and hadn’t felt that good about myself in a long time. So – essentially, I was bringing ‘Sexy Back’; not just in my mind, but in my real life as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Buttons </b>(PCD) – this song is also a fav of my friend, Sasha. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The scene for this song is pretty much the same one I have with Sexy Back – even more so, because the PCDs are a hot dance troupe. And I totally look like the Nicole Scherzinger. (Hey, it’s my fantasy.) Sometimes with this song, instead of being part of a troupe at a club, I’m a stripper. But not like that’s my usual profession – more like I’m there for amateur night and my friends have dared me to. And then said ex-douche is sitting in pervert row. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I Want Your Sex</b> (George Michaels) – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with this one, I’m a good girl. Not good girl – like virgin good, but more like I’m unaware of how hot I really am. (Again, MY fantasy; quit rolling your eyes.) Some really suave – out of my league (Eric Northman from TrueBlood) guy is trying his best to convince me that even though he’s a total player, I’m the only woman he could ever want. The man changes from time to time depending on who my celebrity crush is at the moment.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m kind of thinking I should write trashy romance novels or something……any way, moving on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Feeling Love </b>(Paula Cole) – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this isn’t a really well known song; unless of course you’re a Lilith Fair fan. It’s from the ‘City of Angels’ soundtrack and it’s the song that’s being played in the movie when Meg Ryan is taking a hot, steamy bubble bath while drinking a beer. Nicholas Cage is in the room watching her (which she doesn’t know) and he is almost in agony with watching her. At one point, I think he even has to turn his head; he just can’t stand it. I didn’t have to go really too far with that one. Sometimes I use that same scenario – only instead of an angel in my bathroom, it’s the lawn service guy who’s in the background mowing my grass and notices that he can see in my bathroom window. If I was in a relationship, than that was the song I would use to do my imaginary strip routine for my boyfriend. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Darling Nikki</b> (Prince or the Foo Fighters) – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">either version is awesome. This song I use in several of the above fantasies. Instead of there being an ex-douche though, it’s always a guy that knows me but doesn’t really pay much attention to me. So, he is completely shocked to find this straight-laced executress sliding down a poll in a G-string. And since strippers generally don’t look at anyone in particular while they’re dancing, the guy assumes that I don’t notice him. I don’t make eye contact to the very last part of the song where it says, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“thank you for a funky time; call me up whenever you want to grind.”</b> Good stuff.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ET; Extra Terrestrial </b>(Katy Perry) – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this is my most recent one. Another one that I loved right when I heard it. This montage is almost funny; I hesitate to even write it. But, basically it’s Halloween and I’m at a club and it’s the first time I’ve been out since losing all of my weight and having my boob job and tummy tuck (my 5 year plan). Incredibly my hair is also down to my waist somehow. So, it’s Halloween and since this is my first ‘hot’ Halloween in many years, I decide to dress my sexiest. And probably because of the video for this song, I’m dressed like a sexy alien. (Laugh if you want, but Katy Perry is every bit a totally sexy alien in that video). So, there I am – walking through the club – and even though everyone is staring at me, I only notice this one guy sitting at a table. He is talking to his friends and hasn’t even looked my way yet. This guy is also one of my exes. Only he definitely wasn’t a douche. He was ‘the one that got away’. I was crazy about this guy and at the time he was perfect for me. But, we wanted different things and I knew that in the end he would break my heart and so I broke it off….and the very next guy I dated was my husband. I wasn’t with that guy long enough for us to have any serious problems due to our differences so, when we broke up, we had essentially never had an argument, disagreement, differing of opinion, nada. When I left, it/he was perfect. It’s an unrequited love type thing. So, there is Mr. Unrequited at the table with his friends when I walk right up to him. Of course he is shocked and we both just stare at each and it’s like five years ago. Like, we had never been apart. I guess this is more of a romantic nature. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me stop right now and say that I know in my head that had we stayed together, I would not think this way about him. He was not my one great love or my ‘Mr. Big’. It was just simply the fact that we did not stay together long enough for the flame to burn out. Assuredly, it would have. And if I had stayed with him, I wouldn’t have met my husband – who is my one great love……….anyway, moving on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, those are the songs that come to mind when I think of a sexy playlist. There are other honorable mentions for sure:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dirty (Christian Aguilera)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bad Things (Jace Everett)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Feel like Making Love to You (Bad Company)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Southside (Gwen Stefani)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ooh, Ahh (Boys to Men – yes that is hella old school, but I still find that song damn hot!)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to Sex You Up (Color Me Badd – while we’re going there.)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pussy Control (Prince)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rag Doll (Aerosmith)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Criminal (Fiona Apple)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pour Some Sugar on Me (Def Leopard)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hmmmm, I’m sure there’s others; they’ll come to me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phew, Ok – I’m definitely ready for my photo shoot now! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well…….maybe not quite ready, but I do know that I’m ready to go find my husband and inform him that I did, in fact, ‘Bring Sexy Back’. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-84013329646519976012012-05-01T23:37:00.001-07:002012-05-01T23:37:15.922-07:00The Day The Moose Was BornI cannot believe that in 30 minutes my little baby will be 1 year old!<br />
<br />
Seems like yesterday.<br />
<br />
I had the worst pregnancy with Moose. I don't do pregnancy well anyways, but this pregnancy was just awful! Without giving a complete medical history of myself, the following is a list of the various ailments that plagued me for the ENTIRE nine months that I gestated the Moose.<br />
<br />
Hives (due to the fact I was told my baby might not have a head)<br />
Severe Hypotension (low blood pressure)<br />
Fainting (due to the low blood pressure)<br />
Pregnancy-induced Tachycardia (high heart rate)<br />
<br />
I guess I should explain the 'baby not having a head part'.<br />
<br />
When I was around 17 weeks pregnant or so, I had the ole Quad Test. Blood was taken from my arm and tested for several things, one of which was AFP (Alpha Fetal Protein). This is the test that usually gives a woman her personal odds of her baby having Down Syndrome or some other abnormality. I had this test with both of my other children so when they asked me if I wanted it with Moose, I looked up from the bag of Sea Salt and Vinegar Chips that I was stuffing my face with and said, "Sure - oh, and could the Dr. sign this parking permit pass for my work? I'm trying to get the parking office to let me park closer to the entrance of my building."<br />
<br />
So a week or so goes by and I completely forgot about the test. I was scheduled to have my Anatomy Ultrasound (the big ultrasound) that next week, so when my Dr.'s number showed up on my phone on that particular day, I thought it was a reminder call for my next appointment.<br />
<br />
Wrong.<br />
<br />
Turns out that my test results came back and while I had like a one in a billion chance of the baby having Down Syndrome, I had like a 1 in 6 chance that it didn't have a head. (Or Spina Bifida or another neural tube defect) That is not the best news to receive as you are about to merge onto the highway at 70 mph as you drive home from work. I became hysterical and called my husband and after five minutes of him saying, "Okay, slow down - now what happened to your head?", I was finally able to convey to him that my head was not the head in question, but our precious baby's. To which he replied, "Where did it go? It was there at your last ultrasound." <br />
<br />
I must point out that my husband is one of those individuals who's thoughts run in a logical-only kind of way. He doesn't express a whole lot of emotion, except when it involves the wasting of food or money. So, again - after five minutes of me telling him everything that the Dr. had told me - he said, "Umm, so how does that happen; that a baby wouldn't have a head? How would that test know that exactly?"<br />
<br />
So, I let my husband go and called my mother who gave the appropriate response. <br />
<br />
The Dr. moved my ultrasound up to the day after the next and as it turns out, it takes exactly that long for my brain to effectively convince my body that the best way to deal with this situation is to have a ginormous allergic reaction - complete with hives.<br />
<br />
Two days later, I sat - itching - in a room with my husband, both of our mother's, the Genetics Dr., and a poor medical student who kept offering me something to drink. (I think so he could leave the room.) Now, don't ask me why, but before we could have our ultrasound we had to sit down with this Dr. and go over our family histories, our medical histories, our mothers' families histories.......a lot of history. After an hour, the Dr. then proceeds to draw us a diagram.....showing us that there is nothing on either side of our trees to explain why our baby might be missing its head. Both family trees - all heads accounted for. <br />
<br />
Well that was helpful; I mean, I never knew that my mother's mother had a tilted uterus before. Good stuff to know.<br />
<br />
Into the ultrasound room we go and as I climb into the chair thing, the Dr. starts to leave the room and says, "Ok, so the tech will do the ultrasound and then afterward, I will come in here and let you know what I see and if there is anything wrong." Well I would hope that even <i>I</i> would be able to see or rather not see a head. Does he really need to confirm that? But, it could also be a number of other things and there is no way I was going to go through the whole ultrasound and <i>then </i>have the Dr. give me bad news. I think that's pretty much word for word what I said. He decided to stay and give me a play-by-play of what he was seeing as the ultrasound was taking place. Good idea.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
The ultrasound starts and I could barely look at the screen. Luckily, Moose was in the most perfect position for the Dr. He was curled over in a ball - showing every little detail of his beautiful, perfect spine. And attached to that beautiful, perfect spine was the most beautiful, perfect head I had ever seen.<br />
<br />
The baby is perfect. <br />
<br />
Everyone was so happy and so relieved that no one even asked what gender the baby was. The tech almost even forgot to look for it. <br />
<br />
Now, I need to point out that I had 3 kids; a daughter, a son, and a step-son. So - two boys. I will not even apologize for hoping that this one as a girl. Anyone who knows my sons totally understands. I had gone to the ER when I was around 15 weeks pregnant due to some stomach pain I was having. The ER Dr. gave me a quick ultrasound just to make sure the baby was doing ok and after begging him for ten minutes, he looked at my baby's junk and said, "Yep, it's a Girl; I see the 'hamburger'." I had been beyond thrilled, crying tears of joy. My husband's reaction was to say, "Why did he say hamburger? I've never heard it called that. Wouldn't taco have been more accurate; I mean, I've heard it called that before." He also said that he didn't believe the ER Dr. My husband told me that this baby was going to be a boy and he wouldn't believe otherwise until my OB-GYN told him so.<br />
<br />
He cursed me.<br />
<br />
Flash forward to that day in that ultrasound room and when the tech said, "Oh - I almost forgot, do you want to know the sex?", I said, "Sure - oh, and can I sit up a little bit; my blood pressure is a little too low and I'm feeling faint." <br />
<br />
She said, "Here we are." I look up and all I see is this big baby penis on the ultrasound screen. I totally forgot that I should be beyond grateful that my baby didn't lose its head and was - instead - beyond shocked that it had grown a penis instead. <br />
<br />
Everyone is laughing and crying (tears of happiness and relief) and congratulating me and my hubby and my reaction was, "How did he grow a penis? He didn't have one a couple of weeks ago? Does that happen very often?" I just refused to believe that I was going to have 3! boys. I was in such disbelief that for weeks afterward, I was convinced that my baby was actually a hermaphrodite -which accounted for the 'hamburger' that I swore had been there.<br />
<br />
My Dr. determined or rather declared that since the baby was structurally fine, than my placenta must not be and that I should have monthly ultrasounds to make sure that he was growing appropriately. <br />
<br />
That turned out not to be a problem, as Moose grew so well that eventually he was measuring a week or more ahead. He became, 'the big guy' instead of 'the little man' and finally became, 'The Moose'. I knew the Dr.'s were even taking note because at my very last ultrasound (before he was born), the Dr. actually checked my C-Section scar just to make sure 'it was holding up'.<br />
<br />
About ten days out from my scheduled C-Section, I started having contractions. They would start and stop, start and stop. And they were really painful. I decided that at my next Dr.'s appointment I would ask my Dr. about it. That Monday, I lay back on the exam table and before I could ask her if she thought it was contractions that were causing my pain, she dispelled that by telling me that my uterus was in danger of erupting and I needed to go straight to the hospital. I frantically started calling everyone including my husband who had actually just went to sleep. (He works graveyard.) So, after five minutes of me calling him over and over again, he finally answers the phone and then proceeds to say, "Huh.....oh......yeah, I'm awake.....ok, well call me if they keep you.....night." I had to call him back again and spend five more minutes making sure he really was awake and reminding him to make arrangements for the dogs. After which, I hung up with him and a short while later, my mother-in-law called me and said, "'T' called me - now, what's wrong with your dogs?"<br />
<br />
Exactly 1.5 hours later - from the time I walked into my Dr.'s appointment - I was laying in a hospital bed, my whole family was crowded into the tiny triage area and my Dr. was gowned and masked. We were excited, anxious, and..........still waiting on my husband to arrive.<br />
<br />
He finally strolls in and leisurely begins to put our bags down and hug various family members. My Dr. is standing in the doorway to the triage room - tapping her bootie-covered foot. It's time to go.<br />
<br />
Exactly 2 hours later - from the time I walked into my Dr.'s appointment - 'The Moose' came into this world. May 2, 2011. Ironically, the Moose was not a moose at all; weighing 6lbs. 13oz and only 20 inches long. My smallest baby by far. We decided to call him Moose any ways. His birth turned out to be just as troublesome as my pregnancy. He ended up with PPHN (look it up) and had to spend a week in the NICU. Moose ended up coming home on me and my husband's 2nd wedding anniversary.<br />
<br />
I cannot believe that was a year ago.<br />
I cannot believe how lucky and blessed I am that he did in fact have a head.<br />
I cannot believe I ever thought he was a hermaphrodite.<br />
I cannot believe I thought I wanted a girl.<br />
<br />
But mainly - even with him being my fourth child - I cannot believe how much I love that little Moose.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Baby Boy! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i> </i>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-64494322088191613522012-04-23T07:18:00.001-07:002012-04-27T12:21:21.088-07:00Wimpy White Boy Disease - Pt 2<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many people got in contact with me after my last post regarding Wimpy White Boy Disease and I was just amazed at how many women are suffering in silence – living with an affected husband and affected sons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never realized before the magnitude of shame and the isolation that these women have – believing there is nothing they can do or no one they can talk to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found that most women didn’t even realize that WWBD is an actual condition; they just thought they’d married lazy assholes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my last post – I gave the clinical diagnosis of WWBD, the symptoms and examples of the disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I clearly see there is a need to provide some more education on the subject, I have included the below:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">WWBD</b>; Currently, there is not a cure and the method of treatment is largely based on the male’s age and the severity of the symptoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because the patient is unable to recognize the disease in himself or any other white male, there is not a decrease in the quality of life and therefore treatment is aimed at helping the other female members of the family cope with the many difficulties of this disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one exception to this is when the onset occurs at birth – where the symptoms are exclusively medical in nature – and do require medical intervention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This is not to be confused with other diagnoses that can afflict neonate males, such as pre-maturity; WWBD can only be diagnosed if the infant is a white male, 37-40 weeks of gestational age and does not have any other medical conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*See my last post regarding this.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Methods of treatment can include but are not limited to:</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moderate amounts of alcohol (studies have shown that wine seems to be the most effective)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moderate amounts of chocolate</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Retail therapy (accessing the afflicted males finances during this treatment has been shown to </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> increase </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the success rate as much as 70%; making this method the ‘Gold Star’ of </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> treatment </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">options.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anti-depressants – although this is a tricky one that can backfire on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anti-depressants affect </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> the </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘give o shit’ part of the brain and some women have reported that while they </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> did seem to notice a decrease in the give o shit of their husband’s/son’s </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> behavior, they also experienced a decrease in the give o shit for their eating </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> habits, house cleaning, and personal hygiene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The widely accepted theory that </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> antidepressants also decrease libido has been proven to be a myth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Studies </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> have shown that libido begins to decrease at the time of matrimony and is </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> absent entirely during a women’s child-bearing years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Support Groups (such as Girls Night Out) – like most support groups, this treatment is aimed at </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> bringing </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">together people who are affected by WWBD and helping to support one </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The greatest benefit of these groups is that usually the other types of </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> treatment are also included in these meetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place and time of these </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> meetings is constantly changing – to meet the needs of its members – and typically </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> rotate through: another member’s house, the mall, a spa, and a bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meetings </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> do not have to be confidential and members can associate with one another outside </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> of the meeting setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Members do not have one sponsor, but multiple sponsors </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> that they can access at any time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If left untreated, families of individuals with WWBD – most notably the mothers or wives – often develop a condition called, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">‘Bitter Woman Disease’ or BWD</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This occurs in about 90% of the women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onset of this almost always happens when the woman has a husband <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> a son(s) of her own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The period of onset is when the symptoms of this condition are the most severe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women usually do not considerate it appropriate for the children to know of their condition, but do heartily agree that their husbands should be present for all of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically, the woman has no trouble recognizing that she is afflicted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The signs to watch for in BWD include</b>:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A continuing increase in the woman’s medication – As the severity of BWD increases, the woman increases her dosage of alcohol, chocolate, and/or antidepressants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually the woman is totally dependent upon these drugs and at very lethal levels.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Compulsive Repetitive Declaration/Inquisition (CRDI) </b>– This actually evolves from the wife’s continued exposure to the husband’s/son(s)’ impaired memory function.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only does the wife have to remember most things (as she’s always had to), but if she physically is not able to do something that she remembered (like pick up a few items on her way home from work), than she also has to remember to remind her husband no less than five times that he said he would go to the store, remind him what to get at the store, and then remind him to take the list that you asked him to make so he wouldn’t forget anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the WWBD husband does not recognize that she has to do that because of his inability to, he assumes this to be an undesirable personality trait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CRDI is most often called ‘nagging’ or ‘bitching’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clinical component of it is often forgotten by women themselves, and many begin to think that it is a reflection of their true nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CRDI also occurs in a large portion of women who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do not</i> have BWD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Subtle acts of coercion/retribution – The woman has learned at this point that trying to talk to her husband about how she is feeling does not work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mistakenly, she thinks that if she can <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">show </i>him how she feels, than his behavior might change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She might withhold conversation (the silent treatment) or conveniently come home from work too late to make dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly because a WWBD male lacks the ability to process facial expressions, inflection of tone, or body language – he simply cannot interpret what these demonstrations mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And those with less severe forms of WWBD <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">might</i> be able to process those details, but will be incapable of attaching any kind of feeling to it – such as accountability, empathy, or remorse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wife will come home (late from work) and still have to make dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be 8 o’clock before the children eat (thus setting off a whole new chain of evening un-pleasantries) and she will be unable to say anything to him about it – because she remembers that she’s not speaking to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seemingly unexplained fits of rage – The rage is first directed at the husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When that doesn’t produce the desired effect, the woman with BWD will take out her frustrations on items associated with her husband and that usually does produce results (although not a desired one).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These items can include: his car (in its entirety or pieces of it), his athletic equipment, his TV…..his mother.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Outright withholding of sexual intercourse (and everything associated with it) – The BWD is tired of </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">making up excuses as to why she doesn’t want to sleep with her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Due to the ‘bitter’ nature of the disease, the woman no longer cares if she hurts her husband’s feelings and so does not tell him that she’s had uncontrollable diarrhea all day nor give in and participate; knowing that even though she will not be getting off – it will only take him exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband, who so considerately waits until his wife is done with all of her daily chores and caring of their children, (including her afflicted sons), and also seeing to his needs, will be shocked and angry when she tells him: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“No, I would not like some warm dickencider (‘dick inside her’) to drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor do I want it in any other orifice of my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Contrary to what you think, the only thing I’m thinking when I see you stretched out on the bed naked is that it’s been a while since I washed the sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while we’re having this disclosure, you might as well know that in addition to doing everything else better than you, I can also get myself off better than you can as well.”</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unfortunately, BWD is not widely accepted in the medical community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is probably due to the fact that a large majority of people in the healthcare industry are men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of giving it its proper distinction and acknowledging the causes of it, the signs and symptoms are often lumped under another medical condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women are told they are nagging, passive-aggressive, frigid bitches who drink and eat too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even sadder, is that BWD eventually progresses into its final stage, known as <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FIA (Fuck It All)</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every case is different; no two women will experience it in the exact same way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although, it uniformly happens when the BWD woman acknowledges that she can no longer take care of a husband with WWBD, the way in which the responsibility is released is unique to every woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be sudden or happen over several months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here are some reported ways in which BWD wives have experienced FIA:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Divorce</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moving out while WWBD husband is at work…….and taking everything in the house in the process</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moving out while WWBD husband is at work, taking everything in the house in the process…….and moving in with his best friend</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moving out while WWBD husband is at work, taking everything in the house in the process, and half of his 401 K…..and moving in with his best friend</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gluing of the penis to the stomach, while said man is sleeping (usually infidelity is involved)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Backing over the husband with a car…..a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(infidelity and possibly alcohol could have been involved)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Prognosis of WWBD</b>:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The outlook can be very good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if the wife of the husband with WWBD is in the end stages of FIA, remission is still possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s important for these women to realize that IT’S NOT THEM and it’s not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>their husbands’ fault either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s genetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as women accept this and focus their energy on trying to live with the disease – rather than cure it – things can improve pretty quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, understand that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">living</i> with the disease is not the same thing as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">suffering </i>from the disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although, a WWBD wife can take care of everything in her home – that doesn’t mean that she should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, it also doesn’t mean that she can expect the husband to either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just means that from time to time everyone in the house may run out of clean clothes……for a few weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Quick Tip:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If seeing laundry piling up stresses you out, then simply don’t look at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Close the laundry door and don’t come in through the garage so you don’t have to see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry; you’ll know when it’s absolutely necessary to wash some clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your children running around naked (more than they usually do) will be the sign to watch for.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WARNING:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your husband griping at you about not having any clean clothes DOES NOT count as a sign to watch for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is just one of the symptoms of the disease; the WWBD husband would gripe regardless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember you can’t cure that; treatment is aimed at helping yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, if your husband starts griping because the laundry’s not done, simply take yourself to one of your meetings or at the very least call one of your many sponsors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will need to talk with her no less than one hour and it’s best to do so in a calm, relaxing place – such as the backyard, in a lawn chair, with a cocktail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may be necessary to stay in your calming place until the WWBD flare-up has passed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Conclusion:</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As stated before, not all Caucasian males suffer from WWBD and even those that do may have a mild form of the disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, the symptoms are so mild, that wives find that the quality of their marriage is overall not affected by it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As for my personal testimony….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, my husband (and 3 out of my 3 sons) are afflicted with WWBD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With respects to my husband, I am fortunate in many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does not have a problem with cleaning or cooking – or generally sharing in most of the responsibilities of raising our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is also a very healthy individual – so I can’t even say if he would be the type to be overly dramatic about a minor ailment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I do have to say that one time I got a MRSA staph infection on my face – right between my eyes- and he wouldn’t drive me to the emergency room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me it was a big zit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom ended up having to take me and my husband was a little shocked that my ‘zit’ almost left me blind and made me stay in the hospital for a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made it up to me though by bringing my baby up to the hospital to stay with me and take care of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He knew just how much caring for an infant would help me to heal.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hubby does have a problem with multi-tasking and remembering things, but I actually happen to love organizing and planning things and being in control – so that’s not such a big deal either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For my sons, I’m still trying to gage the extent of their WWBD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My baby clearly had it at birth –but sense then, hasn’t had too many flare-ups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s only 11 months though, so it’s probably way too early to tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, my other 2 sons (who are almost the same age) both have it pretty severe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only they have completely different symptoms, so sometimes I think that is way worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t come up with some treatment suggestions for dealing with sons yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It’s not exactly like you can just tell them, “Hey – you guys are pissing me off, so I’m going to head on down to the bar to meet with my support group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will finish making dinner when I get back – if I still can.”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think some women do that – but those are also the same women who backed over their husbands with their cars….a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since WWBD males can’t recognize it in other males, my husband doesn’t understand why they’re pissing me off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll quietly whisper to them (as I storm out of the room), “Don’t mind mom; it’s just a bad time of the month right now for her; I’ll explain it when you’re older.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, I’m doing something right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though, my husband and 2 older sons aren’t quite sure <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what</i> they did; they are pretty sure they did something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even though they (mainly my husband) are even more sure that what they did do was not a big deal, sooner or later I will see two small sets of eyes peeking around my bedroom door, holding homemade cards that say things like, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sori <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>4 wat i did, mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>i luv u.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Now, my husband will say something like, “I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry; I’m not mad at you for taking it out on me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, that’s ok; I’ve learned to immediately quit listening after the word ‘sorry’ comes out<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am almost guaranteed not to like what comes after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My name is ‘S’ and my husband does have WWBD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-4127444846488435992012-04-20T14:54:00.002-07:002012-04-20T14:54:54.106-07:00My Whimpy White Boys<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday........</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The husband (who works the graveyard shift) was so tired, having only got 6.5 hours of sleep the day before, that right after dinner he went to bed and slept right up until it was time to go to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He said he was ‘making up for his lost sleep’.)</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His wife – who typically got between 4-5 hrs a sleep every night – came home from work (and had to bring work home with her from the office), had to clean up after dinner was over, had to pick up what-ever mess the children had made that day, help 3 older kids with homework and their baths, take care of the baby (who had an allergic reaction to an antibiotic a few days earlier and was covered head-to-toe in hives) and put him to bed, got things ready for the next day, and then still had to do the work she had brought home.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The husband woke up went to work.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife would have gone to bed (and would have gotten 6 hrs of sleep) but the baby woke up, screaming bloody murder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife got up and checked on the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was hungry (due to the steroids he was taking), so the wife made him a bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He finally went back to sleep.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife lay down again (and would have gotten about 5.5hrs of sleep) but the baby woke up again, about 45 minutes later.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife got up and checked on the baby. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a dirty diaper (diarrhea) due to the steroids, so the wife changed his diaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The baby also had a very bad diaper rash (from all the diarrhea) and so he screamed bloody murder again and after another 30 minutes, finally went back to sleep.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife lay down again, but before she could even figure out how much time she had to sleep, she heard her son, ‘A’ run into the bathroom and throw-up.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife got up and checked on her son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was standing in front of the toilet – with his pants off – puking into the toilet…..and shitting on the floor at the same time.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The child looked at his mother and said, “Hey – I didn’t get any throw up on the floor; I made it all in the toilet.”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ummm, that’s good”, said his mother – as she looked at the all the shit on her bathroom rug.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I did accidentally poop in my pants though”, said the child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s why I took them off.”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ummm, honey”, said his mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you know that you accidentally pooped on the floor?”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The child did not know and was surprised by this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told his mother not to worry; that he wasn’t going to put the old underwear back on and he would get some new ones from his drawer.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife told the child she was more worried about him putting on his clean underwear with poop smeared all over his butt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The son got into the tub while the mother folded up the rug – with his dirty clothes in it – and took them to the laundry room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she went back to check on her son, he was standing in the tub, filling up a cup with water and trying to toss it over his shoulder, and make it onto his butt (that he couldn’t see) and wash off the poop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother helped get the child cleaned up and he finally went back to bed.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife lay down again, but it was just to watch some TV before her alarm went off.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The husband came home from work and asked the wife how everything went the previous night.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The wife told him everything that had occurred and how she hadn’t been to sleep yet.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The husband said, “Yeah, I know what you mean; I’m tired too.”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Wimpy White Boy Disease</b> is a genetic condition that all (or most) Caucasian males are born with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Symptoms</b> - which range from mild to extreme - include inability to multi-task, hyper-sensitized to minor medical ailments but extremely desensitized to most feelings and emotions, an abnormal, continuing attachment to one’s mother (although some research suggests that this may actually be a side-effect of the disease, rather than a symptom of it), diminished memory function (both long and short term), delusions of grandeur, varying degrees of brain damage - specifically related to ‘Common Sense’ , a strong compulsion for the fecal matter of the male bovine (bullshit), and unexplained aversions to inordinate objects – such as vacuum cleaners, mops, and toilet-bowl brushes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The afflicted male may not present with all of these symptoms, although findings suggest that most do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Age of onset also varies, with some showing signs at birth and others not until their teenage years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onset almost exclusively occurs by the time puberty is reached.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Examples of WWBD include:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A husband laying in bed all week due to a cold……will still expect his wife to have completely recovered from a C-section upon being discharged from the hospital.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A WWBD husband will expect his wife to remember every birthday on his family tree and buy gifts for said birthdays – including his mother’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Mother’s Day’ present <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> then expect her to spend Mother’s Day at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i> mother’s house…….and then not even get her a card for Mother’s Day…….or have the children make her one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, that woman’s three sons wouldn’t have been capable of remembering on their own to do that for her either.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A son affected with WWBD will watch his mother take clothes out of the dryer, fold them, put them in a laundry basket and ask him to go put them away in his room (which after much reminding, he does).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later – that same day – he will watch his mother give him a single piece of clean clothing (like one pair of jeans) and ask him to go put that away in his room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That same boy will walk into his room and drop that one pair of jeans into the empty basket on his bedroom floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, he just leaves it there and sometimes, he turns right around and picks it up and puts it away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the mother asks him why he didn’t just go directly to the dresser and put the jeans away, the WWBD affected son will say, “I thought it’s supposed to go in the ‘clean clothes’ basket first”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The obvious common sense connection that a basket is mainly used when you have multiple items and that the main goal is to get the clothes in the drawers – not to make sure they hit several check points along the way – is lost on the WWBD child.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sons will also find a way to move a 6ft basket-ball goal that weighs more than they do from their driveway – halfway down the street – to their friend’s house……..and then tell their mother that it’s too hard for them to operate a broom.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A wife will ask her husband to ask the Pediatrician a certain question (when he takes their son for his check-up).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will remember to ask the question, but then can’t remember the Dr.’s answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the wife becomes frustrated with this, the husband will say, “WELL GOSH, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I MEAN, I HAD TO FEED THE BABY, I HAD TO GET THE BABY READY, I HAD TO TAKE THE BABY TO THE DR., I HAD TO REMEMBER ALL YOUR QUESTIONS, AND THEN BECAUSE I CAN’T REMEMBER EVERY LITTLE DETAIL OF THE ANSWER – YOU’RE JUMPING MY ASS!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wife will calmly point out that she does that every day when she takes the baby to daycare and that she did lay the clothes out, get the bottle ready and pack up the diaper bag for him before she left the house that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will also remind him that it was only one question that he had to remember – not several, and he didn’t forget one detail of the answer – he forgot the whole answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband will then say, “Well – the reason why I forget stuff is because I don’t bother to remember it if it isn’t important, and all the stuff you remember is the easy, non-important stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Actually, in that example you can see the diminished memory function, delusions of grandeur, and bovine fecal matter of the disease.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A true story; a married woman, with a daughter and two sons, was in the hospital – delivering her fourth child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The baby was a Caucasian male and was born at 37 weeks gestation after showing some signs of distress in the womb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was due to a physical malady of the woman, not anything relating to the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Upon birth, the infant started showing signs of respiratory distress – but for no obvious reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The physicians (males) told the woman they didn’t know what was wrong with her baby and that they were taking him to the NICU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next few days were very upsetting as none of the Dr.’s could figure out what was wrong and how to help the little guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the third day – as hope seemed to be lost – a female physician, who had just come on duty, examined the tiny baby as he struggled to breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went through his chart and all of his test results and then noticed the mother sobbing in the chair by the isolate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sympathetic Dr. asked the mother what was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mother looked at her incredulously and said, “What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My baby is sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason, he doesn’t want to breathe on his own and no one knows why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dr.’s tell me if he doesn’t improve, they might have to take drastic measures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just don’t get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did everything I was supposed to during my pregnancy, he’s only a little early, and for some reason – that little 32- weeker in the crib next to him is doing better than he is, and she will probably go home before he does.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The physician looked surprised and asked, “What do you mean, ‘they told you he was really sick and they might have to take drastic measures’?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing that is wrong with your baby is that he’s a white male and that’s not something we would correct even if we could.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother just stared at her like she was bat-shit crazy and so the physician explained further.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Your baby is suffering from WWBD – Wimpy White Boy Disease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If conception to birth was a race and at the starting line was a black female baby, an Aisan male baby, and your son – your son would be the very last one to cross the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not really sure why that is – but for some reason, white male babies seem to have more trouble than any other group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen Caucasian twins – boy/girl – and the girl will almost always do better than her brother starting out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So – at 37 weeks, most babies are perfectly ready to move out of the womb – except the Wimpy White Boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, what we’ve got to do is just support him and help him to breathe and let him know that he can do this on his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he will.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The woman nodded and decided to put her faith in what the physician said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the physician left, the woman started to notice just how true the woman’s words were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That little 32 weeker was having daily CT scans, blood draws, and even a spinal tap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was in an incubator – under a bili light – with sunglasses strapped to her head and IVs and wires poking out of her everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when someone reached in to do something else to her, she would fight back – grabbing at things and pulling things off, and she would screech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not cry – screech; like a harpy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was her war cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like she was saying, “BRING IT ON BITCHES!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NEVER SURRENDER, NEVER SURRENDER!!!!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Wimpy White Boy, on the other hand, who was undoubtedly the fattest baby in the NICU and only had the pulse-ox monitor on him, would freak the F-out whenever a nurse took his temperature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“OHMIGOD!.....(hyperventilate, sniff, sniff, choke, choke)……THERE’S SOMETHING IN MY BUTT; I’M GOING TO DIE!!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then after he calmed down from his traumatic event, he would be too tired to breathe or suck from a bottle so then they would turn his oxygen up and feed him through his feeding tube.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mother, remembering what the Dr. said about doing it on his own, looked down at her son and said, “Hey – pay attention!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you think a thermometer up your ass is the worst thing in life, you are in for a rude awakening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s immunizations, stitches, broken bones, and lots of other things for you to look forward too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to mention all the emotional boo-boos out here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what’s all this crap about not wanting to breathe or eat on your own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you with all my heart – but there is no way you’re going to move back into my womb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re born – you’re just going to have to accept that and move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you can!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, wouldn’t you know it…..that Wimpy White Boy turned a corner that very next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He started taking his temperature like a man (or I guess a woman), kept trying to pull the nasal canula out of his nose and the first time he saw his mother’s boobs – he said, ‘To hell with this feeding tube and bottle bullshit’ and was never ‘too tired’ to eat again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He improved very quickly……and he did get to go home before that 32-weeker.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As his parent’s carried him out of that NICU, the baby looked over at that baby girl and she looked at him and cried out, “NEVER SURRENDER!” </span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-36089869547227886382012-04-16T10:52:00.000-07:002012-04-16T10:52:26.053-07:00Aren't you a little too old?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, some holidays/birthdays have become a tad uncomfortable in our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘T’ and I have four kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have two – ‘D’ and ‘M’ – and ‘T’ has one – ‘A’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then he and I have one together – ‘W’ or ‘Moose’.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s an ‘yours, mine, and ours’ sort of thing going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The oldest is my daughter – who is 11 – followed by my step-son (8), my son (7 ½), and then Moose bringing up the rear at 11 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now in regards to birthdays, there seems to be a trilogy of sorts in the progression of the holidays as a child grows up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you are a young, birthdays are awesome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And why wouldn’t they be - since they are usually planned according to what the child expects from the birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as a child, you don’t even have to plan/pay for anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just show up, usually eat some food, and get to take gifts home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even when a child attends another child’s birthday party, that child usually gets to leave with a gift bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like having someone throw you a free wedding every couple of months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then double that if you have two sets of parents like my children do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no wonder why so many father-of-the-brides spend more money on their daughters’ weddings than the bride will actually spend on her first home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, your wedding can’t be less fancy than your 1<sup>st</sup> birthday party.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hey – I’m not preaching about how ‘ children’s birthday parties have become overly ridiculous’ or how we need to teach our children to be grateful for what they have….blah, blah, blah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just stating a fact; it is what it is.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then sometime in the years after being a ‘child’ and before becoming a parent, the birthdays start to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a subtle change, with slight altercations occurring year after year, until all of a sudden we’re 18 years old and realize it’s been 5-7 years since we had balloons on our birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expectation </i>doesn’t lessen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People tend to think that when a young person stops wanting to celebrate their birthday at the Skating Rink that maturation is taking place and what was once important no longer is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only things that are no longer important are piñatas and spider man cake toppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expectation </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is still there……and now, the tween/teen/young adult is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expecting</i> a ridiculous pair of jeans that cost $100.00, a brand new car, and a curfew at midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it’s a trip to Vegas (or a strip club for boys) to celebrate officially becoming a grown up…..and showing just how grown up you are by spending the better part of the night and morning puking your tequila shots up and spending every weekend thereafter in about the same fashion until your next birthday rolls around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, an interesting anomaly occurs at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Young men kind of get stuck in this phase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once they see a hooker on a pole and their reflection in a toilet bowl, they are suddenly content with life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have discovered their purpose on this earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Young ladies, on the other hand, who can see boobies anytime they want - or penises for that matter - decide that they liked it better when their parents were buying them a ridiculous pair of jeans that cost $100.00.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to convince their parents to send out invitations to everyone that says, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Guess who’s turning 23!”, </i>women lament their misery with one another and that misery happens to make its way to the ears of the 23 year old boy-man who comes up with this stroke of genius:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">BOY:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey, wait a minute – I want to see some boobs…..she has boobs……..hmmmm…….she wants some flowers delivered to her work…….and I have a phone and a credit card…… I GOT IT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so started the evolution of wives telling their husbands that they want a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, jewelry, and champagne for their birthdays…..and husbands telling their wives that what they want for theirs is a blowjob. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hey – spare me the whole, ‘that’s not what marriage should be about’, and that makes all women seem like prostitutes – exchanging material things for sex….blah, blah, blah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just stating a fact; it is what it is.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now, the child is an adult – with children of their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband no longer gives his wife anything for her birthday or any other holiday/special occasion - except for maybe a card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is because the wife quit giving the husband blow jobs right about the same time they got back from their honeymoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Funny how that happens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it wouldn’t really matter any ways because the husband’s money has to go towards the pony that his 8 year old wants and the wife is too tired from planning the horse-themed birthday party at the local equestrian club to blow her husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, again, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expectation </i>is still there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The parent’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expect </i>that the 100 balloons they bought will all manage to fit in the car and get to the venue without a single one popping or flying away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expect</i> that all 50 people they invited will show up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expect </i>that their daughter’s braided hair will stay neat for the pictures and that she won’t make a rude comment about the ugly outfit she received from her aunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The trilogy is complete.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is the same with holidays as it is birthdays.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Typically, (as parents tend to have their children within 2-5 years of one another), the children are going through this progression at about the same time, give or take a year or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re older child no longer believes in Santa Claus – that’s ok, because your youngest is only three years behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older child will only have to suffer through a few more Christmases of getting his picture taken at the mall on Santa’s lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, the older child might even enjoy waking up Christmas morning to see what Santa left him….and not having to buy into the whole bullshit of flying reindeer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is the same with the tooth fairy……and the Easter Bunny.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which brings me to this last holiday – Easter- and then to the fact that my oldest is almost 11 years older than my youngest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, my oldest probably knows there is no such thing as the Easter Bunny, or Santa or the tooth fairy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say probably because she has never outright said anything to me about it, but she’s busted me too many times on small details (the other children didn’t notice) that she just has to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, my god – she’s in fifth grade and shaves her legs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refuse to believe that this child who told me the other day that they found a condom on the playground at her school does not know that her Easter basket came from Target and not some giant, bow-tie wearing, purple rabbit that poops jellybeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(That was my son’s description)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only assume that she doesn’t say anything to me about it because she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings or ruin it for her brothers…….or……and this is the most likely explanation……not have a basket on the porch come Easter morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My two sons – 7 and 8 years old – still believe, but are definitely becoming suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ve heard rumors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There has been a heated argument on the playground at school regarding a certain jolly, bearded man…..which led to my 7 year old stamping his foot in my kitchen, demanding that I come to his school – at recess – the next day and set the record straight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think my 8 year old has decided that the probability is that these entities don’t exist, but keeps waiting for his older sister to send some confirmation regarding the matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t ask – she doesn’t tell – and the 7 year old has set his mind to catching Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, so he can make him go to his school – at recess – and set the record straight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there’s Moose, who actually watched us assemble his toy train this past Christmas Eve, because at 7 months, he was just as surprised to see it under the tree the next morning as he was that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – back to Easter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying to find stuff to put in these children’s easter baskets ranks right up there with trying to find stuff to put in their Christmas stockings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Candy is a no-brainer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, there’s the fake grass and then the fake eggs stuffed with more candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like those pre-made baskets at the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids always ooh and ah over them, but when you actually open them up, there’s not really that much in them and the toys are always cheap and crappy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, my kids (boys especially) have enough cheap crap at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I reasoned that I would give them the candy and fake eggs, and then one thing that I knew they would really like to have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my daughter, it was a new case for her I-Pod Touch and for the boys it was a new Wii game each of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assembled the baskets after they went to bed and I have to say…….they looked so sad and so bare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These baskets, with everything in them, probably cost me around $40.00 each……but still….. they just looked so sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt even worse for Moose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was his first Easter, so I did get him a small stuffed animal, but I couldn’t really give him a lot of candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His basket ended up with the stuffed animal, two little plastic toy figures, and two small nerf balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my daughter was little, I put her basket on the porch and sprinkled jelly beans all around it, leading down the steps – out into the yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put a note from the ‘Easter Bunny’ through the handle on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up extra early and got the camera ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a major event. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This year, I fell asleep on the couch and didn’t remember to put their baskets together until I got up to pee at 2 o’clock in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I had my husband go put them on the porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All four of the saddest little Easter baskets I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After he was back in bed, I peeked out the front door to see what they looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there they sat – sitting right by the pee-soaked bedding of my daughter’s Guinea Pig that she had forgotten to bring inside the last time she cleaned its cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there was my cat’s ass – sticking straight up in the air as he nosed through Moose’s basket; probably trying to decide whether or not to take a dump in the fake grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shooed him away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, then of course I worried about him shitting in the Easter baskets all night.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning, my 7 year old woke the whole house up by saying, “WHAT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ONLY GOT ONE THING IN MY BASKET!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>CANDY DOESN’T COUNT!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(We’re still working on getting his ADHD meds right.)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He actually wanted Moose’s Easter basket because it had ‘toys’ in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, then I had to take his whole basket away for his ungratefulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moose completely ignored his basket and went to go play with the dog’s water bowl instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My 8 year old piped up and said, “Hey, I know!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since ‘W’ doesn’t want his basket and ‘D’ wanted toys – give him ‘W’s’ basket and then let me have the Wii game out of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’s’ basket!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, then the 7 year old started protesting that – apparently he wanted both baskets – and then that led to a fight between the 7 and 8 year old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband just went back to bed and I came this close to yelling, “You know what!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no such thing as a damn Easter Bunny!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s right; I’m the Easter Bunny and you can bet your cotton-tailed ass that there will be no baskets next year!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, of course, things died down and we went to my husband’s parents for the first round of Easter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And wouldn’t you know it – we got all the way there and realized that we forgot the kid’s Easter baskets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children hunted eggs with Wal-Mart sacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, Moose didn’t really hunt eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one thing, I wouldn’t really let him go out into the yard because there were a lot of stickers (nice when you’re digging through the grass, huh) and he doesn’t really know how to walk in shoes very well yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put some eggs on the sidewalk for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t even notice the eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This baby, who can spot the back to one of my earrings from 20 feet away fails to see a hot pink egg 12 inches in front of his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to pick it up myself and show him how to put it in his Easter..ah, Wal-Mart sack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I led him to the next egg (a real egg) and he picked it up…..and threw it right onto the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course it cracked and he just thought that was real neat and so that’s what he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked up the eggs and smooshed them right into the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a single one made it home unscathed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told my hubby, “I think he’s a little too young for this.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then I glance up and see my older children holding their Easter…ah, Wal-Mart sacks and complaining that they had already found all the eggs and it was too easy and now they are bored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, but guess what cures boredom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trying to throw your eggs at each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my daughter is already back on her I-Pod touch, having already forgotten about her eggs.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked at my kids and said, “Are you a little too told for this?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I might as well have told them that the world was going to end tomorrow; judging by the look of horror crossing my boys’ faces.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hey – spare me the whole, ‘the problem is that your children are spoiled!’, and that children today do not know the true meaning of Easter……blah, blah, blah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just stating a fact; it is what it is.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it’s just going to get worse over the next couple of years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moose is not even a year old yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s got many years of egg hunting ahead….and unfortunately, it looks like my other two boys do as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am going to bet my cotton-tailed ass that even when the older boys do realize who the real Easter Bunny is, as long as my youngest is still getting up bright and early to get his basket off the porch, they will be as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can just imagine what I will be putting in their baskets by then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gas gift card?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A semester of college tuition?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My 8 year old’s birthday is in April and usually falls right around Easter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can just see him opening that front door on Easter -the year he turns 21- as he looks to see what the Easter bunny brought him…..and then opening that front door later that night – as he heads out to go see a hooker on a pole.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">expectation </i>will still be there.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy Easter everyone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-30187675333902000102012-04-06T10:37:00.002-07:002012-04-06T10:37:24.664-07:00She's got the look<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The weight loss is going good; I’m down about 22lbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m about 7lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight, but still have another 25lbs or so after that until I’m at my all-time weight loss goal.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The boudoir shoot is in 4 weeks and 2 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve entered the planning phase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve booked a hair appointment in the coming weeks, so my color will be at its freshest and I’ve booked some spray tanning sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have tentatively set a date to get a mani and pedi and I’ve also tentatively secured a stylist for the day of the shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s coming along nicely.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, I have yet to decide some of the most crucial aspects of the booty shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such as……what kind of pictures do I want to take?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do I want to wear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What props do I want to use?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have no freaking idea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve looked at some other boudoir portfolios online and at some magazines for some ideas, but in all honesty, I find the women in the other boudoir portfolios kind of cheesy looking and find the women in the magazines kind of unrealistic looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure that is a cause and effect type of thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other women – choosing to do a boudoir shoot – probably looked through the same magazines for inspiration and were so inspired, they thought, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hey – I can look exactly like that!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>And so said is the cause of the cheesy looking photos in the portfolios.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See what I’m saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I’m kind of stumped.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Through looking at all of these on-line boudoir portfolios, I have organized them into categories though and I think I will approach this in a scientific sort of way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that will help me make a decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not listing all the categories below…..just a couple that I have studied thoroughly so far and have formed some observations (not opinions) about.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The, ‘I’m your fantasy come true’ photos.</span></u></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These are the photos where the woman is dressed up in a costume of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might find her wearing a fireman hat and coveralls – with the suspender straps covering her bare ta-tas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also saw plenty of cowboy hats and cowboy boots – strategically covering more ta-tas and hoo-has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Now, that one made me laugh, because my son ‘D’ often goes around dressed like that.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there were army dog-tags on a chain- dangling between the pearly whites of a woman wearing nothing but a smile.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am going to assume that these photos were meant to pay homage to a special man in these women’s lives – who probably were fireman, cowboys, and military men themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or – maybe it had always been a fantasy of one man to see his wife dressed up like a fireman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which, just seems a little weird to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think I would ever have a hankering to see my husband dressed up like a ballerina or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I think it is a safe assumption to say that these costumes represent a man or a fantasy for the women wearing them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, in regards to my hubby, ‘T’…..he works on airplanes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wears regular clothes to work every day, so while I would be totally comfortable wearing jeans and a t-shirt for the photo shoot, I don’t think that’s necessarily sexy or worth wasting money on a spray tan for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I supposed I could just pose sexy on the bed, holding a match box airplane……but I would have to borrow it from one of my kids, and that makes me feel…..just plain wrong.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok- so nix on the sexy aircraft mechanic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only two hobbies ‘T’ has is hunting and making his own beer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now – there’s a thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go with the hunting theme and either cover myself head to toe in leaves and mud…..or wear nothing and get into shooting position, hosting the rifle up on my shoulder with my eye looking down the barrel and my finger on the trigger……butt ass naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or – I could take a crack at the beer making theme and drag out all of his supplies and kit (which sort of looks like a portable meth lab) and drape my body over them……or I guess I can always just focus on the beer bottles and one can always do certain things with those……hmmm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the off chance that anyone does see my photos, I don’t want to hear comments like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Ooh, yeah – I have a few photos that wish didn’t get taken either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m mean at the time – when you’re at a party and drunk off your ass - stripping down and deep-throating a beer bottle seems like harmless fun, but with everyone having cell phones with cameras these days, you just can take the chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Know what I mean.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next category.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>The, ‘Victoria’s Secret Catalogue’ photos</u>.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These are the photos where the women are wearing lingerie. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorites are when the woman is wearing lingerie from head to toe – like the whole get up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have the bustier with the garters attached to the fish net thigh highs over the itty bitty thong and of course the six-inch stilettos complete the ensemble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And about half of these women can totally pull it off and the other half…should just really pull it off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey – I know my body and its capabilities and in the shape it’s in right now, I just don’t see it surviving crotch-less panties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often wonder if these women bring someone with them when they buy lingerie and if they do – if that someone is honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would hope that before I put my goods out there in $200.00 nylon – forever recorded in photography – that one of my friends would love me enough to say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Ummmm, ‘S’…..yeah, I totally agree that red is your color…..but maybe not so much in a lace body stocking.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I’m just going to shut my mouth right now because if I were to be completely honest – I’m just jealous that these women don’t really give a shit what anyone else thinks and they feel sexy and know they are sexy…..and I am just the naysayer who will be wearing a moo-moo in my photo shoot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, aside from that…..I do have a couple of valid points about these photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you are going to wear six-inch stilettos and pose in a bed……please realize that in whatever pose you are doing, your ‘lettos’ should either be placed flat on the bed (without much weight bearing on them) or laying flush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spiked heels are not meant to support much weight on a mattress and smooshed down with your foot all bent in awkwardly (so that it gives the appearance of being an amputee) does not for a sexy picture make.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you are a tall girl (totally jealous) and so have appropriately longer feet…..please realize that wearing any kind of platform might (I said might) make your foot appear slightly bigger and if that is the case, it might not be such a good idea to allow your foot/feet to photo bomb your picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say keep those puppies somewhat to the side or behind your body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is perfectly fine to wear head to toe, neon green lingerie…..but maybe not wear neon green eye shadow too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a suggestion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And this last one is really just a personal preference of mine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I, myself, like things to be symmetrical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And I’m not just talking about boobs).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I mean, is like…..if the backdrop for said shoot is a red chaise lounge, heavily embroidered (think elegance and a seductive charm) than maybe said lingerie should be of the same quality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That might not be the right time to debut the string bikini and clear platform high heels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And…..while you’re at it – you might consider wearing very pretty, natural makeup, and very pretty, natural hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know about anybody else, but I want my photos to give the impression that I’m lounging around on my chaise, in my own home, and I absolutely wear this $300.00 silk chemise to bed every night and my hair just naturally looks like some man has been running his hands through it – as we make love, every night – on this same chaise lounge.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t want my photos to give the impression that I’m on vacation – touring Graceland or some other historic home – and I <span class="st1"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">impromptively</span></span></span><span class="st1"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">grab my husband and say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Hey – sneak over here with me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to take off my bathing suit cover and you take some pictures of me with your cell phone, while I’m straddling the ‘King’s’ blue suede sofa over here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hurry – before anyone sees us!”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Say Cheeseeeeee! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-46333482194347729232012-04-05T12:56:00.001-07:002012-04-06T07:39:06.827-07:00Every breath you take (I’ll be watching you).<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, my son ‘D’ was diagnosed with Dyslexia and ADHD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ADHD didn’t surprise me, but the Dyslexia kind of did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work in Healthcare and have all my adult life, so I am familiar with most of the aspects of both of those disorders – including treatment, therapy, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been all over the pros and the cons of what’s available…etc, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This is not a forum for your personal testimony regarding medication, parenting techniques, behavior modification, personal mantras, etc.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As for me, MYSELF, I really did not want to put ‘D’ on meds for his ADHD…..and it really had nothing to do with most of the reasons that other parents opt not to medicate their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HOWEVER, in regards to his Dyslexia, I knew that it would be harder to help him if we did not get his ADHD under control…..so long story short (without any unsolicited advice), I started ‘D’ on his new medication last night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, typically he will take his medication in the morning before he goes to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave it to him last night because if it did have any unpleasant side effects – like upset stomach, headaches, etc – I wanted him to be at home with me so I could evaluate him and be able to warn his teacher the next day on what to expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also knew that there was a possibility that it might not do anything at all….or not do anything for a week or so…..or not do what we hoped it would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew all the scenarios and that this is the trial and error period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, the mama in me wanted to be there the first time he took it….for whatever reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call me crazy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His Dr. had told me that it would probably decrease his appetite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a concern for me because ‘D’ is already a swizzle stick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s 7 ½ years old and weighs 53lbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could be in a Tim Burton movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the plan was to give the medicine to him either right as he’s eating or right afterward……and make sure we stuff as much food into him as possible.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night’s supper consisted of grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave him his pill as soon as we sat down to dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I spent the next thirty minutes trying to get a whole bowl of soup and two sandwiches down him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other kids are staring at me like, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is ‘D’ going somewhere?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he never eating again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait a minute – am I never eating again?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this a race I don’t know about?”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally ‘D’ says to me (with a whole half of a sandwich in his mouth), “MA…..I CA EA NY ORRRR!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, ‘D’ knew why he was taking his medicine, but I didn’t tell him or any of the other kids about the possible side effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If ‘D’ knew about that – than as soon as that pill would have left his throat, he would have doubled over in pain, limped back to his room and spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me that the only thing that would make him feel better would be chips and chocolate milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, the other children being envious of his new malady would have suddenly fallen ill as well and then claimed that they must also have ADHD since they all seem to be suffering the same symptoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, ‘D’ has finished his whole meal in about six minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other kids are still eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And ‘T’ and I are just sitting there, staring at ‘D’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know what I was expecting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I said, I work in healthcare – I’m familiar with all of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, there I am…..waiting for a sound like the ding of a timer to suddenly come out of ‘D’ and for him to say something like, “Attention everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My medicine has taken effect and now I would like to go calmly sit in a nice cozy corner and read ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instead, everyone is distinctly uncomfortable and the atmosphere is tense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other kids are staring at ‘T’ and me – wondering if we’ve poisoned ‘D’ or something, ‘T’ and I are staring at ‘D’ – waiting for the second coming of Christ, and ‘D’ is staring at all of us – probably wondering if we had found out about the broken Wii remote that he had hidden in the linen closet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well so after a while, ‘T’ and I realize that we might as well just let everyone go play and trust that ‘D’ will come tell us if he feels ill or……focused?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, throughout the night ‘T’ and I covertly spied on ‘D’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the kids were playing outside, I had ‘T’ go ‘clean out his truck’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reported that ‘D’ hogged the basketball and made up his own rules…..just like he always does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the kids came inside and hung out in their rooms, I went and ‘put some of their laundry away’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reported that ‘D’ kept jumping off the top bunk and pestering ‘A’……just like he always does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, ‘D’ came to me and said that everyone was being mean and not playing with him…..just like he always does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, while doing their bedtime routine, ‘D’ streaked through the living room and put his bare ass in ‘A’s face……again…...just like he always does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just another typical night in the White house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only ones who acted differently were ‘T’ and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’ was taking his bath and I noticed that I couldn’t hear him yelling at the top of his lungs, like I always do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so sure that his medicine had kicked in and he had passed out in the bathtub and was drowning – that I raced into the bathroom, knocking the baby out of the way in the process, and scared the crap out of ‘D’ who was actually lying down in the tub, rinsing the soap out of his hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course he couldn’t hear me until I was leaning over him screaming in his face, “OH GOD ‘D’, COME BACK TO ME!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After that, the kids were certain that I had poisoned ‘D’ earlier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, ‘D’ and everyone else goes to bed….and I am exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat on the couch and told myself that it would obviously take some time before we knew how ‘D’s new medicine was going to affect him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, that’s ok; this isn’t a race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I did wonder what I would do if ‘D’ was one of those rare kids that medicine just didn’t seem to work for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could just see myself screaming at the principle at his school, telling her – “I KNOW HE PUT HIS BARE ASS IN BILLY SMITH’S FACE….AGAIN!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BUT, MY GOD – HE TOOK TWO VALIUMS AND A HIT OFF OF A JOINT THIS MORNING WITH BREAKFAST….WHAT MORE DO YOU PEOPLE WANT?!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know……that might not be such a bad idea……at least with that, I wouldn't have to worry about his appetite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*<span style="font-size: 8pt;">As I’m sure everyone with a brain knows that the weed and valium part was a joke - at the risk of having CPS show up at my door - I would like to state for the record that I would never give my children valium or illegal drugs of any kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor am I endorsing that it is okay for anybody else to do that as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is purely a joke and meant to be taking as such…..so lighten the fuck up people!</span></span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-44923698564842504812012-03-23T09:18:00.003-07:002012-03-25T09:47:58.564-07:00St. Patrick’s Day; the ole girl aint what she used to be!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past Saturday was St. Patrick’s Day. The hubs and I weren’t going to do anything in particular. All three of our older kids were gone for the weekend, but we still had the moose at home. (The moose is our baby boy.) We had planned on just having some drinks at home and watching some TV. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well……..on Saturday, my mother – who was supposed to be going out of town – decided not to and then volunteered to keep Moose over night. It was going to be the first time he had ever stayed overnight anywhere. So – counting the 9 months I spent pregnant and the 10.5 months he’s been alive – it has been a long-ass time since the hubs and I had went out; just the two of us. St. Patrick’s Day the year before- I was about six weeks away from giving birth and wearing a heart monitor. And the year before that – we had all the kiddos at home with us and made green pizza. So, I didn’t feel at all guilty accepting my mom’s proposal to watch the Moose so we could go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day; adult style.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And of course, as soon as I found out that we were going out, my mind started to conjure up all these hopeful expectations of how the night would go. The whole morning and afternoon, I daydreamed about what fun delights awaited me and kept pondering what I should wear, what to do with my hair, makeup, etc. I got so carried away with my fantasy that by the time I arrived at the mall to find a green shirt, I had made my hair five inches longer, my waist five inches smaller, and myself five inches taller. I had also put my delusions of grandeur off on my St. Patty’s day attire. I went through the entire mall and just could not find a shirt on the rack that matched the one hanging in my head. And if I was totally honest with myself, I would have realized that the outfit I had imagined probably cost around $200.00 and would have required non-imaginary money to pay for it. So, I left the mall dejected and that was just the start of my bubbles bursting for the evening.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So a few hours later, ‘T’ and I were ready to hit the town. We had called all of our friends we used to hang out with once upon a time and told them we had a hall pass for the night. We all agreed to meet at this somewhat dive bar called, ‘Sliders’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now – when ‘T’ and I used to go out, we usually got all made up and then headed straight for the club/bar, whatever. And that’s what we did this time too……sort of. First we had to drop the baby off and then ‘T’ decided that he wanted to stop by the liquor store because it’s, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“ so expensive to drink at a bar. It’s more cost-effective to drink at home before you go and then just drink a little at the bar.”</i> (Cheap bastard). Ok, fine; we stopped at the liquor store. Ok – now we’re ready to go…….ummm, after we eat something first. I know when I was younger, I never ate before I went clubbing. (I didn’t want my stomach to be poochy.) Now – because it’s been almost two years since I’ve had any alcohol – it’s necessary to eat a little something. Ok, fine; we stopped at Taco Bell. We decided just to take our Taco Bell with us and eat in the parking lot at the bar. ‘T’ said we needed to hurry so we could get a good parking spot. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We pull up to Sliders and are in luck. We couldn’t have gotten a better spot unless we were handicapped. I’m munching on my Taco and looking around and notice that there is not a shortage of good parking spots. In fact, the only thing there is a shortage of…..are other cars. We are on the only people there. How can that be; is it closed? No, it’s not closed. What’s the deal? ‘T’ and I both look at the time on our dashboard and realize it’s 7:00pm. “Ummmm, I think we’re too early”, ‘T’ said. So, ok – I forgot that we used to not go out until around 9 or so. But, it was St. Patrick’s Day; shouldn’t people have been drinking since morning already? We can’t be the only early birds. We waited some more. Still no one. I had begun to think that maybe everyone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> start drinking early that morning and that we were actually too late – rather than early. Everyone must be drunk and already passed out at home. I was about to call our friends and tell them not to bother coming when a car pulled up beside us. “See ‘T’, we’re not the only ones who got here kind of early.” “Ummm, yeah……”, said ‘T’. “But, I’m guessing it’s because those people want to get home in time for the 10 o’clock news.” I look to see what he is talking about and getting out of the car beside us was the sweetest little old lady…..pushing a walker. And yes – she was going into the bar to get her drink on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, more and more cars were starting to show up and we decided to go on in. The place was pretty dead. There was only about a handful of people in there – including Mother Goose. ‘T’ and I grabbed a table and ordered some drinks while we waited on our friends to get there. So, we were drinking and talking and, for once in a long time, were totally focused on each other – instead of all our kids. When I looked away again, an hour had passed and the place was definitely starting to fill up. We were having to talk louder and our waitress was not coming by as quickly as she had been. Our friends had sent us text messages, letting us know they would be there any minute. ALLRIGHT – LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was looking around, feeling the music, taking it all in…….and noticed that most of the patrons were of the silver, blue, and pale pink-haired variety. I couldn’t even pick Mother Goose out of the crowd anymore; there were three more ladies with walkers that could have easily been her. WTF? Were we at ‘Sliders’ or ‘Seniors’? Was there a retirement party going on? A 50<sup>th </sup>anniversary celebration? It was like Bingo at the church on Wednesday nights; only with margaritas instead of covered dishes. And then, this older lady at the table beside me pulled this little miniature battery-powered fan out of her purse and set it on her table. She caught me staring and said, “It’s designed to blow the smoke away from your face; like if people are smoking around you.” No shit! That’s awesome! Where can I get one of those? So, that pretty much sold me on partying with them. I mean, buying an apparatus, which sole purpose, is to further enhance your Saturday night experience; THAT’S HARDCORE!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our friends finally show up and there is drinking and dancing and merriment had by all. So, speaking of dancing – I don’t mean to brag – but I was a pretty good dancer at one time. I took dance lessons all through my childhood years, was on the pom squad in high school, competed in pageants, and even went to college on a dance scholarship. I used to own the dance floors at the clubs. Most people go clubbing to either drink or hook up. Well – let me re-phrase that. Most girls go clubbing –expecting guys to buy them drinks ….and then the guys go – hoping that all that drinking will lead to them hooking up. I went clubbing just to dance. I would hit the dance floor and dance song after song after song. The only drinking I would do was the 32oz bottle of Aquafina I would down when I finally took a break during a slow song. I loved to dance back then. I still love to dance now and so I strutted out to the dance floor with every intention of claiming my former glory.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hit the dance floor, do a couple of test turns, and then I’m off. The dance demon in me has been unleashed! I’m moving right to left, head moving side to side, eyes closed, hair whipping around. Oh yeah – I’m on fire! I feel so good! I don’t have a mirror but I just know that I look fantastic. If the men at this bar didn’t have cataracts, I’m sure they would all be ogling me. I’m feeling like Demi Moore in ‘Striptease’…….for about two minutes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I only have a couple of bras at home that fit right now – and they are all nursing bras. I quit nursing like a month ago though and my old bras still don’t fit, so yes – I am still rocking the nursing bras. But I couldn’t wear one that night because of the shirt I was wearing, so I opted to wear this one bra that’s not really much of a bra at all. It’s more like a sports-bra type thing that’s really thin. It doesn’t have any padding or an underwire or anything. I think it’s supposed to be worn at night because it’s that comfortable. I have small boobies anyways, so generally I don’t require many qualifications from a bra.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Funny, surprising tid-bit about small boobs though. Apparently, even if you have small boobs and you have been nursing a baby for the past 9.5 months –even after you wean your baby - small boobs will still be saggy and floppy; just like their heavtier counterparts. True fact.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So…….not only am I out there dancing – but my boobs are as well. And, I have to say that they weren’t even trying to stay in sync with me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok – so no problem; I won’t do those moves anymore. So, my pace slows down. But, I’m still going. And then, my gut decides it wants to join the party as well. Now, I had specifically told my gut before we left the house that it was to stay inside my jeans. I distinctly remember that. But, here we are – not even two hours later – and my gut is deliberately disobeying me. I keep hiking my jeans back up (which lets everyone see the elastic waist on them), but it was to no avail. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, at this point I’m really just standing on the dance floor – snapping and moving my head to the music. This is fine with me because I had already started to get a stitch in my side and was panting like I had just done a Zumba session. And – oh yeah – heaving in an out uncontrollably really makes your gut look good, let me tell ya. But what looks better than that is the sweat running down my face. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At that point, I had only been on the floor for one song. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – back to the table I go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It became real obvious to me a few drinks later that my drinking stamina was just slightly better than my dancing stamina. I didn’t even get to enjoy being tipsy. I went from sober to sick in about two drinks and a shot. I head off to the bathroom and my girlfriends accompany me. Now, when I was single and us girls would go to the bathroom, it was to primp and reapply and answer text messages from one guy that you couldn’t answer because you were out with another guy. I don’t think we ever even used the toilet. But, now – my girlfriends and I ended up hanging out in the bathroom (where it’s quiet) and talking with another random grandma in there about all of our kids – and her grandkids. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok – it’s time to go home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re on the way home and ‘T’ decides that since we’re reliving good times at the bar, than we might as well relive some good times in the car. The mood was lost though because I screamed, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” when he tried to pull my head down into his lap. No joke – we hadn’t done anything like this in so long that I actually thought he was going to fart in my face and hold my head down so I couldn’t get away from it. And the last time we did partake in some ‘road games’, we had a truck – not a mini-van. Even though you can do most anything in a mini-van comfortably, that particular activity is not one of them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, we gave up on that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But ‘T’ is determined. So the rest of the way home he is telling me how hot I am and how much he wants me and how he’s going to give it to me and get prepared because it’s going to go on and on and on and on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fifteen minutes later, we are at home, already done (well ‘T’ was), and asleep. (Well ‘T’ was).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – that was my first foray back into my adult life. And I don’t claim to be too old; just a little out of practice. But I am determined as well. I’ll tell you one thing though; the ole girl aint what she used to be…….but then again, neither is the ole boy. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-22212997798020903352012-03-20T07:14:00.001-07:002012-03-20T07:23:46.941-07:00Pour Some Sugar on Me!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Weight loss update; I have lost 15lbs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty excited about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My clothes are definitely starting to fit better and my next personal goal is to be able to wear my wedding ring again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can get it on, but it’s just snug enough to be uncomfortable – so I’m thinking maybe another 5-10lbs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, after my last baby was born, I went to my Dr. to get on an antidepressant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, the only thing it did for me was give me 10 more lbs in less than a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, back to the Dr. I went and she put me on something different…….which leads me to this next part.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I started on my new medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought it was working out ok and I didn’t seem to have any side effects from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t gaining any more weight and my appetite had actually decreased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sex drive was even coming back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was feeling pretty good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All was well again in my kingdom.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, when I hear the word ‘Sex Drive’ it automatically makes me think of Sex – as this person-type thing – driving down the road in a red convertible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picture her (in my case, she’s female) and she’s glowing red, smells like perfume, and has wild (naturally curly) hair that’s flying in the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s wearing lingerie and her ample boobies are busting out and she’s not even driving the car with her hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s laid out across the seat with her back arched and steering with her stilettos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ is constantly blaring from her radio and every time she taps on the horn, it comes out more like a moan/growl. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, meet my Sex Drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what she looks like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that’s what she looked like when I was younger and before I had children.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nowadays, my Sex Drive prefers to drive a mini-van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She drives about 45 miles an hour and she listens to “Is There Life Out There?” by Reba Mcentire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She doesn’t even go by ‘Sex Drive’ anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, people just call her Jan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jan, the Mini-Van.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, that’s my Sex Drive right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what she looks like – after four kids and 50 extra pounds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And did I also mention that she doesn’t even get out all that often?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weeks, months will go by before I see her on the road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I start my new medication and in my very distant rear view mirror, I see…….what looks like…….. a red sports car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, it’s still a ways back, but it’s there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t get too excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might never catch up or it might get off the highway – who knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not getting attached.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a couple of weeks I notice it’s gaining on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only can I clearly see that it is indeed a red sports car, but it also is…..a red convertible sports car!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How interesting!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, still I wait and see.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another week goes by and now the red convertible has come up directly behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it’s tailgating me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sitting in the driver seat……..is my Sex Drive!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not believe it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pulls up alongside of me, smiling and waving, and….she has…… fangs?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(True Blood anyone?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I can even see what else has changed, she guns the engine and is off like a flash. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ms. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sex Drive is now driving faster than I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I race to catch up and am able to see her again……and now…… she’s naked!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot believe it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s naked with fangs and racing down the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does she think she’s doing?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She takes off again and this time it takes me a long time to catch up to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can hardly maintain the speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now – she’s not alone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s sitting in a man’s lap (facing him) and they are both naked and I cannot even say out loud what she was doing to him!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has she no shame?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what is this naked man, doing in her car anyways…..oh wait, it’s my husband….ok..phew – that was close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But still……she’s naked with fangs, molesting my husband, and racing down the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now, she’s so far ahead of me there is no way I can catch up to her now.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was actually becoming a little scared of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered what I would find the next time I saw her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered what the hell had gotten into her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, yeah sure – she had some crazy times in her heyday – but that was prude compared to what she’s been doing lately.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went back to my Dr. for a follow up visit and she asked me how things were going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost didn’t want to ask her about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m guessing most Dr.’s don’t hear their patients say, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yeah – um…..lately, I’ve been bumping uglies with my husband every night and sometimes twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got something for that?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I mean, it’s kind of like complaining about a present someone gives you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would just look like a total bitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just say thank you and be sure to bring it out when they come over to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">glad</i> to be feeling that way, but I was also a little nervous ; wondering if one day I would be at work and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>suddenly attack our UPS man.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It turns out that the medication I’m taking for depression is also used to treat sexual dysfunction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which, in my opinion, sounds like all this medicine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does </i>is treat sexual dysfunction and then the depression clears itself up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, how can you be depressed if you’re too busy being horny?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, anywho – meet my new Sex Drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or at least, catch a glimpse of her as she runs you over.</span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-49111611153813206742012-03-09T06:25:00.000-08:002012-03-09T06:25:45.157-08:00You got toilet paper down there<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This upcoming boudoir shoot has been on my mind constantly; probably just as much as my dieting has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really want to do it – but I really want to look good doing it too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself thinking of anything and everything that one might notice on these pics; such as stretch marks and weird moles…..or toilet paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Explanation necessary.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I have this friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For blogging purposes, we’ll call her…..Sasha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend is a cross between Samantha Jones (from Sex and The City) and Karen Walker (from Will and Grace).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend is very pretty (like both of these women) a professional business woman (like both of these women) and probably has the best style of anyone I know or can think of (like both of these women).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She enjoys her wine (like Karen Walker) and her men (like Samantha Jones).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, she’s not a drunk whore by any means…..more like she’s the kind of gal – who – after drinking some wine – might feel inclined to bust out in an impromptu strip-tease for her man as he’s watching the election results come in on Super Tuesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t confirm that ever happened; I’m just using that as an example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has an impressive job and an even more impressive boyfriend, but would not hesitate to come out with me and judge the drag show contest at the Habana Inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen her drive a Mercedes and I’ve seen her squat piss over a broken toilet in a restroom at the Red Dawwg (strip club).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s that girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel it’s important to really get a good visual image of my friend before you get a really good visual image of what happened to her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back in her single days – she was dating a guy we’ll call Copper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously – that’s what we really called him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one thing that you need know about Copper is that he sounded exactly like Forrest Gump and that is no joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I heard him speak, I almost wanted to shout at him, “RUN COPPER RUN!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it wasn’t like he was a sweet, but slightly remedial guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a professional job and was relatively cultured, but for some reason, sounded just like Forrest Gump.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel it’s important to really get a good visual image of him before you get a really good visual image of what he said to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, one night – as she was enjoying some wine – she was feeling a little feisty and decided to give him a call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I only heard the conversation paraphrased from her later, but I think it went something like:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sasha:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey – tomorrow night – I’m coming over and there will be hot sex and there will be a video camera; oh yeah – you better get ready.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or something along those lines.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, the next night – after the wine had worn off – a very sober Sasha went over to Copper’s house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, of course Sasha had forgotten about one of her two promises she had made…..but he hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she was sitting down – chilaxn – Copper walks by her….dropping a video camera in her lap and says:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Copper:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alright – let’s do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hook it up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or something along those lines.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sasha:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ugh….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">as realization dawns….</i>I’m going to need to drink a little more.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Some time later that night…</i>..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, the scene is set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The video camera is on and actually hooked up to the TV, so that the movie can be previewed as it is being filmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Music is playing and the wine has been drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is go time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, it’s important to mention right now a very small, but critical detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sasha requires corrective lenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course – unless you’re playing a hot school teacher or sadistically sexual accountant, glasses are a no-go. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, off they go and off goes Sasha to the bathroom to take a Final. Potty. Break.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sasha and Copper – take 1!</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, again – this was all paraphrased from her later, but I guess there was some kissing and some undressing and then someone laying down on the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then someone else was slowly going downward, and downward, and down some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the music is blaring, “Bow-chica-wow-wow”, and the lighting is low, and the camera is recording – which is broadcasted in big screen – and then…….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">a subtle pause….as Forrest Gump says – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in his Forrest Gump voice</i>……..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You got toilet paper down there.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Broadcasted in big screen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">CUT!!!!!!</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now as Sasha is telling me this, I’m finding myself completely mortified for her, but cannot quite get the words of sympathy out because I am laughing my ass off at picturing her scrambling off the bed and trying to turn the video camera off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m seeing a naked Sasha yelling, ‘CUT, CUT!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as she’s running full tilt towards the camera and then fumbling around - trying to turn it off – all the while, saying things like, “I can’t believe you just said that – on camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do you turn this f-ing thing off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t believe I agreed to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THERE IS NO WAY I’M DOING THIS NOW!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, no way I’m doing it tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I don’t know; give me some more wine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And even more crazy - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is all that’s running through my head is:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How much toilet paper are we talking here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a little speck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t like a trail coming down her leg, was it?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How did she not notice it when she was in the bathroom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yeah, she had taken her glasses off.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Was it really necessary for him to say something?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Couldn’t he have just flicked it aside or something?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m clearly distracted and intrigued by the details of this porn outtake.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I probably would’ve had to break up with the guy after that…because there was no way I could ever see the guy’s face again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But not Sasha.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not only did she rewind and re-record, but she told me later that when they watched the video, she looked awesome…and he looked pale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in the parts where he held the camera and focused it downward, his pale gut was bulging out and was actually in the way!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, if Sasha has taught me anything….as I go forward with this booty shoot – it’s that….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wine is necessary</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No matter what the outtakes show – the final copy is the one that matters</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And while the poses, props, and makeup is all important…the most important detail is to </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stick your head in your crotch…and check for damn toilet paper!</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I LOVE YOU SASHA!</span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-89791650947887105942012-03-02T14:46:00.001-08:002012-03-02T19:52:58.836-08:00I'm Sexy and I Know It!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m sexy and I know It…..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is my mantra for the next couple of months as I gear up to participate in something that I never thought I would do – even when I was 18 and 100lbs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m going to do a boudoir shoot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, it’s not like I woke up one day and thought, “Hey – I’m 50lbs overweight right now and my boobs are different sizes due to breastfeeding – but the stretch marks and the nice tanish stripe down my belly balances that off quite nicely – I know! I’ll go do a boudoir shoot!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was more like, my wedding anniversary is in May and my husband and I had talked about taking a cruise and even though I had started trying lose weight months ago – I had managed to gain another 10lbs. So, if I really want to enjoy the cruise and not be mistaken for a beached whale (picture the natives trying to roll me back into the water), I better really get serious and do what I need to do to lose weight. Then as if by weight watcher magic, my friend at work (who is also a photographer) mentioned that she has a friend coming into town (also a photographer) who really wanted to add some boudoir photos to her portfolio. My friend thought I might be the only one she knew who would be just crazy enough to pose for the pics. And, wouldn’t you know it; the friend is coming into town the week before I would leave for my cruise. Fate?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – of course – I really have to lose weight now. The challenge has been laid down. BRING IT ON!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mean, not being able to fit into your clothes, having to rest a minute after walking up one flight of stairs, missing a whole strip on your bikini area when you shave (because your gut was blocking your view), having no interest in sex…….all of that I can deal with. BUT… looking bad in a picture that probably no one else besides my husband will see……NOW, THAT I CANNOT ALLOW!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I started dieting 2 weeks ago and have lost 10lbs. Now, even though that sounds good – I wasn’t all that surprised that I lost that much so quickly. Right away, you know that 4-6lbs of that is water weight. No matter what diet you do – a woman will lose 4-6lbs the first week every time. I also quit nursing when I started dieting so I knew that since I was not producing milk out of my udders anymore, that I would also lose some weight with that as well. So, these 10lbs are really just tricks I played on my body. I also started my period in that time frame as well, so there was some more water weight lost. But now, the milk is gone and my period is gone; so unless I can magically make more fluid come out of my ass – now is when the diet really starts. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also have a theory about being in a relationship with fat. The longer you’ve had the fat – the harder it is to lose. So, if you recently gained 5lbs, you could lose that pretty quickly. If it’s leftover pregnancy fat – and you’re baby is about six months old – than it might take a little longer to lose that. But, if we’re talking about fat that you’ve been in a long, committed relationship with – fat that you gained without any added event (like pregnancy or a holiday) – than that fat is committed to you as well and can be really hard to break up with. When I met my husband, I weighed 117lbs. After two years of us being together, I weighed 131 on my wedding day. And a year and some months after that – on the day I found out I was pregnant, I weighed 140. And now, almost a year later, as I committed to doing the booty shoot, I stepped on the scale and weighed a whopping 169! HOLY SHIT! Now, I’m only 5ft tall and small-boned, so that is a lot of wagon that I’m draggn.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I’ve lost 10lbs so far. My son is 10 months old, so I figure if I really get my butt in gear, I could probably lose the next 19lbs in 3-4 months. But, I just have this feeling that I’m going to hit 140lbs and those last 25lbs are going to plead, “NO – GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE! I PROMISE TO STAY AT 140 AND NOT GO ANY HIGHER! I’VE BEEN HERE FOR YOU FOR OVER 5 YEARS, YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME!!!” And then we’ll talk and make up over some Taco Bueno and there in my boudoir photo will be me and my fat. And I just know my fat will be a total camera whore and hog all the shots!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – unless Spanx is going to be incorporated into the picture somehow – I have to break up with all of my fat. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – wish me luck – I’ve never been good at breaking up. But….I will have you know that just this morning, I walked right on by a plate of strudel from Panera Bread and even though I had to swat my fat as it reached out and tried to grab one, I just kept right on……and singing……</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT! (I WORK OUT). </span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-58173050178932036462012-03-01T07:36:00.000-08:002012-03-01T07:36:00.712-08:00Drunk Dialing<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all know what drunk dialing is and if you’re married with kids (as I am), then drunk dialing is probably a fond memory….way back there, along with hot sex, bikinis, and firm fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(If you’re not familiar with ‘firm fat’, it’s your ‘fat’ you have before you have kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not talking about thinking you have fat and you don’t…I’m talking about the real fat that you do have, but for some reason it’s firm and not rolly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, if you’ve ever seen an early 20-something year old and she’s of average height and you know she probably weighs 140 or maybe even 150, and she clearly wears a size 10 or 12….but for some reason her fat is staying above the line of her jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She may even have a tummy – a little pouch – that sticks out….but again, it’s not hanging down over the button on her low-rise jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s firm fat.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, anyways – so we’re all familiar with drunk dialing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The newer generations use drunk texting, but for my crowd – drunk dialing was the way to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how many of you have ever been drunk dialed by……</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">your <u>lawn guy </u>before?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No joke – I woke up in the middle of the night this last Saturday to my husband, ‘T’, practically shouting into his phone, “Well, alright man – yeah, you have a good night too!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our lawn guy – that sprays our lawn about four times a year – drunk called ‘T’ last Saturday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘T’ has never chatted with this guy, except to tell him what areas of our yard need more spray. I asked ‘T’ if he meant to call him or if he dialed ‘T’s number by mistake. No – mistake. Our lawn guy was drunk and just thought about calling ‘T’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’ relayed the conversation to me:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’: Hello</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drunk Lawn Guy: HEY MAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN? I JUST LEFT YOUR AREA AND WAS THINKING ABOUT YOU; THOUGHT I MIGHT GIVE YOU A CALL AND SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING MAN!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’: Oh, ok? I’m doing good. How bout you?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drunk Lawn Guy: I’M GOOD MAN…ACTUALLY MAN, I’M F-UP RIGHT NOW MAN!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yeah – you partying tonight?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drunk Lawn Guy: YEAH MAN! WELL I JUST THOUGHT I’D SAY HEY!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’: Ok – well you take care tonight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drunk Lawn Guy: I WILL MAN! YOU TOO MAN!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Click.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I asked ‘T’ if he was going to report him to his company or get a new lawn guy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘T’: Hell no! He does a good job and is cheaper than the other people we used. As long as he doesn’t run over our cats or spray the house – I don’t care if he drinks.</span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-15584631992054437802012-02-14T12:25:00.000-08:002012-02-14T12:25:16.790-08:00V-Day - White House Style<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After my family recovered from Ground Hog’s Day, we moved on to Valentine’s Day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had wanted to find a cute little Valentine craft for my kids to make to take to school, instead of the traditional store-bought ones that we normally do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I scoured Pinterest for a few days and thought I had found the perfect, most-easy, Valentine craft to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I think everyone else had the same idea too – because I could not locate the items needed to make these crafts ANYWHERE.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – off to Target we went for store-bought Valentines.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As usual, I took all 3 of the older kids with me to pick out their own Valentines and as usual, I regretted it immediately as we walked in the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have these scenarios in my head of all these beautiful memories I am making with my kids for them to cherish as they get older and instead, I’m pretty sure their memories will go something like this… “Remember when mom use to take us to pick out our Valentines at the store and then she would shout at us and whoop ‘D’ with the spatulas that were on sale….and then she’d start crying and all the way home would yell: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I don’t know why I even do these things for you guys; you don’t appreciate anything!!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it – no more Valentine’s Day!!!!!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now getting out of the car with these 3 people is even a challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘M’, my daughter, hates going to run errands, period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she really hates going anywhere with her brothers – so she’s already in a bad mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m already in a bad mood at her because apparently when you turn 11, you are no longer affected by changes in the climate and therefore find it comfortable to wear shorts and a hoodie in 30 degree weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I tell her there is no way I’m taking her to Target dressed the way she is, she says:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But mom – it’s the weekend, I’m not going to school, so why can’t I wear this?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>My argument that it’s February and snowing has no bearing on her whatsoever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She finally gives in and changes, but my punishment is that I get the silent treatment the whole time we are at the store.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘D’ loves going places – well he doesn’t really love going places, he loves getting in and out of our minivan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have not figured that one out yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ride from our house to Target is about 5 minutes, but when that sliding door comes open, he will fly out with the appropriate side effect – usually a WOO HOO – after having stepped on his sister who hasn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt yet – and takes off in a dead run for the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have to scream: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘D’!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get back here!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You almost got hit by that car!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you ever look where you going?!!!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, we are at the front of the store, walking through the double automatic doors……. and ‘A’ is still in the van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is that kid that cannot get out of a car in less than 10 minutes period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t figured this one out either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, he knows where we’re going and why – I know this because he’s already asked me this like 10 times – and he can see out the window, so he knows when we’ve pulled into the parking lot, but for some reason – without fail – he will fly out, with the appropriate side effect – usually a WAIT FOR ME – after tripping over himself as he’s crying – and take off in a dead run for the rest of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always have to scream: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘A’!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get over here!!! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You almost got hit by that car!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you ever look where you’re going?!!!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, we finally all make it into the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our Target, they keep the holiday items at the back of the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the second that we passed through the automatic doors, all the way back to this aisle, this what I hear:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A: What kinds of Valentines are there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t bring my school list, so I don’t know how many to get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to write all the kids names by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you know I could do that – did you Sarah?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also going to make one for Ms. Hollingsworth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you know I could spell her name too – did you Sarah?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you know that I’m pretty smart Sarah?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I think I might be the smartest 2<sup>nd</sup> grader<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>there ever was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, but how am I going to get something for you and my dad if you’re here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huh Sarah?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now – multiply that times 3 because that’s how many times he would repeat everything, if I didn’t comment on every remark he made.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘D’ has clearly forgotten why we’re even here and even though I have never been that parent that buys their kids a toy every time we go to a store, he thinks that maybe after the 1000<sup>th</sup> time, I might cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe if he was asking to get a tiny matchbox car or something, that might happen, but ‘D’ – who has no concept of the difference between $1.00 and $100.00 is asking for stuff like this:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">D:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom, can I have this Playstation game system, huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can I mom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise I’ll be good the whole rest of the day!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, well then can I have this guitar?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh- come on, I really need one!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on, I promise if you get it for me, I will not ask for anything for the rest of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puhleeeeseee!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then as my ‘nos’ start getting more forceful, so does his tactics.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">D:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ughhh, I can’t believe you won’t buy me this Power wheels electric car!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it, I’m mad mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m mad and I’m just not going to get any Valentines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m going to be mad at you ALL DAY!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – we arrive at the Valentine aisle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘A’ wants to look at each and every Valentine before he decides on one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘M’ is finally speaking to me because she knows if she doesn’t, she will be going home with ‘My Little Pony’ valentines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem is that she’s very specific in what she wants from a Valentine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">M:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want black ones with a giant red heart on them that is outlined in sequences and I want them to come with a tiny piece of chocolate; like miniature Skor bars.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘D’ is out to pick out a different Valentine for each and every kid at his school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And not just a little card – he wants to get each of them a mug filled with candy – or a Valentine’s Pez dispenser; something like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’s valentines will end up costing me about $500.00.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although, I’m pretty sure ‘D’ will be poor when he grows up, I’m sure he will have one satisfied wife.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">D:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom, can I buy each of the kids a card with candy and a toy, huh? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can I mom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise I’ll be good the whole rest of the day!!! Oh, well then can I just buy them each a toy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh – come on, that’s what Ms. Lowe said we had to do for everyone!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on, I promise if you let me get each of them a toy, I will not ask for anything for the rest of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puhleeeeseee!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, this goes on and on, until ‘M’ finally has to ‘settle’ on some Valentines and she’ll do it by saying, “Well, since the ones I want aren’t here – I guess I’ll just get these.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then she’s back to the silent treatment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though ‘A’ has thoroughly looked at every Valentine in the store – all while educating everyone on the history of Valentine’s Day – he will end up just waiting to see what ‘D’ picks and then pick the exact same ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’ will barely pick any out at all because he’s still mad and then when he sees that ‘A’ is picking the exact same ones, he gets even madder and then starts yelling at ‘A’ for copying him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, in an effort to make peace, ‘A’ will pick out some others but will say something like, “Well, I really didn’t want those other ones any ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just didn’t see these ones here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, these are the ones I had been trying to find the whole time”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So – to checkout and back to the car we go – but not without ‘D’ trying one last-ditch effort to get me to buy him something and it’s always something random at the check-out line – like – travel-sized hand sanitizer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And of course ‘D’ is the first one to reach the car – after I yelled at him for almost getting hit by another car – and he does the WOO HOO as he flies into the back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to just pull around to the front of the store to pick ‘A’ up – because he still hasn’t made it out of the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have to yell at him for almost getting left behind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My hubby is hiding from me when we get home because he knew exactly how this was going to go down – the coward.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I kept asking myself where I go wrong…..until my friend told me that her mother came over to watch her kids so her and her husband could go out and celebrate Valentine’s Day and while she was watching them – during a particularly physical game of ‘Duck-Duck-Goose’ – her mother slipped on the tile and fell – breaking her ankle in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They spent the rest of the evening at the Emergency Room and her mother is staying with her because she has to have surgery on the ankle and needs help getting around.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ahhh –that’s amore! </span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-79573249451980551142012-02-03T07:58:00.000-08:002012-02-03T07:58:22.988-08:00The Griswalds do Ground Hog Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Punxsutawney Rango</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today is Ground Hog Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always been fond of this particular holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it’s because it’s the Underdog of the Holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from Pennsylvania celebrating it and the morning news giving it its 15 seconds of fame, no one really does anything for Ground Hog Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided my family would lead the way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I guess we could set our alarms on February 2<sup>nd</sup> and get up as a family and gather around the TV to watch the prediction live…..or we could have our very own prediction!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, you know which way we went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All you really need is a Ground Hog, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, it just so happens that my daughter has a pet Guinea Pig – close enough!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(His name in real life is Sheriff Rango of the White House ‘aka’ Rango.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, this is what I envisioned the event being like:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The night before, I tuck my boys into their beds and read them a story about Ground Hog Day and Punxsutawney Phil – the famous Ground Hog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would outline what would take place the next morning, kiss them on their heads and they would drift off to dreamland, thinking about how awesome I am and that when they have children of their own, they will do this kind of stuff with them all the time and say things like, “Grandma use to do this with me when I was little……”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the next morning, I would quietly walk into their rooms and whisper in their little ears, “Boys – it’s time to get up and do our prediction.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would bound out of bed, with a smile on their faces and throw on their clothes and actually skip out the door, holding hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hubby would bring out our guinea pig and as he lifted him in the air, a ray of sunshine would peak through the clouds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone would be giddy with happiness and it would carry my boys all through school today and their teachers would just sit back amazed as my boys stood in front of their class mates and educated everyone on why their childhoods are AWESOME!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well…..here is how it actually went down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I forgot to even tell my boys what we were doing this morning as I yelled at them for the 100<sup>th</sup> time to go to bed last night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgot myself, until 7:00 this morning as I flew out of bed – late for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea was for me to get up early and be ready for work by the time my hubby came home from his graveyard shift at 7:20am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would do the prediction and then I would leave for work.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, here I am throwing on clothes – screaming at my boys to wake up and get outside – and even though I was trying to explain what we were doing, I think they thought we were having some kind of air raid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, ‘D’ says, “Give me 5 more minutes” (Good thing it was not in fact an air raid) and ‘A’ is starting to cry because he is sure that we are having to abandon our house and even though we are taking our Guinea Pig with us – we will be tossing him into the air as we are running down the sidewalk.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my hubby gets home, the 3 of us are standing out in the front yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty much ready and ‘D’ is wearing jeans, his coat hanging wide open with no shirt underneath, and house shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘A’ is not only completely ready, but trying to pack his belongings in his backpack and sniffling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I guess when one of your kids has OCD and suffers from anxiety, you shouldn’t really spring anything like this on him.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, the scene is set and my hubby goes and gets Punxsutawney Rango.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still trying to explain to my kids what the hell we are doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’ is ruining the moment by saying, “What!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, no, no, no – I’m tired…and cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think you should throw Rango into the sun and what does his shadow have to do with anything?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, is the news coming here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it’s on TV right now – than when did they come out here and get Rango on TV?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why didn’t you wake me up for that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is P-U-S-S-Y-T-O-N-G-U-E anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(No joke – that is how he was saying ‘Punxsutawney.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’ is not a morning person and you can tell that this wonderful experience of his child hood is for the birds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘A’ is clearly disturbed by this wonderful experience of his childhood and is having an anxiety attack as he keeps asking me questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But…we don’t have an actual ground hog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can guinea pigs predict weather like the ground hogs do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this the right spot in the yard we are supposed to be at?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun is not out yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How will we know if he thinks he sees his shadow or not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know we can tell if there is a shadow, but how do you we know if he can see it or not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this going to make me late for school?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Punxsutawney Rango is traumatized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is shaking, staring all crazy-eyed, and whistling – while probably shouting in guinea pig language, “THEY ARE SACRIFICING ME!!! I KNOW IT!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THEY ARE GOING TO HOLD ME UP TO THE GODS AND THEN LET THESE TOO BOYS DECIDE WHO GETS THE HEAD AND WHO GETS THE TAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!” – Well, not really the tail; guinea pigs don’t have tails, but you get the idea.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, we hold up Rango and all of us look down at the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had printed up these signs for the boys to hold up that would show their prediction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one sign said, “Hello Spring!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other said, “Six more weeks of winter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get out my camera to snap some pictures and all I get are pictures of my kids having a ‘Ground Hog Day meltdown’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘D’ is embarrassed because he can’t read the signs (I had forgotten that this might happen and should have just put a giant sun on one picture and snow on the other.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But rather than say, “Mom – I can’t read these signs”, he is taking it out on ‘A’ – who can read them – by calling ‘A’ names and saying how stupid this whole thing is and he can’t believe I woke him up for this!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘A’ is really having a dilemma because he still stuck back at the whole, “the suns not even out so how can there be a shadow” thought he had earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is clearly trying to come up with a right prediction, but is upset because he thinks the whole experiment was flawed from the start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hubby is laughing because this is how these events always go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I decided that the best prediction of the future weather is not done by a Ground Hog or by a Guinea Pig, but by two little boys’ reaction to the whole process in general.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And judging by that – I would say we are definitely in for a SHIT STORM!!!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-44317340542808150862011-09-16T11:18:00.000-07:002011-09-16T11:20:07.231-07:00Fire! Fire!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do you know when it's going to be a long night?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When you just get settled down to sleep (on a Monday night) and one of your smoke alarms starts chirping (the battery is going dead).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After trying to ignore it for an hour – you get up and get a broom to beat the crap out of it. This does nothing except wake the baby who is sleeping and cause the dogs to bark because they think someone is knocking on the front door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You decide you are going to have to take it down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You have 12ft high ceilings.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You call your husband – at work – your brother – who lives a few miles away – and your dad who’s an old man who can’t hear very well and lives about 30 minutes away……and it’s almost midnight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The only one who can/will come is your dad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Dad – my smoke alarm keeps beeping because the battery is going low and we can’t get any sleep around here. I’d unplug it, but the ceiling is too high to reach. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad: You’re smoking what?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: No – my smoke alarm is beeping.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad: 'S' – what’s a coke charm?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: NO – MY SMOKE ALARM KEEPS BEEPING!!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad: Oh – the batteries are probably going dead – just unplug it. (Note: Go back and read the very first thing I said to him.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After repeating myself a few times and pleading with him – he agrees to come over.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He comes over – with his painters ladder that’s sounds oh, so quiet being drug across my tile.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The whole time he is mumbling: I mean it’s almost midnight for crying out loud and you’re telling me you can’t sleep with a little chirp. I’ve been here five minutes and it aint chirped once. And what’s the point of having 12ft tall ceilings and putting your smoke alarms there if you can’t reach them. Your brother should be coming over here – he lives right down the street…..and so on and so on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So – he reaches the alarm and apparently it’s a lot newer kind than what most of us had in our house growing up. It is wired in, in addition to having a battery. It also has a clip in the lid – so it doesn’t just screw down. Luckily dad read the part about unplugging it before you take the battery out – so you don’t shock yourself – right before he almost killed himself. He’s also trying to balance himself on the top of the ladder and mumbling the whole time: I mean, what kind of alarm is this – I can’t work this stupid thing. And I sure as hell can’t read all the writing that’s on it. Now, I have to go get my glasses and a flashlight – I mean I can’t see crap. This is just ridiculous; I mean, your brother should be coming over here. It’s midnight for crying out loud….and I still aint heard this stupid thing chirp yet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About 15 minutes later, he gets it unhooked. He gets the battery out and is fixing to leave when we hear the chirp again….but it’s not coming from the alarm that’s dismantled on my counter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad: 'S'! You don’t even have the right damn alarm! I told you that thing hadn’t chirped since I got here.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, then he walks around for a few minutes staring up at the ceiling trying to determine which one is chirping.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He locates the dying alarm and drags the oh-so quiet-ladder across my tile to do the second one. And here is mumbling again: Don’t you have a husband? I mean, I live 30 minutes away and who’d ever thought of coming over to fix a smoke alarm at midnight. And I spend 15 minutes unhooking the wrong alarm. You better have some ear plugs because if this is the wrong one, I aint coming back over. Your brother lives right down the street – he should be doing this. I’m leaving my ladder here because if another one starts chirping – you fix it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So – before he left, 2 smoke alarms lay dismembered on my counter and I swear five minutes after he was gone – they both chirped!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I just said, “F-this” and closed my bedroom door and went to sleep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About an hour later………..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'A': 'S' – I can’t sleep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Why not?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'A': There’s a ghost in the house that’s chirping like a bird.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: It’s the smoke alarms – there’s something wrong with them. Just close your bedroom door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'A': Maybe there’s a fire. I mean, that’s why smoke alarms make noise.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: No – there’s no fire; just go back to sleep. (It’s about 1:30am.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'A': Are you sure? I think I smell smoke.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: 'A' – THERE IS NO SMOKE, THERE IS NO FIRE, THERE IS NO GHOST. JUST SHUT YOUR BEDROOM DOOR!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">'A': Ok…………SLAM!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now the dogs are barking and the baby is crying.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An hour after that – everyone is asleep again……but me. I cannot sleep because somehow the chirping smoke alarm sounds are able to come through my closed bedroom door and walls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later on – early that morning – Hubby comes home…….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tommy: 'S' – why are the smoke alarms lying on the garage floor and whos ladder is that in my hallway?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me….mumbling: It was midnight for crying out loud. Had to call my dad – you know he’s almost deaf. And you know he wasn’t happy. And here I have a husband….and for what? My own brother wouldn’t even come over and he lives right down the road. You think I don’t have to get up and go to work too? And I have kids waking me up all hours of the night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think before I go to work tomorrow – I’m going to hide those smoke alarms in the bedroom somewhere – while he has to sleep during the day. J</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-85066728481149947882011-08-22T22:36:00.000-07:002011-08-22T22:36:52.943-07:00The Griswalds join the Cub ScoutsI have been trying to get the boys (my 6 & 7 year old) to join some sort of sport or organization or something for a few years. I just wanted them to belong to something that would teach them discipline and teamwork and responsibility; basically everything I have been trying to instill in them, but have had very little luck in up to this point.<br />
<br />
So far we've tried T-ball, which might have been okay, but we just couldn't find a very good team. And by good - I don't mean a winning team. I mean a team where the coaches were organized and the parents actually came to practice- instead of just using the team as a babysitter-and there was not all the drama with the grown-ups. <br />
<br />
So, this year, it's Cub Scouts. Let me preface this by saying that my kids had no idea what Cub Scouts were. I thought it might be a good choice because 'D' - the 6yr old - hasn't been very successful in contact sports. His first T-ball game, he close-lined a player on the other team when they caught the ball that he hit. He rounded second (after they already called him out at 1st), took out the Short-Stop, stole the ball, ran home with it, and then spiked it on the home plate. 'A' - the 7yr old - was actually pretty good and a real fast runner. He also has a small case of OCD and ADD and would occasionally zone out - as the ball rolled right into his shoes. It would take the coaches and the entire stands shouting his name before he would look up and say, "What?"<br />
<br />
I thought, "Maybe my boys are not athletes; I know! Maybe they are Cub Scouts!" It's perfect! They get to wear uniforms and be on a team - sort of - and there is no physical contact and what better place for an OCD - but a place where you get to practice tying knots, over and over again. Perfect!<br />
<br />
Tonight was our first meeting. I told the hubby that we would leave as soon as I got home from work and to make sure 'D' kept his clothes on when he got home. Yes, 'D' is a nudist and he drops all of his clothes with his backpack by the front door when he comes home every day. So, I came home and asked the hubby if the boys were ready. He smirked and said, "Sure." I called the boys and as I saw them I said, "Ummm, 'D' - we are actually going somewhere tonight; do you think you might want to wear something different?" "Oh yeah, mom I know; I also need to put my hat on."<br />
<br />
So, here is what we rolled up to Cub Scouts tonight with 'D' looking like.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_aKFAwvEaysvlXww4L6V7if0XZ-ej2rw7iXmQ7kiKxnunewpM32XT8ICIHtH13xjJddXhpZYazbYK3T4PDOcoVrccVk1RbtMTdn4NaSpmc0Ai9SaNPYAXdwsFx5MbFSkbfIkUJzS9Jc/s320/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" /><br />
<br />
<br />
When 'D' saw the other Cub Scouts - in their uniforms - he said, "Hey, mom look! I'm wearing boots just like the rest of them!" (They were wearing hiking boots or some variation of that.) "Ummmm, yeah 'D' - you fit right in."<br />
<br />
'A' actually said then, "Hey, I'm the only one not wearing a uniform! Even 'D' is wearing is one! I look stupid."<br />
<br />
I'm just staring at the two of them wondering how neither of them could not notice that 'D' looked like a Dallas Cowboy/Cowboy. So, of course 'A' sees everyone staring at them and thinks they are staring at him because he's not dressed up for Halloween and 'D' knows everyone is staring at him but thanks it's because he looks so awesome and the hubby is hiding because he doesn't want anyone to think he's with us. I think he stood by another kid and tried to pass him off as his son.<br />
<br />
So, 'A' was feeling really self-conscious and of course his little outgoing bro had to make his big bro feel better............so for the next half hour 'D' walked 'A' around to everyone and said, "Hey, watch what my brother can do.........'A' - flip your eyelids inside out."<br />
<br />
It's a good thing that the Boy Scouts of America can't really turn you down.<br />
<br />
<br />
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-2060278080912229562011-08-16T12:54:00.000-07:002011-08-16T12:54:38.702-07:00All Activity Levels my f-ing ass!As I stated in my last post - it's time to lose a few. Where I work, there is this service that is offered to all the employees where everyday there is a different exercise opportunity offered that is free. Like, on Mondays it could be a Yoga class and then Tuesdays - it's walking, etc. I decided that this might be the perfect way to work out because it's free, it's a different class everyday - so I won't get bored, and best of all - I can do it during the day and not lose anymore time in the evenings I don't have anyways.<br />
<br />
So, the first class I did was the 'Stairclimbers' class. I brought a change of clothes to do this in and because I do not work out on a regular basis and because I am quite a bit heavier than I was the last time I attempted to work out, my 'workout' outfit consisted of a pair of velour pants (that were about two sizes too small, so they kept rolling down below my gut and when I pulled them up over my gut, they gave me a camel toe) and one of my husband's ratty T-shirts (to cover the camel toe). I looked at the class description on our company's intranet and it said that the class was for 'all activity levels'. 'Good', I thought. I was hoping that meant that most of the people attending the class would be similar to me and that we would be starting off at a slow pace.<br />
<br />
I walk over to where the class was supposed to meet and thought it was a little odd that we were meeting in the stairwell. I also noticed that there was this group of young, skinny, barbies with fake boobs also waiting in the stairwell. I was wondering what they were waiting for when the skinniest of the boobie brigade said, "Okay, everyone - let's get started!" And no joke, she also clapped her hands and started trotting in place, while the other girls trotted up behind her, two by two, and started to climb the stairs in the stairwell.<br />
<br />
HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! So, not only am I going to be working out with the cast from 'Baywatch' but we are climbing the stairwell of this building.<br />
<br />
I told myself, "Okay - so it's not what you thought, but suck it up! You can do this! You used to be a dancer for crying out loud (not the erotic kind) and even though the last time you climbed stairs was to get to the vending machine on the 3rd floor - you can totally do this!"<br />
<br />
I started up after the group and did my best to try and only be about two flights behind them. And when I said they were the cast from Baywatch, I wasn't joking. They were all wearing these matching outfits - which were these skin-tight red fitted Ts and either black yoga capris or black tennis skirts. They marched up two-by-two and I noticed that none of them were even wearing their hair tied back. Their hair and makeup were all perfectly done and not one of them was even breathing hard and their breasts were riding high as they filed up the stairs - looking like a bunch of plastic surgery Hitlers.<br />
<br />
I, on the other hand, was not faring so well. As we approached the 5th floor, my heart was pounding and my breathing was labored and my legs started to feel like lead. I started to lean on the railing for support....but still I soildered on.<br />
<br />
At the 7th floor, the leader actually jogged back down to where I was (which at this point was about three flights behind) and asked how I was doing. Actually, she more like sang it....,"So, howwww are weeeeee doinggg hereeee?" I just smiled and gave the 'thumbs up' sign. Since, it had been at least 2 flights since I'd had any oxygen; I couldn't make my mouth say anything and I was afraid if I did, than the only thing to come out would be drool since the left side of my face was numb - probably from the stroke I was having. And then Pamela Anderson actually jogged back up the stairs to catch up with the rest of the group and take her place at the head of the pack.<br />
<br />
Floor 10. I'm hallucinating. Everytime I get to the landing for the next floor - I look at the window and the street is spinning below me. I also can't hear above my own heartbeat, which is screaming with every pulse, "WHAT THE F DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING TO ME?!!" I'm zig-zagging up the steps and stumbling. I'm actually pulling myself up the stairs by the railing. I look up and see the tail end of the pack. I yell up to the last girl, "Hey, how many flights are there?" Only, it came out like, "Haaaaaay, ho nny its (cough, gasp, choke) arrrrrre there?" She looked at me like, 'Ewww - who let that thing in here?'. I had to repeat myself and then she merrily sang, "Oh - just fourteeeeeeeeeen." Holy, Jesus - Mother of God.<br />
<br />
Floor 14. I made it. Well, I actually crawled up the last set of steps. I kind of had to roll out of the way though - because the Spandex Squad was about to trample me as they immediately ran back down the steps - all the way to the 1st floor. I thought, 'Surely walking down is so much easier and it will give me time to recoup.' Well, here is a law of physics that I learned when I took my first step down. When you've been draggin a whole bunch of weight uphill and then suddenly you reverse and go downhill - it takes a while for your legs to realize that it no longer has to push forward; that there is gravity helping you out and thus not a lot of force is needed. What I thought I was doing in my brain - which was walking lightly down the steps - I actually saw my body propel me forward with the speed of a ninja. Only, my feet couldn't keep up and I ended up looking like some invisible force was yanking me down the steps. I think I even hollard out, "Whoa, whoa!" - like you do a horse who wants to giddy-up a little too much. I never could quite regain control of my legs or my speed and somehow ended up catching up and then passing everyone and actually had to throw myself into the wall on the first floor just to come to a stop.<br />
<br />
After everyone gets to the floor - the only sound you hear is me gagging. I sounded like a dog that has been taken for a walk on a leash - for the first time in it's life - and has had to be constantly restrained the whole time. I'm bent over, head between my legs, gasping, staggering......and everyone is just staring at me like, "Oh, poor fat lady. But good for her - at least she's a fat lady who's trying to do something about it." Miss Spanx walks around - still trotting - and clapping her hands. "ALRIGHT EVERYONE....GOOD JOB! NOW, LET'S GO AGAIN." And back up she goes - where everyone falls in line, two by two, right behind her. F THIS! I decide there is no way in hell I'm doing that again. I don't even think I can walk back to my office. If I would have had my cell phone, I would have called someone to come get me. I try to open the door out of the stairwell.........and it's locked. I try it again and no budge. I realize that it has to be opened with a mangnetic card. And now, it's dawning on me that the only person who has such a card would be the evil set of silicon jaunting up the stairs. I look up and see that she is already up to the 3rd floor. I can't even hollar out; I have no breath. I can either run up to catch her (and probably die in the process) or just wait until they come back down again. I tell myself, "Just run up and catch her - you can do it!" I go up a few stairs and then think, "Who the F am I kidding." So, now I'm on the 2nd floor. I decided just to wait for her, but then tried to handle on that door just to check.......and success! Door was unlocked!<br />
<br />
I bust through it and stagger out in front of some offices and someone actually says to me, "Oh God! Are you okay? Do we need to get some help?" I barely made it back to my office and was sick to my stomach the whole day. Then I spent the next week (a full seven days) in complete pain and walking like I'd had a hip replacement. So, as I was walking to my office the next day and hobbling and wincing and cursing everything, it dawned on me, "Oh God - that was my moment!" If you read my previous blog, than you know that everytime I need to lose weight, there will be a moment where something will happen that will embarrass the fat right off of me. And that day in the stairwell was definitly my moment. <br />
<br />
<br />
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397511411637965332.post-34882695725848092802011-08-08T06:58:00.000-07:002011-08-08T11:04:14.872-07:00It's time.I've been dreading this day ever since I found out I was pregnant this last time. I knew this day would come and I knew it was going to be painful and shitty and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.<br />
<br />
I knew that one day it would be time to lose weight.<br />
<br />
In high school and for most of my young adult life, I was pretty tiny. I'm also short - 5ft even - and have a pretty small bone structure. I also have four kids and a full-time job. You'd think I'd be one of those women other women hate - who are wearing their old clothes a month after having a baby and say things like, "I'm just so busy; I forget to eat." I hate women like that. For some reason - no matter how busy I am - I can always find time to eat. And I can also eat when I'm depressed or stressed. Those are other times that skinny women seem to lose their appetite. Lately though, it's been over 100 degrees here for like thirty-something days straight and I've heard stickly women say that the heat also affects their ability to eat. Not me. I might just be eating ice cream, but I will still be eating.<br />
<br />
I tend to gain a lot of weight when I'm pregnant. I mean a lot. I gained 80lbs with my daughter and 50lbs each with my two sons. Did I also mention I gained 20lbs with each husband? I always manage to lose the weight, but unfortunately not because I work out and eat right. I was a single mom when I had my daughter and I was going to work full-time and college full time and every other weekend that she went to her dad's, I also went out. I was also a lot younger, so it was pretty easy to get back down to my pre-pregnancy weight. I lost the weight I gained from my first husband and the weight I gained with my first son with my first divorce. It's funny how good the 'divorce diet' works. <br />
<br />
But, here I am again - with the 20 lbs I gained after getting married this time and the 30lbs I have left after having my second son and I'm not sure my husband would be cool with me leaving him temporarily so I can lose this weight.<br />
<br />
So - it's time to lose the weight. I always know when it's time to lose weight because I will have a moment where something will happen and I will realize I'm part of the 'fat girls club'. You know, all women think they look fatter than they are and usually people will tell you that you're crazy and you look great - but inevitabley, there will come a moment when there's no one disagreeing with your self-assessment and you just know. It's time.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to the last time I can remember having that 'moment'. <br />
<br />
I was married to my first husband and had gained 20 lbs since we got married. I was in denial about it. My wretched sister-in-law - at the time - was getting married. I was not in the greatest moods about the whole thing. For starters, I had had a miscarriage recently. I was 8 weeks pregnant when it happened. My in-laws had me and my husband over for dinner and I thought it was a gesture on their part as a way of trying to cheer me up. Wrong. Right when I get there, my MIL says to me, "Well, I guess we are going to have a baby after-all." Huh? "Yeah, Trish (my wretched sister-in-law) is pregnant." (Well, that's good! I mean, I'm so glad we are going to have a baby after-all. I realize I almost messed that up by having my miscarriage, but thank goodness Trish saved the day by getting knocked up by her boyfriend of all of two months!) In the next breath - Trish goes on to tell me that she wants me to be her Matron of Honor. Oh yipee. Not only is she pregnant, but now I can't even avoid her - seeing as how I'm going to be helping her plan her wedding. But, of course it gets better. You can't have a Matron of Honor without also having a Maid of Honor and who else would be the best choice for that - but my husband's ex-fiance, Becca. I have to stress that she told me all of this (the baby, the wedding, and the ex-fiance), before I even took my jacket off.<br />
<br />
Before we went home that night, my SIL told me that she wanted all her bridesmaids to meet in the next month or so and go shopping for their dresses. I mean, we had to chop-chop; after all, having a wedding dress altered for every trimester can be a bit challenging. At that time, I had never met the ex-fiance. So, one Saturday I meet my SIL, MIL, and the rest of the wedding party at a bridal store. At this point, my SIL was almost five months pregnant - and still skinnier than me I might add. I was introduced to Becca - who (and I'm not joking) was probably 100 lbs. I can't be 100 percent sure on that - but I do know that when the sales lady brought her out a dress to try on, she said, "Well, the smallest size we have is a 2, but we can at least get an idea of what the dress will look like on you; we can always order a smaller size." Oh goody; I mean, I was just going to sit at home and be sad about not being pregnant and growing an extra chin, but this is so much better. This is what was missing in my life; a Saturday of bridesmaid dress shopping with pregnant wretched SIL and Miss Ex-size 0.<br />
<br />
When the sales lady came to me and asked me for my size, I just couldn't bring myself to tell her what size I needed.....so I lied and gave her a size about 2 sizes smaller. Now, don't ask me why I did that. I think I was distracted by the ribs sticking out on Miss Ex-size 0.......on her back. And did I also mention that I was the last girl to try on her dress? So, there I am - hiding out in the fitting room - with a dress I know is not going to fit and a room-ful of people waiting on me to see how it looks.<br />
<br />
So......I decided I would just try and see if I could get it on. I mean, it's a dress and it wasn't form-fitting, so really I just have to get it over my upper body, right? After much sucking in and heaving and ho-ing, I managed to get it on and it looked ok. I came out of the dressing room and the sales lady says - while everyone is standing there - "Yeah, maybe a couple of sizes bigger." So, I turn right around and have a fight with the curtain on the fitting room trying to get back inside as quickly as possible. I swear it's jumping from right to left - blocking my way and laughing at me. I get back inside and am trying to get this stupid dress off......and it gets stuck.<br />
<br />
I don't mean a little stuck - like I have to manuever around for a few minutes and make some wierd noises to get it off - I mean, it's stuck like there is no way in hell I'm going to get this off without help. And of course it's stuck on me in such a way that my arms are raised up in the air - half bent - and the neck is over my head and I can't move to even pull it back down to where it was. I have no choice but to step out and ask for help. So, after I wrestle with the curtain again - which is even harder to do when you can't see - I humbly and pitifully ask my MIL to help me. She tries, but no luck. So, we have to call the sales lady to come help too. She was kind enough to leave the curtain open so that everyone could witness what is probably the greatest moment in my whole life. I mean, it's right up there with accidentally farting in class in the 8th grade.<br />
<br />
In the end, they had to rip the dress off of me.<br />
<br />
So, this last weekend, we had a 'Sales-tax free' weekend in my state. The hubby and I spent all day shopping for the kids and ourselves. We're at the store and my husband asks me if I'm going to buy anything. I tell him, "I don't know; I'm not sure what size to get right now." He says, "Why don't you try some stuff on?"............................Um, yeah - that's ok.<br />
<br />
I may not be anymore fatter than I was the last time I had a baby, but I am definitley a lot smarter.<br />
<br />
Yep - it's time.<br />
<br />
SJWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040333121747509866noreply@blogger.com0