The Pontoon Boat Pirate Parade
Saturday, July 5, 2008
I narrowly got out of dressing like a wench because the costume my mom ordered didn't arrive on time, hubby was disappointed.
Celebrity Sightings
Nicole Ritchie stopped by. Hey bitches, where's the corn?
Blogopera #14 - Big Wooden Bed
Thursday, July 3, 2008
This is #14 in a series, to read in succession begin with #1
Warning: There is adult content in this post so if you are anti-big-o, stop reading.
“Come to bed,” he said and we staggered from our island and walked to his bedroom.
I stood like an obedient child as he undressed me, pulling my dress over my head and sliding my underwear down my legs until I stepped out of them. I stood watching him while he undressed.
He sat on the bed and pushed himself back and held his arms out motioning for me to come to him. I crawled across the bed and he pulled me onto his lap. I lazily wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder.
He moved my legs to rest behind him until we were both sitting Indian style, me wrapped around him. He slipped inside me and I tightened my legs around him as he used his hands to pull me to him until his whole body moved against mine.
Sleepy with wine and full, we made love unhurried, languorously as if underwater in the big wooden bed built with his hands. He cupped my buttocks in his hand and thrust into me, circling his pelvis against mine each time our bodies connected.
My legs started to shake and I grabbed his shoulders tight as an orgasm ripped through me. I went limp like a ragdoll, spent from the exertion and he used his own strength to hoist me on and off his lap, impaling me until he climaxed.
I climbed off his lap and collapsed next to him looking at the ceiling. His hand moved across the rumpled sheets and grasped mine.
“You make me happy,” he said.
“You were happy before,” I retorted.
“Not like this,” he said.
Chris is Off to WI
Well, I'm off to Wisconsin and I don't have a post for today so amuse yourself reading the comments on the last one. Oy vey. I'll post on vaca, maybe some pictures of me in a bikini so you can all have a good laugh.
Changing the World, One Birkin at a Time
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I have been in an acrimonious mood the last few days. Even though my posts probably haven't reflected it, my comments certainly have. Usually, when I run into a post or person I wholly disagree with, I just move on, but lately, I have felt the need to retort.
It all started with this post. Mean or shallow humor can work, but it has to be funny or it just seems sadistic. My comment was pretty bitchy. I looked over her actual website later and she's on meds from leg surgery so maybe it's messing with her funny gene.
Then I came upon a post on this website from one of the paid Dooce ads. This woman has been bankrolling a text ad for months and I'm not sure why since it's clearly a familyish site. So I was looking at her site and she related a story about how she,
”went down and saw my best girl, Lauren at Hermes and ordered a (rare) Taurillon Clemence white Birkin from Hermes with palladium hardware. Even if your name is on "the list" - it will be a 3-5 year wait before you ever see it!”She then went on about how the Lauren called her to let her know they had the bag and did she want it. She said she was too sick to think about the bag and told the sales girl to call her friend to see if she wanted it, before offering it to the next person on the waiting list(this is how rich, entitled people cut in line).
The sales girl apparently called her husband(smart sales girl) and he surprised her with the bag for her birthday. Nice huh? She also went on about how she couldn't wait to share her Hermes collection with her daughter, yes collection, not purse collection, Hermes collection. Here's the bag.
My husband said it looks like a purse his 98 year old grandma bought at Mervin's, god I love that man. Do you know how much this handbag cost? $16,500. Yes, that is no typo, $16,500. The sales tax alone in the state in which she lives amounts to over $1300. I have a real problem with this, and I told her. I wrote a letter that went something like this:
I'm certain your husband really loves you. However, I think that anyone whoNow, with my blondness and minimal blogging experience, I clicked on submit like five times because I couldn't figure out why my comment didn't post. Only then did I realize she had comment moderation set and would have to approve my post before it appeared. I wrote this lady a mean-ass email and I probably sent it to her like five times. Needless to say, she hasn't posted it.
spends over $16,500 on a handbag is totally out of touch with the realities of the larger world.
Do you know if you bought yourself a nice, modest $500 bag, you could have used the remainder to fund 10 years of education for 6 different girls in places like Cambodia, India and Vietnam.(Room to Read-an awesome education non-profit)
Do you know girls in these countries start factory work as early as four, and frequently end up in the sex trade? You could have provided scholarships that would have fundamentally changed the lives of six real people and forwarded progressive change in their countries.
Or,
you can have a white purse.
I'm guessing this woman and her family probably do quite a bit of philanthropic work cause rich people love that and it's advantageous at tax-time. Some disclosure about me is necessary here. I have not taken a vow of poverty, I have not foresaken all material pleasures. We live in a nice house close to the beach in a beautiful part of Southern California.
This is my single extravagance, I say extravagant because we could have purchased the same house for far less if we were willing to live further inland, so extravagant, ie. not at all a necessity. I made a decision when I first came to California that I did not move 3,000 miles from home to live an hour from the beach, I wanted to be able to walk to it, and I did.
I understand that everything is relative. Me splurging on a $90 cashmere sweater(twice in my life) is probably the equivalent of her dropping $15,000+ on a purse. Maybe if I had that level of wealth, I'd be rockin a Birkin but I don't think so.
My aun
t has done a lot of work with Room to Read and she has funded the construction of several schools and provided an education to many girls. A few years back she traveled to Vietnam to see one of the schools her money built and the girls who would study there and she related to me what it felt like to see the difference you were making in the lives of these very real girls. Even from a purely selfish standpoint, I just don't think a possession could ever bring you that kind of pleasure.My husband and I haven't eschewed all material things and I care about the way I look, but we try really hard in the midst of the looks-obsessed, consumerist culture that surrounds us all, to teach our children that what you look like isn't who you are and things, while they can be fun, distracting and make your life easier, don't make you happy.
I hope we have some success here because I really think if we could all move away from the beliefs that are hammered into us about what it means to look a certain way or have things, we could change the world.
Top 10 Reasons You Will Never Achieve Your Dreams
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
2.Your mom was right, you are just like your father.
3.One word, X-Box.
4.The world isn't ready for the Oprah of Tel Aviv.
5.Your parents never told you, but you are actually a little retarded.
6.Masturbation will never be an Olympic sport.
7.You can't tear yourself away from Lolcats.
8.You didn't commit to achieving the goal by writing it down and reevaluating it often, just kidding, it's cause no one likes you.
9.You've never finished anything.
10.
Uh, hope that doesn't have any lead in it
I hope this is in no way predictive of her future career.
Blogopera #14 - No Man is an Island
This is #14 in a series, to read in succession, begin with #1.
“Why did you move here?” he asked.
“Well, the easy answer is I was offered a job and I wanted to know what it was like to live somewhere else.”
“And the difficult answer?”
“I think I needed space between me and my family and room to breathe, to figure out who I was without them. It can be hard to know what you think or feel when there are a bunch of people around answering the questions for you.”
“That’s understandable.”
“That’s not what they’d say.”
“Well, that’s family.”
“What about your family, are those your parents in the picture
over there,” I said pointing to the photo I had seen earlier.
“Yes, that’s us,” he said with a bit of derision in his voice.
“Your parents look happy,” I said not knowing what to say.
“That’s why I keep that picture, to remind me there were some good times.”
“Not a happy marriage?”
“Not even close. I don’t know what started things but I know what finished them.”
I sat silent waiting for him to go on.
He shifted uncomfortably, ”My dad left my mom when I was eight and my mom did not take it well,” he paused for awhile then went on, “she really tried to be okay, keep it together but she couldn’t. She was always sensitive, a little needy even before he bailed and after he left, she couldn’t even get out of bed. There would be some good days but mostly bad, she started drinking and I think there were pills but I’ve never been sure.
I spent a lot of time with my grandfather that year, Jack and I both did. He was trying to make it easier for her, lighten her load, he didn’t know how to help her and her mother was gone by then. I think it made it worse though, without us to be around for she disappeared into herself. She died and we lived with our grandfather until we both went off to college.”
“Is your grandfather still around?”
“No, he died almost ten years ago, yeah I think it was nine because it was a year before I turned thirty.”
“I’m sorry,” I said trying to think of what if anything I could say that wasn’t trite or saccharin,
“that isn’t something any kid should have to go through.”
“Yeah, thanks, I mean I don’t exactly have the monopoly on rough childhoods.”
“No, but being one of many doesn’t usually make things any easier.”
“What about you, your parents together?” he asked.
“Nope, divorced.”
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“No, I don’t mind, pretty garden variety for the time,” I said matter of fact, ”married young because they got pregnant, divorced seven years later, dad was involved for awhile, they fought, I was in the middle, they made it hard on each other and when my dad had another family, I didn’t see him much. My mom was always there and a pretty stable parent and I had lots of family around me to balance things out so I think I did ok.”
“How are things with your dad now, do you see him.”
“Yeah, sometimes, I just have low expectations which he consistently delivers on so birthdays, father’s day, crises of mass proportion and I have a dad. When it comes to the everyday dad stuff, I don’t know, I don’t think I've ever really had that but again, like you said, I’m not the only one. Out of all my friends whose parents divorced, maybe ten of us, only one had a dad who stayed involved, the rest slowly fell by the wayside or disappeared altogether.”
“Yeah, I haven’t heard from my dad since shortly after my mom’s funeral. He wanted Jack and me to live with him and his new wife but I was so angry at him, I'm sure I was very difficult but he just stopped trying and that was that.”
“It’s different now you know, we were all like guinea pigs then, people do divorce much better now.”
“Maybe years from now people will look at seventies dads like the dinosaurs, trying to figure out what happened to explain the mass extinction.” he said.
“Come over here,” Dylan said as he scooted to the back edge of the couch to make room for me. I flipped around to the other side of the couch and nestled into the space between his arm. I tangled my legs with his and his fingers lazily combed through my hair. I turned my face up to look at him trying to discern what he was thinking without having to ask. His brown eyes were dark and placid, like a big lake, ripples at the surface the only clue to what lie below. He gently pulled my head back down to his chest resting his chin against my head. “Come to bed,” he said and we staggered from our island and walked to his bedroom.
I Double Dare You To Don All of These at the Same Time
Monday, June 30, 2008
Bad fashion trends are a dime a dozen. The fashion-beauty-military-industrial complex does this on purpose. First, make something that is totally ugly the height of fashion. Then, when every woman has finally gone out and purchased it, decide that it is in fact, after all, hideous and uncool. Since it really is awful, we'll see that and move on to the next trend. Think bubble skirts, denim jumpers and high heel sneakers.
However, there are some trends that are equally awful but JUST WILL NOT DIE. Now I am not Anna Wintour or Stacy London or Tim Gunn but I know what makes my stomach lurch and my eyes bleed. So I present, here for your pleasure, my:
Please Just Go Away List 
“Skinny” jeans. It's funny how unskinny, skinny jeans make most of us look. They are not good at all for those of us with hips or if you are larger than a size four. And as long as we're talking about jeans, let's just agree now to stay away from any extremes in jeans like the too low and too high rises. Go out and find jeans that suit your figure and wear them. Trends change each season to trick us into spending money. I have a rule, if they don't look good on Scarlett, they're certainly not going to look good on me.
I know I will make a lot of enemies with this one because I still see a lot of women sporting these but OMG Frenchtip acrylic nails need to go, I'm not a fan of fake nails but these are especially awful. Unless they are done VERY thin, relatively short and meticulously ma
intained, these look gross. Everyone knows they are not your real nails and everyone has them from ghetto girls to strippers to soccer moms. At this point, they are cliche. And you get what you pay for so if you are going to do these in spite of what I say, please go to a reputable salon and pay more than $20.
Truth be told, fake nails are unhealthy. They are home to many types of bacteria that begin to form between them and your real nail. They put you at high risk of nail damage and fungi. Many of the chemicals they use are extremely carcinigenic, why do you think the techs usually wear masks? If you can afford to get acrylic nails you can afford a mani every other week to get your real nails in shape.
As for toes, let's touch on French pedicures. Unless you get a pedicure every week, skip it. These look the most disgusting growing out, the white yellows, the chips show, it's difficult to touch up and after more than a week, you just look like you have weird monkey feet that were meant to climb trees. The solids are far more forgiving.
In the same vein, flowers/designs on the toes or fingers of grown women. A
gain, I know this will irritate quite a few people because I see it all the time. At least on the toes there's a bit of whimsy in it, but a grown women with a garnet red, a summery coral or bright pink is much more classic and sophisticated. Unless you are going to wear it with your stripper flip flops, then, by all means, put a rainbow on your toe.
Giant platform
flip-flops, so you can wear flip flops and look like a hooker. Doesn't the fact that they are high heels kind of negate the casual comfortable idea of flipflops? Do you know who I see these on all the time, my stripper clients. Do you want to look like a stripper? Oh, you do? Then by all means.
Tops that make every woman look like she's in the last month of her third trimester. Maternity tops as regular clothes, this trend was great when I was preggo because I could buy regular clothes in a larger size and skip the dorky maternity styles. Now that I've had the baby, I'm terrified someone's going to ask me when I'm due.
I saw a girl yesterday in a bikini with Uggs, it was way too Barbarella, couldn't she just wear the stripper flip flops?
Super-size sunglasses so now Grandma looks cool with her blue-blockers too, especially white ones.
Anything splashed across your butt, juicy, stinky, slutty. I especially hate this on older women(trying too hard) and young girls(please don't encourage people to look at their heinies when they're 10, blech, creepy.)
What trend do you wish would finally keel over and go away never to return?
The Big Kids
.JPG)
Spankenstein
Sunday, June 29, 2008
My childhood friend Stef and I used to while away the hours frequently stoned in creative pursuit of all things hilarious(to us).
We'd make up alternate verses to the Diarrhea Song, you know, the song that goes, "When you're sliding into home, and your pants are filled with foam, diarrhea." Our version included gems like, "when you're visiting a castle, and a chamber pots a hassle, diarrhea", and "when your sphincter's in the ruins cause you ate too many prunes, diarrhea." Anyhow, you get the picture.
We would do other random things like catalogue the entire contents of our purses and write Haiku using these items. For example:
lipstick, tampon, lovenote
swimming in ciggarette flakes
our lives at sixteen
Stef and I would make up alternate identities complete with accents and stay in character all night. Our accents vascillating between rough approximations of Russian and French. Oh, how many times we convinced strangers we were from Belgium(almost no one knows what Belgians sound like).
We would also come up with porn names for mainstream movies. So for all you movie buffs(pun intended), I've compiled a list. Get your Christmas lists ready, many of these are real films.
Titty Slickers
A Clockwork Orgy
Single White Shemale
Butch Lesbian and the Lapdance Kid
Glad He Ate Her
Cumming On America
Sheepless in Montana
Forrest Hump
Fuckit List
Breakfast in Tiffany
Moulin Splooge
The Adventures of Robin's Hood
The Great Dick Taster
Singin' in the Golden Shower
Frisky Business
Pulp Friction
Ed's Wood
Juranal Park
Snatch Adams
Her Rear Window
Twin Cheeks
A Midsummer's Night Cream
Intercourse With A Vampire
Dangerous Behinds
Hannah Does Her Sisters
Big(no change needed there)
Adam's Trib
White Men Can't Hump
Star Whores
An American in Paris Hilton
Apollo's 13 Inches
All That Jizz
Jugsy
Pole Driving Miss Daisy
Bi on the 4th of July
Lord of the Cockrings
Oldfinger
Spankenstein(one of my favourite titles)
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Poon
The Humpining
Titty Titty Bang Bang
Das Boob
Hi Infidelity
American Booty
BiTanic
A Tale of Two Titties
Se7en Inches
Fleshdance
Breast in Show
Shaving Ryan's Privates
Stealin' It Saturday
Saturday, June 28, 2008
I've heard of some people doing 'Filch It Fridays' for a day off posting or to introduce their readers to other bloggers they like. So, along those same lines, here's a Stealin' It Saturday.
Long before Youtube, someone sent me this video, I've seen it so many times I don't remember who anymore. You may have seen it yourself, it's definately an oldie but oh so goodie.
Don Hertzfeldt, the short film's creator, put this together in 1995 for a freshman film production class, he even played guitar for the films soundtrack. recording it on a boombox in his dorm room.This small student project was eventually awarded the World Animation Celebration - HBO Comedy Arts Festival Grand Prize Award for the "World's Funniest Cartoon."
Someday, when my seven year old son asks me questions about love, I'll just show him this.
Formerly Fun Friday
Friday, June 27, 2008
It's that time again, Cha-Cha Friday. I'll be busy at the spa ripping, tearing, tweezing and exfoliating. I thought I'd leave you with another Blogopera Post.
I know a lot of people like to read but hate to comment but I would love some feedback on these. Whether you'd like to see more or do you skip them when on the site. I'm not sure if this is a feature I should scrap or choose another forum for or continue with. So, if you have a moment, let me know.
And yes, this picture is of me. I think I was about six. My grandparents had returned from Hawaii and they brought me this ensemble. I was in love with playing dress-up so getting a hula skirt was a little piece of heaven for my six year old self. Now at 35, I think it looks a little tarty but I suppose if the hula skirt fits, wear it right?
Blogopera #13 - Over Dinner
This is #13 in a fictional series, to read in succession, begin with #1
Dylan piled all kinds of vegetables on the counter.
“How do you feel about a little pan fried fish and let’s see.” he said sifting through the myriad of cellophane bags, “some sautéed green beans and roasted asparagus?”
“Yum, what about all these other veggies?”
“I’ll make us a salad.”
“Why don’t you let me make the salad.” I offered.
“Ok.”
We set about fixing dinner, me tearing bits of purple lettuce and bright green frisee into a wide wooden bowl, him trimming asparagus, slicing garlic into thin filaments and brushing olive oil over the fish. We talked while we cleaned, chopped and readied our simple feast. We tried to catch up on the background histories of where our bodies had already gone.
He talked about the rote activity of the café, how it saved him from self-imposed solitude. He spoke about the things he made, what was going on in his life when he created them. I spoke about my work, how I was fond of it, enjoyed the security but felt like I liked it just enough to keep me from doing what I really wanted to do. I told him how I wanted to write, write things people would read. It was the first time I had ever uttered aloud to another person one of my deepest yearnings.
I set the salad on the table and refilled our glasses as Dylan set down plates piled with food. We ate tomatoes dappled with green, red, yellow and purple so sweet and flavorful I didn’t think I could ever eat a store bought tomato again. We speared parchment slices of Persian cucumbers dressed with balsamic vinegar and chevre cheese. We piled mouthfuls of fish, crisp and brown opening up to the tender, milky flesh and shiny, charred asparagus and thin, tender green beans.
In between bites we talked more, closing some of the gaps, filling in certain blanks. We finished our meal and piled all of our dishes in the deep porcelain sink brimming with hot, sudsy water and left the mess for another time. We emptied the rest of the wine into our glasses and made an island of his couch, resting on either side, feet intertwined, our bellies full.
Sarah Jessica Parker Likes Hot Dogs on a Stick
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Wednesday evenings my husband and I get a babysitter for our kids and go out. We party like pornstars have dinner, go see a movie, maybe run errands or go for a drive. Essentially, we pay fifteen dollars an hour to be somewhere, anywhere, without our kids.Tonight, my husband had a haircut scheduled at the salon right next to my spa. So we left early, had a little Thai food and while he got his hair cut, I did bookwork and tidied up at the spa. After he was done neither of us were ready to go home.
We decided to go to the mall, something we almost never do, but he wanted a lemonade from Hot Dog on a Stick, he has a bit of a thing for the uniforms.
Right off the bat there are the ones that sound naughty, the Shit-poos and Bich-poos. Then there's the Cadoodle, which sounds like something you store your hairbands and clips in but is actually a Poodle/Collie mix. They had a Pekepoo, also a game I play with my bebe.
Of course I saw Doxipoos, Labradoodles, Boxerdoodles, Doberpoos and the Huskidoodles. Then there was the one that sounds like a German noodle dish, the Schnoodle. There were others that also sound like something you'd eat, the Foodle(Fox Terrier/Poodle) and the Snickerdoodle. Okay, that last one is actually a cookie. Just in time for Halloween, you have the Jack-a-doodle.
By far my favorite was the Giant Scnoodle, a mix of a giant Schnauzer and standard poodle. "Hi, this is my dog Chompers(what my son wants to name our future dog), he's a Giant Schnoodle," it just sounds funny. Sadly, they didn't have any Spliterapartadoodles, that's a mix of a Great Dane and a miniature poodle. I had to skadoodle because I was starting to get dizzy.
We then stopped by Spencer's. I haven't been in there since I was probably fifteen and still got a thrill from seeing the cheap-ass vibrators and penis-shaped pasta. We were just bored and wanted to wander through stores where we wouldn't be tempted to spend money.
The store was filled with the requisite goth gear and predictable bachelorette items but there was something else, something more. I realized I totally missed the boat on Father's Day because there on the shelf sat the consummate present, the uber-gift if you will.
Yes, it's the Sarah Jessica Porkher who loves Sex in her Shitty. No, I'm not even kidding. Eew, she's got “three fabulous love holes.” This lovely “lady” is brought to you by Pipedream Products who also sell such gems as J Ho, Booty From the Block. Just pony up $26.95 and one of these lovely ladies could be yours.
Haircut - $40
By the Shores of Gitche Gumee
Each year in July my family and I venture East to the shores of one of Wisconsin's many lakes. This is my place of origin and we go back each year to visit my large and unruly extended family.
We'll eat Wisconsin style(until the buttons fly from our pants). We arrive in our jeans and fitted tees and return in elastic. You think I'm kidding? My kids eat their yearly allotment of corn on the cob, I partake in all of my favorites I don't eat in our vegetarian home and my husband gives his sweet tooth its money's worth.
We'll spend ten halcyon days filled with skiing, boating, swimming, popcorn and movies, bonfires and roasted marshmallows, fireworks, and hammock naps. The best part for me is that although I hate the thought that I might be putting someone out or taking advantage, even at 35, this in no way includes my mother.
When I'm home there's a part of me that reverts back to when I was twelve, she's the only one I can do this with. So I'll let her bring me an afghan when I'm cold, coffee when I sit bleary eyed on her couch shaking off sleep, another piece of pie. I will not utter the words, “no I'll get it” or "don't go to any trouble." Just “yes, please.”
I'll let my stepdad take my son fishing at dawn while I sleep in. I'll let my mom watch the kids while I 'nap' with my husband. For him and I, it's one of the few times we get a break at the same time since usually it's one of us relieving the other. For my parents, its a time to build memories with their grandchildren.
My husband, kids and I catch fireflies at dusk. If we're lucky, we'll have a thunderstorm, something we rarely get at home. I'll get to finish a book or two. We'll see a bevy of friends and family. Our California kids get a taste of wide open spaces and a small private lake seemingly put there for our pleasure alone. We'll spend ten days in the same lush backyard we were married in, the water lapping at the shore.
My stepfather puts on a spectacular illegal fireworks display over the lake. He surreptitiously procures dollhouse-size fireworks with names like the Widowmaker, the Amputee and World War 7. He sets them off from their pier that sports the scorch marks to prove it. I'll tell you another time about when he almost set the quartet at our wedding ablaze.
It's a midwest shangri-la, where the weather heats up and time slows down. Every year we add another day or two to our trip. I suspect eventually we'll spend most of our summer there. For now, we all look forward to those ten magnificent days.
Frenemies
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Even though she mauls him daily, he really does love her. She'll climb all over him and he just lays there and takes it, kind of like my husband--just kidding honey, everybody knows you fight back.
Speaking of 'just kidding', my son went through a phase a few months ago where he would say something like, "this dinner isn't very good, just kidding." and "your hair looks ugly, just kidding." and "I'm gonna take a grenade and throw it in her room, just kidding."
So we had to have the discussion with him that just because you say "just kidding" at the end, doesn't negate what you already said, some things you just don't say.
The husband and I thought it was pretty funny and for the next few weeks we'd throw completely off the wall barbs at each other, pretending to be like a few other couples we know like:
"You took the best years of my life and made me the bitter person I am,(pause for effect) just kidding."
"If you would have given me a piece here or there I wouldn't have to go boink the nanny, just kidding."
Yeah, we're twisted and we tease each other a ton, but I've never met another couple that laughs as much as we do and when someone makes you laugh, it's pretty hard to stay mad.
Labels: video
Blogopera #12 - Like and Dislikes
This is #12 in a series, to read in succession, begin with one.
I passed by his desk and saw the sketches were variants of a mantel above a fireplace. The sketch of the room remained the same but the mantels changed, some ornate and complicated, others simple and rustic. The drawings were very good and I was wondering what they were for when I heard him come into the room.
“It’s a piece I’m working on for a client, they want a custom mantel, I’m still trying to convince them to stick with the style of the home and do something more arts & crafts less Victorian.”
“They are all beautiful.” I said as I thumbed through the stack of sketches.
“Which one do you like?” he asked expectantly.
“This one is my favorite,” I say, holding up a sketch of a mantel with a geometric design repeating through the wood, knots and grain visible in the unbroken surfaces.
He smiled.
“Why do you smile,” I asked.
“You picked the right one, maybe you could convince them,” his voice trailed off.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked.
“Sure.” I said.
“Red or white”
“I’d prefer red.”
“Did you design all those?” I asked.
“Design and build, I used to just make what other people designed but I’ve been designing more of my own stuff.”
“I didn’t know you did this,” I said with some disbelief, “you’ve never talked about it. What other things have you done?”
“The table you’re sitting at, the desk, my bed, most of the furniture in this house, almost ten pieces now done custom for other people from design to build.”
“How did you learn to do this?” I asked in amazement looking at everything differently, knowing he built it with his hands. So that’s where those arms came from.
“My grandpa was a carpenter, I spent a lot of time with him growing up and he taught me much of what he knew and the rest, I learned by trial and error. Anyone can do it if you take the time to figure it out.”
“That’s not true Dylan, this is artful, not just a couple of nails and some wood glue, this is solid wood, beautiful lines and these are dovetailed corners, I said running my hand over the smooth seams where the table sides came together.”
“Thank you,” he said and handed me a glass
“Do you have any major likes or dislikes?” He said, changing the subject, as he bent over and sifted through the contents of the refrigerator.
“Are we talking about food?” I asked.
“Let’s start there,” he laughed.
“I don’t like any hairy fish,” I stated plainly.
“Hairy fish?”
“You know, sardines, herring, gefilte or any fish that’s packed in anything oily or gooey.”
“Well, thankfully they didn’t have anything like that at the farmer’s market.”
“Anything else you don’t like?”
“No that’s it.”
"You’re easy” he said as he pulled bags from the refrigerator and tossed them on the counter.
“Yes, and I like a variety of foods,” I teased.
Confessions of a Horny Old Codger
Monday, June 23, 2008
.JPG)
This is Cat. Yes, original name I know. My mom named him after Holly Golightly's orange tabby named Cat in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's, a favorite of hers. Cat was hers first. I was getting ready to move out of her house after college and I was taking my cat with. I told her she was going to miss having an animal around and she should get her own cat.
She picked him up from some house where the family cat had gotten knocked up, "free to good home" the ad said. Of course, me, sappy sucker that I am, totally monopolized this new kitten and got very attached. When I moved, I was bummed to leave him behind. A few days after I had settled into my house I got a phone call from my mom.
“Do you miss Cat?”
“Yes.” (sniffle)
“Do you want to take him?”
“Yes.” (hesitant, she might be teasing me, she does this some times)
“When do you want to come get him?”
“I'll be over in ten minutes.”
That's motherhood for you. I convince her to get a cat, she really likes this cat but she let's me have him because she knows I miss him and am feeling a bit unanchored living away from home for the first time.
In this photo, Cat is lounging on his favorite blanket. He also masturbates with this blanket. I know some of you must be thinking a cat, masturbating? Really? Oh yeah. He bites a corner of the blanket in his mouth, gets the blanket all bunched up, does the kneading thing with his paws that cats do and then his kitty wanker comes out and he does a few pelvic thrusts until he gets bored or frustrated(he is fixed) and goes to sleep. Kind of like my husband---just kidding honey.
The thing is, this is also my favorite blanket, it was made for me by my great grandmother about twenty years ago. (Yes, I let my cat desicrate a treasured object knitted my my great grannies very own hands.) So when he gets 'in the mood' often he will find his blanket covering my legs while I watch tv or read a book. No problem for him, he is happy to share. Now maybe it's laziness or apathy or I'm just so used to it but I rarely stop him when he's doing it. A few times I've kicked him off me because his claws are poking through the blanket into my feet or legs. I think its also just unconscious, I'm so used to his horniness I don't even notice anymore.
So it was funny when my now husband, then boyfriend was over and we were snuggling on the couch, blanket over us when cat came by to do his thing. I think my husband just thought he was going to curl up between us and go to sleep but after awhile he realized something else was going on.
"Oh, he's humping the blanket."
Cat is about 12 years old now. He has come to love the noisy, grabby additions to our household. He gets twice daily medication to control his overactive thyroid and protect his heart. I administer this medication and I will tell you, it's a testament of the love I have for this animal. He is the last attachment I have to childhood. I wasn't technically a child when I got him but I was still living with my mother and not yet on my own in any real way. He moved into my first home with me. Then he moved across country with me. We lost one of our best friends together(the other older cat I had). He was there when I was on my own, and then when I met my husband, opened the spa, had my kids, bought our family home. And yes, even in his old age, he still makes sweet sweet love to his blanket at least once a day.
No Good, Stinky, Hair Pants Lady
Sunday, June 22, 2008
A few years ago I had a woman make an appointment for a bevy of waxing services. This client wanted what basically amounted to a full body wax: legs, toes, cha-cha, backside, arms, underarms, brow, lip and chin. Now almost every client I've had through the door thinks they're hairy when they are not. This woman, she was hairy, so hairy that when she took her pants off, it looked like she had hair pants on. She was hairy like Klinger from M.A.S.H., hairy like Robin Williams knuckles.
My female clients are generally very self-conscious about being clean and odor free. I actually had to put cha-cha wipes(like baby wipes that smell better) in the bathroom because clients were rubbing their girl parts raw with the cheap-ass, wood-pulp, paper towels we stock because they were afraid that being an hour out from their shower, they were going to be stinky. This client, I will call her Susan, (not a pseudonym, that's her real name, ha) apparently did not share the same hygenic concern.
I had to really put some muscle into it and work my ass off to wax her. I used far more product than is typical because of the profuseness of her “winter coat”, she was smelly and to top it off, she was so irritating I almost self-immolated on the spot. I don't mean she was just boring, though she was, she was tedious, obtuse, and lacking in any self-awareness. Several times during the service I had visions of stuffing a towel in her mouth until I was finished.
Giant mistake because when I was finally finished, ready for her to pay me and leave, she spent the next 45 minutes talking about her 40's -themed wedding. This was the only time I had between clients in a 10-hour day on my feet, to sit down and eat lunch.
So when her check for like $400 something bounced, I was steaming. I called her.
"Hi Susan it's Chris from the spa, I wanted to let you know your check didn't go through."
(Silence) "Oh, yeah, I saw that."(and you didn't call me?)
"Well, I wanted to let you know."
"Uh, I can't come in and pay you right now because I'm out of town for a week."
"I'll try."
Predictably, Tuesday comes and goes and no Susan. So, I call again Wednesday.
"Oh hi."
"I'm calling because you told me you'd come by yesterday and pay me for the check that bounced."
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry, my car got broken into and they took my bag, it had all my stuff in it, my keys, ID, credit cards."(WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE, DID SHE JUST SAY CREDIT CARDS?)
"Susan, you told me last week you didn't have any credit cards."
"Oh, I meant my debit card."
"I can run debit cards too."
"But I don't have it now because it was stolen."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Uh, I can come by on Friday after work and bring the money?"
"Ok, I will see you Friday."
Friday, no Susan, so I call her from the spa several times Saturday, Sunday, Monday, no luck, she's not even answering her phone. So on a hunch, I call her from my personal cell phone and lo and behold she picks up on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi Susan its Chris calling from the spa(ha!)."
"Uh, uh, hi."
"I waited for you on Friday, what happened?"
"Oh, blah, blah, blah," (I can't even hear her now because the blood rushing through my ears is deafening.)
"Susan, I performed a service, I did a good job yes?"
"Yes."
"Not only have I not been paid for that service but I actually had to pay twenty dollars in the form of a return check fee for the pleasure of waxing you."
"Uh, ok."
"So I would like you to fulfill your obligation and pay me the money you owe me."
There were a few more phone calls like this, eventually deconstructing into full blown hostility on my part. She wouldn't pick up the phone after that, probably not for anybody. I left a message at least once a week for 6 months or so, then buried her return check with all of her numbers on it in my desk. Whenever I was having a particularly rough day, I would dig it out and make a phone call to blow off a little steam.
Blah, blah, leave a message, BEEP.
"Hi, Susan this is Chris, just sitting here waiting for my four hundred dollars. Yeah, really wish I could go get groceries for my kids but well, guess that's not going to happen today. I sure hope you can find a way to be okay with the fact that you have taken food out of the mouths of my children. Okay, call me back."
Montel Williams: Did He Die, Is He Dead, When Did He Die, Was He Wearing Pants When It Happened?
Saturday, June 21, 2008
So a quick update on the Montel Williams post. Evidently, I was not the only one who misunderstood the People Magazine reader comment regarding the possible demise of the daytime demagogue.
montel williams dies
did montel williams die
montel williams people magazine
montel williams death people magazine
when did montel williams die
montel williams people magazine 2008
montel williams dies of ms
people montel williams dies
how did montel williams die
montel williams died
Other search highlights include:
anthropod porn(several people searched this one, I love that)
lauren hutton bravo red carpet disaster
gail top chef boobs
gestapo girl
saw me naked
bart calls mo's bar innuendo names
prank phone calls
I guess inquiring minds do want to know.
Blogopera #11 - His Place
Friday, June 20, 2008
This is #11 i
n a series, to read in succession, begin with #1
Blogopers #1
Blogopera #2
Blogopera #3
Blogopera #4
Blogopera #5
Blogopera #6
Blogopera #7
Blogopera #8
Blogopera #9
Blogopera #10
On the drive over I wondered what his house would be like. Would I find a sleek bachelor’s love nest or disheveled, dirty surroundings of a man living alone. Did bikes, computer equipment and guitars rest where furniture should be with a beer fridge in the bedroom as a makeshift nightstand or would he sport the kind of neatness and order that raises suspicion in a single man.
“Here we are,” he announced as we pulled in to a long driveway next to a stately two-story Craftsmen Bungalow.
The house was massive and I was beginning to think that either coffee was more lucrative than I thought or this paramour of mine had a side job when the long driveway dead ended to a modest cottage house, almost a miniature of the front house. He shut off the car and I followed behind him. He found the key, pushed open the door and flicked on an overhead light.
I looked around me and took it all in. An overstuffed, saddle leather couch worn soft at the seats shared the front room with a large, square coffee table with a solid hard wood slab top, sides inlaid with an intricate herringbone pattern. A small unfinished writer’s desk was pushed into an open corner, spilling over with stacks of papers, sketches and books. A simple coat rack with curved wood sides and big iron fittings stood just inside the door, a zippered sweatshirt and knapsack hanging on one of the hooks.
It was a masculine space devoid of evidence of a female presence but still warm, inviting and peppered with favorite objects.
“This is home,” he said as he walked into the adjacent kitchen and turned on more lights.
The kitchen was relatively spacious but a massive wooden table filled up most of the room save for the galley area nestled between the refrigerator and stove. The table was a long rectangle, three unbroken planks about two feet wide each comprised the top, long benches flanking either side.
He set his things down, “I’m going to change, I’ll be back in a minute. There’s water in the fridge if you’re thirsty and I can open up some wine if you like.”
“Go get dressed, I’ll wait for you.”
While he dressed I looked around the living room trying to gather more information about this man I knew very little about. Only a handful pictures were scattered around the room. A frame on the table contained what must have been a picture of his family. The children were very small. His mother wore a bright floral shift with white patent leather mary janes, her thick blonde hair gathered into a ponytail with a scarf tied in it, her lips rimmed in frosty pink.
She held what must have been Dylan, mouth open and eyes wide in curiosity. Dylan’s older brother clung to her leg, looking away from the camera. His father looked much like Dylan but with darker hair, a moustache and thick, tinted eyeglasses. He wore a thin white shirt with a wide collar and narrow fitting seersucker pants. They looked happy and normal, though most families did in pictures.
There was a picture of Dylan, maybe six or seven, already tall, with an old man, a pipe jutting from his pursed lips, no smile but eyes lit up to where you knew how he felt about the boy. The old man rested a hand on his shoulder and Dylan held up a large fish and I recognized the grin so wide it took over the whole bottom half of his face. There were other pictures, pictures of him at maybe twelve with boys his age, laughing, long tanned legs hanging off a pier as they fished.
He Said, She Said - 2
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Conversations With My Husband 
As I am appropriating random images for my blog.
As we lay in bed one night and hear the tinkling of chains as someone walks their dog outside.
Me: I'm gonna blog that you know.
After watching The Mist( a Stephen King movie about wierd attacking tentacle things).
Will Ferrell in Synchro Snafu: The Story of Angus and Clem
I am officially over Will Ferrell, it is clear he made a pact with the Devil. How else do you explain how he can make what is essentially the same movie, over and over again and people will still come to see it them?
Hammy and cheesy sports movies that rely on the same basic premise and gags over and over again. Each film, taken on it's own is kind of funny in a 13-year old boy kind of way but en masse? Case in point, Semi-Pro is about basketball, Blades of Glory about ice-skating, Talledaga Nights features racing, Kicking and Screaming, this one's about soccer and Zoolander, basically the same film but with modeling as the featured sport. It's like American Pie, the first movie was juvenile but very sweet, but the two sequels and three straight to dvd movies that followed were completely unnecessary.
I loved Will Ferrell on SNL. Remember his Bush impressions, “Strategery”? James Lipton? A maligned Alex Trebeck to Darrell Hammond's Sean Connery? “More cowbell”?
I also thought he was perfect in Stranger than Fiction where he plays a trudging through life IRS auditor who suddenly has a narrator in his head. He also did some great work in Melinda and Melinda, a cool Woody Allen movie that explores how the same essential facts of a story can be told as a tragedy or a comedy. These were both really offbeat premises that worked.
I would put Old school, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and Zoolander in the same camp, better than average, funny, farcical movies. Yet even these have a little too much in common with the subsequent movies they spawned.
I really liked Will Ferrell, I tried to forgive him this steaming, heaping landfill of shit, I even hope that someday, in the near future, he will make a movie that redeems him. And it won't be about two male synchronized swimmers who get a chance to be on the women's Olympic team only after the tragic and suspicious death of two female team members only to discover a rival team is the source of the subterfuge and eventually overcome obstacles to win the gold. Until then, I would have to say that the cumulative body of Will Ferrell's film work might actually be making the American public dumber.
A Horrible Tragedy
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I posted my seven year old's apology note he had to write for peeing in the decorative bathroom cup at his Grandma's so I thought it only fair to share the sweet note he sent my grandma after my grandfather died. I like his emphatic "horrible tragedy"(my Grandpa was 87, so while sad for those of us who knew and loved him, hardly a horrible tragedy). I also like the funeral procession he's drawn at the bottom.
I had him write to her a few weeks after the dust settled knowing she was getting lonely. He was very interested in the whole cancer, death, funeral business and asked me a lot of questions. We're going to to see my family in the midwest in July and Grandpa dying came up again, the boy and I had the following conversation:
Him: Where is Grandpa now that he's dead?
Me: Well, he wanted to be entombed so his body is in a casket, in a drawer in a big building called a mausoleum.
Him: So when we go visit in summer, can we go see Grandpa?
Me: Oh honey, that's sweet. When we're there in July we can take Grandma and go visit Grandpa together, she would really like that. We can even take her out to lunch afterward.
Him: So what do you think Grandpa's going to look like after four months?
Me: You do realize honey that while we can visit where his body is and see the plaque with his name on it, we're not going to actually see his body right?
Him: Oh, then nevermind.
So sorry to disappoint. Maybe we need to take him to the Bodies-The Exhibition to satisfy some 7 year old curiosity.
Lesbians Make Me Cry
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I am in some weepy, weird emotional state right now.
It started with the two lesbians Del Martin, 87 and Phyllis Lyon, 84 who finally got married after like 55 years together. They were the first couple married yesterday after the California State Supreme Court overruled a ban on same-sex marriages. They championed lesbian rights at a time when it was no doubt much more difficult being gay.
After all these years, when I'm certain they know who they are and what they mean to each other without the marriage certificate, they continued to press for it because it was a matter of equal rights. Even in their eighties, they are still committed to that. I'm getting weepy just writing about it.
Yes, a goddamn Visa commercial left me crying like a big, baby, bitch.
Then I watched an episode of Intervention about Hubert, a likeable Native American alcoholic. Hubert had a very fractured childhood and a family history of alcoholism. When his mother, with whom he was very close to, died, he fell apart and eventually became homeless. God, it finished me off, I was a puddle.
I'm not sure why I'm so emotional right now but it's a good thing that the recent arrivals from Netflix are Alien vs. Predator, The Mist and Cloverfield(hubs choices) and not the Kite Runner, Love in the Time Of Cholera or Grace is Gone(my choices), I don't think I could take it.
Babies Making Out
My baby will do anything I tell her to. Babies are so dumb.
Labels: video
Blogopera #10 - Later That Evening
Monday, June 16, 2008
This is #10 in a series, to read in succession, begin with #1.
I woke up first, noticing the sun edging its way down the horizon. I quietly got up from the bed leaving him to sleep for a while. I made myself some ice tea and thumbed through the day’s mail enjoying a brief moment of solitude.
In my bedroom Dylan was still sleeping, the sheet only half covering him. He was an attractive man who definitely fit into what I would physically call my type. He was tall and lean, but not gangly or heroine-sheik thin. He had strong arms that must have come from something other than hefting lattes and espressos. He had a mess of sandy blonde hair that was not long, but looked as if he had missed the last few haircuts allowing it to grow just enough to look tousled. His skin was smooth, olive cast, and slightly darker where his body saw the sun.
He slept in absolute silence and stillness, only his chest rising and falling suggested life. I watched him for a few more moments and then sat next to him on the bed.
“Dylan,” I said him name softly, not wanting to jar him from sleep.
“Hi,” he said opening his eyes, still in that space between sleep and consciousness.
“I thought I should wake you, it’s almost eight.”
“That was a long nap, I was worn out.”
“Do you need to sleep a little longer?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “I’m starving,” and he rubbed his naked belly to emphasize the point. “You hungry?”
“Yeah, what are you thinking?”
“We could go get a bite somewhere, or we could go over to my house and make something, I have lots of good stuff from the market if you don’t mind just cooking together low key.”
“Sounds perfect. Do you want me to meet you over there?” I asked not wanting to assume I’d stay the night.
“No, I can wait while you get ready, and if you want to come back here tonight, I can always run you home, its not far.”
“Just let me get dressed and we can go.”
I left him to laze in bed for awhile while I got myself together. My hair looked bedraggled having slept on it wet so I brushed it into submission then twisted it up into a loose knot secured with a favorite tortoise shell comb. I pulled on a turquoise silk sundress, a simple sheath flattering against my tanned skin. I chose a small, rough chunk of coral wrapped in silver to string around my neck as the only accouterment. Deodorant, lip gloss, flats and a cardigan and I was ready to go.
I shut off the bathroom light and found Dylan sitting in my living room armchair. He hadn’t turned any lights on and the sun going down lit him from behind so that I saw only his silhouette. I walked closer, trying to focus on the features of his face as my eyes adjusted to the dim yellow of sunset. When I got close enough he pulled my hands with his and stood up.
“Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Let’s go.”
I Am the Laundry Bitch
Last night I was trying to fall asleep when I started thinking about the amount of time I spend doing laundry each week since it's one of a few household duties that I do almost exclusively. It always seems like there is a lot to do but I started trying to quantify it.
There are 5 people in our household, so each week I launder:
~42 socks(the baby and I go barefoot 99% of the time)actually closer to 48 since boy often goes through a second pair when he finds a way to get first pair soaked.
~28 pairs of underwear(more like 26 because my son will go commando if not reminded.)
~Assuming a top and a bottom for each of us, 70 individual shirts, pants, skirts and shorts.
~I force the kids to wear jammies more than once and SD and I sleep nekkid so between the kids, I'd say, about 22 pieces each week.
~10 bath towels each week
~20 face towels per week
~At least 21 kitchen towels because my son and husband get a new one each time they dry their hands and then it ends up in the sink soaked and smelly.
~Assorted bathrobes, sheets, baby blankets, swimsuits, probably 20 pieces.
That's 237 individual pieces of laundry. My son typically empties the hampers, so if I separate, put in the washer, move to the dryer, fold and put away 237 pieces of laundry, it amounts to 1185 times my hands touch one week's worth of laundry.
If I do roughly this amount of laundry from the birth of the first child to the 18th year of the baby, this amounts to 25 years of laundry, which is 1300 weeks of laundry or 308,100 pieces of laundry or 1,540,500 'steps' while our kids live with us. This is not inclusive of the laundry I did before having kids or the laundry I will do after our kids leave the house.
This also doesn't include the multiple times my now 7 year old has dumped a pile of clean clothes in the hamper when I asked him to put away his own laundry. It also does not include the multiple outfits the kids went through with diaper blowouts and potty training or the baby's future potty training time and higher total output as she gets older.
I looked online and the lowest price charged for laundry is $.50 per piece(not including pickup and delivery). So, the minimum cost of outsourcing our laundry(not accounting for inflation and increased output over time) is $154,050 or a little more than $6,000 each year over the 25 years.
This being the case, I think my laundry room should look like this. I can dream right?
He Said, She Said - 1
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Conversations With My Husband
At the park, watching our kids beat each other with branches play:
Me: When are we gonna leave, I'm bored.
Him: We'll go when one of them gets hurt.
After the kids spent the afternoon playing in the front yard:
Me: Boy child, get your light saber out of the mailbox.
Him: I'm gonna put my light saber in your mailbox.
Him: She's so smart, she just said da-da.
Me: She still shits her pants, she's not that smart.
I Loves You Sexy Daddy
For taking over when I'm at my breaking point and ready to beat them.
For inspiring their curiosity and being patient enough to explain how stuff works(I tend to say, “it just does, that's why").
For your 'man-to-mans' with the boy.
For occasionally letting me get off easy with a “wait 'til your father gets home”.
For taking over the big school projects like rain gauges, volcanoes and robots.
For not always making me be the bad guy.
For your uncanny ability to laugh at yourself when you make mistakes.
For your amazing willingness to relieve me of poopy diaper duty(you are better at it you know).
For always getting home for dinner so that we can eat together as a family, even if it means working in the evening.
For working extra hours and doing what we needed to do so I could be home more.
For indulging my everyday reports,”And today, the baby blah, blah, blah...”
For staying calm and knowing what to do when our kids get hurt.
For letting me vent my frustration at them without making me feel like a bad person.
For still thinking I'm rockin sexy and never letting me forget I'm still a girl and you're my guy in spite of the fact we have three children.
For not teasing me about being a bedtime Nazi(them going to bed precisely at 8 contributes greatly to my mental health).
For being a Provider and a Partner and a Daddy and a Father and a Bestfriend and all the other hats you wear so well.
Making it Look Easy. Who's Bright Idea Was That?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Ok, I feel a rant coming on but can I just say that when we as women decided(at that conference we all attended) not only would we do most of the family work, but we would aspire to make it look effortless, we totally fucked up. Who's bright idea was this anyway?
As I fess up about being on an antidepressant(I was calling them mood stabilizers for awhile because it seemed less sad and more like a glass of wine) shloads of clients and friends have told me they're on them as well. Most of them are moms with young children. Hmmmm, I'm sensing a pattern here.
On one hand, it doesn't make me feel like such a nut job but on the other hand, it makes me a little sad and concerned for ALL the mothers I know. What is it about the job that's forcing so many of us to take medication to get by? When I went to my OB and told her I was feeling like a worthless piece of shit, like I was doing everything half-ass she went through with me all of the things I do and am responsible for and finally after hearing someone else say, “you are doing too much, you need to go easier on yourself,” I finally believed it. Why did I need a doctor to tally up all the things I do to make me feel ok, that's sick.
When men do stuff around the house, they make a big deal about how difficult it was but here's us all, no problem, it's easy, look I've got it all together, no effort here don't worry, oh sure, I've got time, you need anything else. What are we thinking? No wonder what we do is undervalued. It's like the supermodels who say , oh, I eat whatever I want and never exercise I'm just blessed I guess, when we all know they are smoking, throwing up everything they eat and at the gym 24/7.
We pretend motherhood isn't work and sacrifice. I've heard so many moms say, oh I could never imagine my life without my children. I, on the other hand, frequently imagine my life without them, and guess what, it's never as good as my real life with them in it, but I do think about it. And guess what, I think the women who say they have never thought what their lives might be like if they didn't have children are BIG FAT LIARS.
That's another thing, why are we so unsupportive of each other? Now that's a generalization because I know many women who do support each other, even moms making vastly different choices then their peers, but really, have we not all felt the judgement of other women be it friends, coworkers, peers, even family. My mother-in-law has made references that I'm readying our children for the foreign brigade because my seven year old unloads the dishwasher, makes his own lunch and my four year old makes her bed and gets dressed on her own. I don't even know what the foreign brigade is but I'm pretty sure it's not a compliment. Even my own grandmother has asked me on more than one occasion,”What do you do?” They act like I'm Mommy Dearest for expecting that my kids and husband pitch in.
When I get all worked up about those two I just try to remember that when they were raising their kids, they smoked and drank when they were pregnant, they typically did not breastfeed, and they put their babies to bed on their stomachs(probably right after feeding them peanut butter and honey). They didn't put the kids in seatbelts, forget bike helmets, and did lots more stuff WRONG. Ok, this has turned into quite the rant, guess I'm angrier about this than I thought.
I have had a myriad of jobs since my first at 13. They were of varying degrees of prestige, difficulty, pay, etc.. Motherhood is, hands down, the most challenging thing I have ever done. It is also the most rewarding, heart swelling, hilarious, humbling, exciting thing I have ever been a part of. One thing I've come to love about the blogosphere is that women let their guard down and are far more honest with each other than you will ever get in a playgroup or PTA meeting. I just wish women would stop aspiring to make it look so easy because we all know it's not. And maybe, if we were all a bit more honest about that then everyone in her inauguration to motherhood wouldn't have to go through that period when you think you are the only one having a hard time.
Bravo G "A" Y List Awards - Red Carpet
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I watched this after the Top Chef Finale and oh, it was painful. The award show is on in an hour but let me comment on the red carpet. I like Tim Gunn but he reminded me way too much of Lurch from the Addams Family, no good. What was Lauren Hutton on? She pulled a Paula and a Farah with her incoherent rant and hair twirling. That was just uncomfortable.
Questions, is Gail Simmons(judge from Top Chef) pregnant or has she just gained weight? I looked online and couldn't find anything definitive. Where was naked housewive Alex McCord on the red carpet? That girl showed the whole world her brazilian, I was looking forward to seeing her in clothes again.
This was the most self conscious, uncomfortable red carpet I've ever seen. That's not saying much because I never watch the red carpets before the award shows but this was like a car accident, I couldn't turn it off. I have no idea who the other guy was hosting with Tim Gunn but he sucked. He asked lame ass questions, talked about boobs way to much, made way too many gay references, and not funny ones either. He mentioned bears, leather clubs, barbarella, and he asked the Real Housewives of Orange County if they had ever "hooked up lesbian style," so third grade.
Posts
