What I Learned About Women From Vintage Advertising
Wednesday, February 24, 2010

If you drive a Maserati, a pretty woman would like nothing more than to hold your shaft and give you...a driving lesson.


See the one that's winking at you? She's winking because she's gonna give you the herps and then use that pistol to steal your wallet. Be warned fellas, girls with spiders in their lady business wink a lot.


I'm not exactly sure what they are selling here. Plate collecting? Mousse? Fear of brazilian waxing? Retro-crotch? Merkins?


Santa is a perv and perhaps a stocking fetishist.



InsetDo you want to know that this guy is thinking about how to get more innovative with crotchless panties? Frederick's of Hollywood was wise to drop Mr. Frederick from their ad copy. Looks too much like a FBI Wanted Poster picture.


This is what happens to cougars?

The ad copy reads

"...After one look at his Mr. Leggs slacks, she was ready to have him walk all over her...If you'd like your own doll to doll carpeting, hunt up a pair of these He-Man Mr. Leggs slacks."

6 comments    

This Should be Fun, or Humiliating or at Least a Book Review
Thursday, February 18, 2010

One of my clients has a son the same age as mine so we trade stories and notes and suggestions. A few weeks ago she told me that her and her husband had embarked on the detailed where babies come from discussion. I immediately started thinking that perhaps my husband and I were behind the ball on this one. I asked how it went.

"Oh, not good", she told me, "not at all good."

Apparently this gentle parent-child conversation about the miracles of life had ended with her nine year old son in tears, yep, crying, big, wet, messy nine year old boy tears saying something along the lines of "Daddy does that to you ?" in disbelief and confusion.

So, needless to say, I am a wee bit gun shy about telling my son that yes, Daddy gives me a back rub and begs until I let him put his pizza* in my oven(and sometimes my microwave) and then we watch another episode of Six Feet Under until we fall asleep.

Then I remembered one of my all time favorite books, discovered at my cousin's house so many years ago.

Does this ring a bell for any of you??
This is the book that explains an orgasm to kids, so, uh, reading this with my nine year old should be a lot of fun for everyone.


It feels like a sneeze but much better, and if Daddy's feeling generous, you might get four or five"sneezes".
My husband and I do not look like that. He has hair on his head and I wax. Oh and for accuracy kids, Daddy's way too tall to have sex in the bathtub. We actually look a lot more like this.
Nothing screams intimacy and tenderness like bubble wrap thigh highs on a man.


Unless you're Daddy.


I ordered the puberty version. I figured I'd give Where Did I Come from a chance to sink in before springing puberty on him.

Can't wait to hear what he tells his friends.


*I actually told the bebe that Daddy has a pizza rather than a penis since she is all about the tmi right now. I figured this would avoid an embarrassing mishap at places like the grocery store and bank. Now if she tells the teller that I was eating Daddy's pizza, the teller will just think my husband likes to cook traditional southern Italian food. When she's older, I will tell her the truth, that that is where jewelry comes from.

21 comments    

Labels: Dirty Jobs, family, kids, Momma's got to do everything., My kids are going to need a really good therapist.

Image Entendre
Tuesday, February 16, 2010

My nine year old just recently began to clamor for use of the computer for looking up things for school. Because neither Gene nor myself have Safesearch, this usually entails searching for him with the monitor hidden from his view until we can confirm there isn't some manner of inappropriateness lurking for his tender eyes. Lest you think I am being over-cautious, let's just remember that Google search algorithms don't always give you what you're after.

Potentially Innocuous but Dangerous Google Image Searches
apple pie...very good
cherry pie...not so good

melon...fine
melons...not fine

coffee...fine
tea bag...very bad

baby-fine
babe-very bad

taco...okay
girl taco...not at all ok

two girls and a pup....awwwww
two girls and a cup...ick

groomed cat...okay
shaved kitty...definitely not okay

timeout...ok
spanking...not good

Christmas...ok
X-mas...surprisingly not ok

tickle...not ok
wrestle...still not ok
canoodle...again not ok
lallygag...surprisingly ok
lollipop...mostly ok
sucker...very bad

snake...fine
snake in its natural habitat...still fine
grass snake...fine
snake in the grass...disappointingly fine

ned flanders...fine
ned flanders porn...predictably not okay and a little creepy

tattle tale...ok
bad girl...very bad

ribs...fine
beef...fine
meat...fine
bologna...fine
salami...surprisingly still fine
wiener...not at all good

6 comments    

Sunday Holmes
Sunday, February 14, 2010

Ode to Mike Holmes(the Canadian professional contractor not the ice hockey player)Oh Mike, you brawny, blonde, chiseled charmer, you Adonis of abodes, you domicile dreamboat. In my fantasy, you walk through my front door in your coveralls and steel-toed boots. You look around and then pull me into your arms and tell me it's all going to be okay. Then you go to town......noticing the way the crown molding ends abruptly without the correct finishing pieces. I show you how big chunks of the bathroom tile was never grouted properly. You use words like vapor barrier, code, standards, shoddy and I think I am going to explode on the spot from the size of...the job. Then you tell me it's going to be alright, you are going to fix everything. Then you pull out your big tool......belt, and you get started. You rip out stuff and then you put it back right. You finish things the way a girl ought to have things finished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My husband and I bought our house from people who had made lovely cosmetic upgrades but either did much of the work themselves or used substandard contractors because corners were cut. Gene and I watch Holmes on Homes whenever we can and can I just say, he is everything that is right about Canada. He is a craftsman of the highest order. This morning while we watched the show, I cautiously told my husband that I was developing "feelings" for Mike Holmes.


Me: I think I have a crush on him, is that ok?

Gene: Honey, even I have a crush on Mike Holmes, it's okay.

So Mike, if a google alert makes it's way to your inbox and you read this, my husband and I decided that if you were to ever make me an indecent proposal, I could heartily accept. We don't even need the million dollars, but I can accept only on the condition that you give our house a good once over.

6 comments    

I Fell Asleep Beneath the Flowers For a Couple of Hours On a Beautiful Day
Thursday, February 11, 2010

I am an extroverted introvert who has always enjoyed the space inside my head. I have frequently said I could be relatively content in prison given time to myself, books and maybe a sundry of art supplies. Oh, and freedom from random shiv shanking. My husband has told me more than once that this ability to withstand confinement coupled with the fact that I watch so much Forensic Files scares him a little. Just don't do anything bad I tell him, and you don't have anything to worry about. Sure, I'd miss the outside world but my imagination would make a fine companion for ten to life.

I grew up an only child and an avid daydreamer. Stacks of books took me far past the borders of the city where I grew up. Books gave me the pieces to build upon. When I was young, most of my daydreams took on different forms of wish fulfillment. I was a jet-set fashion designer, a symphony conductor, a foreign double agent and even a ballerina, never mind I'm only five foot tall. I was Karen Von Blixen on a coffee plantation in Kenya, going on safaris, learning to use a gun. I was the muse Kira from Xanadu skating figure eights in my basement, the soundtrack booming from my giant 1980s boombox. I was Laura Ingalls Wilder, Karana from Island of the Blue Dolphins, Francie struggling for a better life in Brooklyn.

Many of my reveries wreaked of the dramatic. I was never very graceful but I can sing so many of my fantasies were my own little musicals, put on in my bedroom for no one else but me, and maybe a reliably unimpressed house cat. Think one part theater, one part the Judy Miller Show. Put on the soundtrack to Evita and I was Eva atop a balcony addressing the little people. I think I wore clear through my vinyl copy of the Grease soundtrack. I would tease my hair, put on slutty clothes pilfered from my moms closet, slip on my red Candies and stand in front of my mirror with one of my mom's unlit Winston lights dangling from my lips. Tell me about it stud. True to girly-girl form, every daydream had an accompanying outfit.

Once in awhile, someone else was let into this usually personal reverie. Ask my cousin about the impromptu operas I performed for her. Scarves tied to our heads babushka style, I'd sing/talk about being taken from our parents in Russia(no we're not Russian) and being forced to be slaves of a prince, or labourers in a work camp. I'd see the expression on her face at first was one of skepticism and mild embarrassment but it quickly turned in to full scale buy-in as she tightened her babushka and lamented with me about the mother country. I think my mom might have made me watch Doctor Zhivago one too many times. Even as we got older and the “operas” stopped, she'd still call me a couple of times a week at bedtime and make me sing to her over the telephone until she fell asleep. I guess that could be considered a delayed standing ovation.

Now that I'm older with a husband, three kids, two cats, one dog, a mortgage, a small business and more, many of my daydreams have been replaced by anxiety dreams. Daydreaming as a child was probably the result of plenty of time on my hands and an active imagination. My adult anxiety thoughts are no doubt the result of not enough time on my hands and that same active imagination. Now I worry less about the monsters under my bed and more about the dust mites. Did I leave the wax warmer on when I left the spa? Is it burning down at this moment, the fire trucks littering the street to hose down the inferno. A florist five businesses down got held up at gunpoint a year ago. I wonder what if they had hit my spa and found me and my massage therapist instead of a doughy, overweight gay bear peddling petals? Are my children getting enough DHA, Omega 3s? I hope that toy the bebe is chewing on doesn't have lead in it, damn the grandparents and their Big Lots, Chinese imported, lead ridden, foot gouging, room cluttering, car littering crap.

Thanks to 9/11, the fact that our house is in a relatively busy airport pattern, and probably too many Donnie Darko/Weeds viewings, I have visions of planes careening through our roof. I worry about my husband being hit and smushed accordion style in the crazy L.A. rush hour traffic. I follow a truck with steel pipes battened in and I ponder decapitation by steel pipe before switching lanes. I think about people breaking into my house and taking my children, Darfur, unequal education opportunities, poverty, peacekeeping, climate change, biodiversity and ecosystem losses, oceanic dead zones, child sex rings and world hunger. Don't get me wrong, I don't obsess and I'm not at the point where my anxiety requires medication, well more medication. It's just that I have so much now that I have so much to lose. The dangers of the real world are so much scarier than the stuff that worried me as a kid.

Now my wish fulfillment daydreams are saved for my frequent bouts of insomnia. As my husband lay next to me, still save for his rhythmic breathing, and the kids are safely tucked into their beds, and the dog lays on her cushion in the corner of our room and the cats are curled up on any one of the beds of my children, this is when I feel calm enough to dream bigger. I'm not Sandi or Francie or Ludmila anymore but I do see myself doing the things I hope one day I will. I see myself travelling around the world with my husband. I see a time in the future where I have some time to myself again, time to read, to draw, to meander through a day with nothing to do. I see my children grown and healthy, happy living their own lives, being their own people. I see myself holding my grandchildren, released from the responsibility of raising them right, free to spoil them relentlessly to my children's chagrin. I see myself a few years from now, walking up to a podium at a small bookstore to give a reading. I see my husband and I, hitting each milestone in our life together, our relationship morphing to fit the changes in our lives. I see myself calmer, mellowed with age, wizened with experience, though I'm pretty sure I will always avoid those giant steel pipe carrying trucks.

6 comments    

Madmen Indeed
Wednesday, February 10, 2010

"Lollipops Bubble Duds, Mother-Daughter Favorites" -because there is nothing daughters like better than to wear the same underwear as their mom. I don't know about you but swinging with my mom in our undies is one of the special times I remember most.


The message of this ad is pretty clear to me. Boys in bubbles love biscuits. Now try saying that quick five times.

Ok, this one is for the married ladies. If perchance you still wore stockings, or substitute something else more modernly worn, would your husband ever look at you the way her husband is, with disdain over your run. He's eyeing her suspiciously like her shabby stockings are an indication of her inclination toward communism. The best I can get my husband to notice is if I have gone from blonde to brunette or actually have a boob hanging out.
Ahh, the good old days.

Ladies, are you ready for the gun show?? Meow.

5 comments    

If I Knew You Were Gay I'd A Baked A Cake
Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Click here for newest post on the Birds and the Bees FormerlyFun style

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My daughter Clare just turned six. We asked her what she wanted for her birthday.

Me and Husband: So what do you want for your birthday?

Clare: Uh, uh....... Louie.(Our fat grey cat)

Me: You want another cat?

Clare: Uh-huh.

Me: No more animals, mommy can't take it.

Clare: No, a stuffed Louie.

Husband: You want us to stuff Louie? Ok, hold on let me go get him.

Clare: Noooooo! I want a stuffed animal that looks like Louie.

Me: Okay, well that's more reasonable. What else.

Clare: You know what I like, rainbows, kitties, fairies, cupcakes.....(at this point she enters her "happy place" in her head for a few minutes no doubt imagining this place that has rainbows and kittycats and fairies and cupcakes.) We wait for her when she does this. It happens. A lot.

(5 minutes later she's back)

Me: I can't really get you a rainbow and we have reached our houses 1700 square feet fairy maximum, how about something a bit more tangible.

So she tests the waters.

Clare: Well, uh, you could get me a Bratz doll?

Me: No, because Mommy doesn't want you to be a whore. (I think I said this in my head)
You know how I feel about Bratz dolls, if you still want one when you graduate college, I'll buy you one then.

Clare: Fine, markers.

Me: Good, that's something I can work with.

Clare: I mean lotsa markers, a lot, of you know, markers.

Me: I think I can make that happen.

So I try to find a stuffed cat that resembles our pet Lou who is dark grey. Funny enough there are lots of white cats with pink noses and blue eyes but dark grey in the toy market is almost nonexistent.

I manage to find a grey Webkinz cat on Ebay and low ball on three of them hoping I'll get one.

Guess what? Clare got triplets by accident and if I would have known in advance the reaction, I would have done it on purpose because each subsequent cat after the first elicited more squealing until the glass in our kitchen cabinets just shattered.

Getting her a rainbow was more difficult, none on Ebay to speak of. So I thought and thought and finally came up with this.Yes, I am a golden god of cakery. It's got real fruit(raspberries, blood orange, lemon, lime, blueberries, blackberries) and real frosting made with butter(mmmmmm) and about 4 pounds of powdered sugar(mmmmm, diabetes). She was served what she thought was a big white blah cake, but when I cut the first piece for her, rather than more squeals, there was just a hush.

Mom, this is the best cake ever. Even the adults were blown away by the sheer novelty. And it wasn't that hard.

So if you are coming out and you want to mark the occasion with the right amount of festiveness. Or you want a non-confrontational, foodie way to tell your gay teenager, mom and dad are cool with it, this is the cake.

NEW POST ON THE BIRDS AND THE BEES

30 comments    

Formerly Fun Facts
Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I have an unhealthy obsession with green sweaters and printed cardigans.

My hands are so small they have been referred to as "paws" by more than one man, as in, "look, your hand look like little cubby bear paws, awwww."

I have an awesome sense of smell which is great for cooking but sometimes detrimental in my line of work.

I have only been in love once, and I married him.

I love cats but after having spent the last year and a half with our dog Lucy, I realize I am not really a dog person.

I am fond of adopting completely odd personas in public and will sometime use foreign accents to enhance my enjoyment of the facade.

I have a love/hate relationship with my cell phone.

My husband is the nicest person I know.

Having someone to do arty stuff with is one of my favorite things about having kids.

I am anal retentively clean but inordinately lazy so my house always looks just ok.

I make my kids do a lot of chores, my mother in law thinks I am preparing them for the foreign legion.

I like porn but don't watch it because I think it subjugates women. Maybe I'll just watch more male gay porn as I think I would feel less guilty about that.

I wish I would have traveled for a year or two after college before getting a real job.

I could go to prison and as long as I had a some things to write and draw with, a camera, Photoshop, food and stuff, I would be ok for a really long time. In fact, somedays, I fantasize about this a little.

I think corporations are inherently evil and responsible for many of the things I think are wrong with the world.

Monsanto is the devil.

Some of the best students I knew in highschool were among the worst cheaters. I hope it was the pressure that made them do it but I still think it's skeevy and I think about how to make sure my kids don't become those kids.

I want to try stand up comedy but I am terrified of it.

The system is broken.

I am amazingly optimistic and inherently cynical, sometimes I wish there was a medication for that.
Postscript: For HereinFranklin, here is my latest printed cardigan, and you'll see it's free of appliques or Christmas trees:)

12 comments    

Caption This
Tuesday, January 12, 2010

1. World's Hottest Pussy?
2.
3.
4.
5.

Oh yeah, my Keyword's are going to go crazy.

Your turn.

10 comments    

Daily Exercise Log
Monday, January 11, 2010

In an effort to be healthier, I resolved in 2010 to exercise more. I figured if I put it on my blog, I'd hold myself more accountable. Even though I have a terrible cold today, I was able to put myself first, and make time to achieve this important goal.

Today's Exercise:

Warm Up- Existential thought, extra credit for wiggling my toes while I did it.

Aerobics-Blowing my nose(120 minutes Total Combined).
Resistance Training- Yelling at my nine year old.

Isolation Exercises-Deftly picking the remaining not entirely dried leaves off my basil plant(it has a death wish) so I could add it to tonight's dinner.

Alternative Exercise-Thought about exercise.(Also called napping)

Flexibility Training- Negotiated dispersal of evening kid/house tasks with husband.

Additional Flexibility Training- Thanked husband for doing the better part of said duties.(This was also aerobic and there might have been some Tantric Yoga involved)

Interval Training-Did sprints from bathroom to laundry to shower to laundry to car to post office to laundry to car to pharmacy from car to grocery store...also changed first laundry load topless and boobs got very cold.

Core Training- Tweezing eyebrows, I tightened my core while I did it.

Strength building- Getting childproof cap off cold formula and wrestling very firm honey from bottom of jar for cup of tea.

Isometrics- Holding my tongue on a phone conversation with my mother-in-law.
Weight lifting- Carrying 2 year old to bathroom in a mad dash when she tells me,"I have to poop, oh oh I think I did."

Stretching- My kids get credit for stretching the limits of my patience today and I did a few stretches to get the container of Organic Non GMO Fair Trade Vanilla Bean ice cream out of the back of the freezer.


I am pleased with my progress.

4 comments    

Is It Wrong?
Friday, January 8, 2010

Is it wrong to see a friend posed on Facebook in the most ginormous sunglasses you have ever seen and comment that "Willy Wonka called and he wants his glasses back"?

Is it wrong that I find it over the top high-larious when my two year old daughter says "fuck-ing dammit" with near perfect intonation when the dog runs off with her favorite froggie stuffed animal?

Is it wrong that sometimes I wish I were financially capable of having staff(not like i would refer to them as staff, just having people to do the things I don't feel like doing(which is a lot(but kids don't think that means you(but sometimes it does)))).

Is it wrong that my husband bribed me with a week of nightly massages for something he "wanted"? Is it wrong that I wholeheartedly accepted and am now on my 6th night of massages wondering what tricks I am going to have to pull out to keep this particular gravy train rolling?

Is it wrong that I have probably logged 10 hours on my phone playing Tetris?

Is it wrong that I sometimes fantasize about my kids leaving for college and already am encouraging them to have the "full experience" of going away to school?

Is it wrong when I do passive-aggressive things like dressing my potty-training two year old in a unnecessarily complicated outfit because I'm irritated that her pre-k teacher is letting her nap too long?

10 comments    

Labels: I'm a bad person., My kids are going to need a really good therapist. Girly girl.

I Am Perfect, Just Like Everyone Else
Wednesday, January 6, 2010

A New Year, a Fresh Start, the beginnings of I Will Always and some I Will Nevers, None of This and More of That, less snacking, more flossing, blah, blah, blah.

The Baroness Von Bloggenschtern, a thoughtful, dynamic and witty friend, recently posted on the vein of being kinder to ourselves, lowering our expectations a bit. She was moved by a mantra she encountered at a yoga retreat, the very simply stated:

"All I have to do is be,
and all I have to be is who I am"

It was also well said by these guys. They look a bit goofy but I think they were on to something:

There's nothing you can know that isn't known. 
Nothing you can see that isn't shown. 
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

8 comments    

Pop It Like It's Hot
Tuesday, December 1, 2009

If you have spent much time around these parts, you would know that I am a popcorn aficionado, a gourmand of the cob if you will. I have looked down with abject scorn at those who would sink to eating store bought, microwave packing material rather than the delightful, stovetop butter-infused goodness that is better suited to my well-honed palate. I have proudly stated many times that microwave popcorn hasn't touched my lips in over ten years, a record I have held on to staunchly, even in the face of terrible hunger with crappy vending machine popcorn only three-quarters away.

I finally caved and had microwave popcorn last night. But before you wag your finger in contempt, let me tell you, it was divine.

I found a recipe for homemade microwave popcorn. I generally don't share recipes here because a)this is not a food blog b)most of my friends and readers couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag. But alas, this is cooking with a paper bag so even the most cooking challenged among you can pull this off. This is a great one for the kids to make too, easy peasy. Oh, and it tastes good, real good and you know what's in it so less this. Tonight, I will try my hand at a variation using raw sugar to make kettle corn, I'll report back. Alton Brown, you are my hero.

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup popcorn
• 2 teaspoons olive oil(canola or veg will do and for those of you calorie conscious, most of the oil remains on the bag not in your belly)
  
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt or popcorn salt
• Paper lunch bag
• Stapler

Directions

Toss the popcorn with the olive oil & salt in the paper bag. Fold the top of the bag over and staple the bag twice to close. Place the bag in the microwave and microwave on high for 2 minutes to 3 minutes, or until there are about 5 seconds between pops.

NOTE: Popcorn salt is a super-fine salt that is designed especially for sticking to food such as popcorn. It has the taste of regular table salt, but its granules are much finer.

11 comments    

He Said, She Said
Tuesday, November 17, 2009

He Said, She Said

Me(wistfully as I watch our two girls frolic in the tub): I wish I had a sister.
Him: I can pretend to be your sister.
Me: It's not the same.
Him: Come on, try me. Tell me something you'd tell your sister if you had one.
Me: Ok, rambling, dissecting, analyzing, feelings, blah, blah, overwhelmed, blah, blah, more feelings.
Him: (using his hands to mime pigtails on the sides of his head) Let's make out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do It Yourself

So we had a rare free Saturday without the kids(thank you Grandma) and I had to work until about 2pm. I was running down the husband's honey do list, making sure he knew I wanted some things done around the house.

"Don't sit around all morning lazing about, looking at porn and doing whatever it is you do when I'm gone until you get my list done, I admonished him.

"I'm not going to sit around and masturbate all day", he chided me like he does when I act like he can't get anything done without me directing him.

So I grab my lunch, leave the house and get in the car before I realize I left my cell in the house. His office window is right at the front of the house so he can see me coming back. As I open the front door, he's standing right there, with his pants down, holding our poor beagle up against him.

"We're stuck, honey, uh, can I get a hand here, I'm stuck in the dog."

I was still laughing when I got to work.

10 comments    

Labels: he said, He's all mine., she said

Picture This
Thursday, October 29, 2009

Photographic Evidence Found of First Gay Couple Adoption

Marvin Teslavich and Samuel McSmiley announced the adoption of their fourth child this weekend at the monthly meeting of the town elders held at the local one room schoolhouse.

Mr. Teslavich took a moment to remind everyone that "it is love that makes a family and not simply a mother and father."

The elders broke early for an impromptu surprise shower for the couple, both longtime residents of Hollow Falls.

8 comments    

My Life in Slow Motion

I have been reading nonstop, so thank you for all of your recommendations. I finished Nick Hornby's Juliet Naked, have read several stories in the Stephen King short story collection, Just After Sunset and I have digested the first few chapters of The Outliers. The best part is I have a big stack from which to pick the next.

It's been an interesting week so far, it's only Thursday and I've already told an inexplicable whopping lie to a kind Mexican purveyor of produce and I took a funny pill and almost had to spend a little time in the "bad trip" tent. Is your curiosity piqued yet? I'll start with the whopping lie.

Monday morning I went by one of our local farm stands to pick up pumpkins and inquire as to whether they would be open to selling me their ugly tomatoes at a cut rate. My garden tomatoes are all used up and at 1.99/lb and up, making homemade sauce from pristine store tomatoes would be an expensive venture. My thought was the blemished or overripe tomatoes might be had for a bargain. I told the farmstand man that I'll use them for sauce, that I make a lot at a time because I have a big family. As he considered my offer, I counted family in my head to figure how many pumpkins we would need. Me, hubs, kid 1, kid 2, bebe and visiting Grandma, just as I'm tallying up, the gardener asks me, "So how many kids do you have?"

I answer without thinking, "Six."

"Six?" he asked.

Now, yes, certainly I could have explained, "no, no, no, I don't have six children, I was only half listening to you and counting pumpkins in my head and trying to decide if Grandma should get a larger pumpkin like the husband and I or if I could slide by with one of the smaller three dollar pumpkins because in truth, she has gotten a bit smaller." But just answering "yes" seemed somehow less crazy than my genuine stream of consciousness and perhaps taking pity on me and my six children/mouths to feed, he'd fork over my tomatoes.

This man was friendly, sweet even, so naturally he asked after my six kids.

"Six, wow, that is a big family here in the U.S., in Mexico, where I am from, not so big, but even me, I only have four," he said this almost apologetically. "How old are they?"

Without skipping a beat(what is wrong with me that I can lie this easily) I answer,"Oh the oldest is eleven and the baby is two, and the rest are, you know, in between."

In my head I am quickly trying to do the math: given my age, would I have to have had twins to get all six in or should I just say I'm a few years older than I am? Great, now I am lying about my age too, what is wrong with me?

"Both girls and boys?" he asked.

"Yes, three girls and three boys,"(oh how convenient and seven brides for seven brothers perhaps?)

A spotted teenage cat, not quite a kitten but not yet full grown leapt from a stack of cardboard boxes and I leaned down to offer my hand jumping at the opportunity to change the subject before he starts asking me for names, I tell him I also have two cats and a dog. It's a wonder I didn't lie about them too.

















I will carry this picture in my wallet from now on in case I need proof.


Then yesterday I was getting ready for work running about trying to get out the door. Husband was calling with information I needed to write down, Grandma was asking questions about where stuff was because she was staying home with the bebe, I was trying to, you know, leave the house in something that matched without forgetting any important "foundation" garments, again.(Did she forget something important another time you ask. Yes I did.)

The wind here in my area of Southern California have been whipping around in a frenzy and my sinuses have been going crazy. It's bad to have a drippy nose at work, especially during flu season, especially with H1N1 freaking everyone out, especially when I spend my days touching people(that sounds wrong--you know what I mean). So as I'm leaving the house, I think I have got to take a Claritin or Sudafed or something to dry me up and quell the sneezing.

So I write down my husband's info, get Grandma what she needs, figure out my adult version of Garanimals, pop a Sudafed and fly out of the house. I arrive at work and just a few minutes later, I start feeling very dizzy. Perhaps it was all the flurry leaving the house I tell myself. Then the sweating and nausea start and some little piece of my brain leads me back to the bathroom where I pressed a little pill I thought was Sudafed into my hand and washed down with the last sip of my coffee.

Oh my god, that was not Sudafed, I just took my RX migraine medication, Sumatriptan(see sounds the same no?) This is the med that last time I took it, I felt drunk, slurred my words, thought I might throw up, flopped on the bed and slept for three hours.

And I am at a new job, one where there are coworkers who I am still trying to be professional around, honeymoon period and all. And here I am, I will now be known as the girl who takes pills and gets all funny(half the women in Orange County by the way so not really the stigma you would think it might be, really but so soon?) And I feel like I have to tell at least our receptionist in case I need to make a quick exit. I look at my calendar, too late to cancel my first clients so I sip a diet coke intending to counter the sedative effects and hope for the best.













Something like this is what I was afraid of.


It all turned out ok. I didn't act intoxicated, or throw up on a client, I did nothing weird except ask the receptionist too many times,"I am acting normal right?" The worst part was the headache that came at the end of accidentally taking my headache medication. Still, I did learn two important things, don't take pills in a hurry and Diet Coke fixes everything.

7 comments    

Read Between the Lines
Tuesday, October 20, 2009

33 comments    

Would I Lie to You?
Thursday, October 8, 2009

I don't dabble in chain mail or chain posts or whatever they are called online or even blog awards for that matter and yet, every once in awhile I will get picked for something that is actually insightful and interesting. The Well Read Hostess(and she is and her dad wrote a book and was on The Daily Show so that makes her kind of famous and she teaches 9th graders so she should be given a bunch of humanity awards and probably a big fat raise, she has very nice toes and runs a virtual book club if you haven't heard of it.) picked me for a "Be Honest" post which either means she thinks I am a big fat liar(probably not because she is a very nice Well Read Hostess and I am a pretty honest girl) or she thinks someone who waxes vag for a living and has a super sexy husband might have a few juicy things up her sleeve.

As she related in her post, woman have a tendency to lie. We don't lie to deceive so much as to blend into our environments much like the chameleon changes color. We pretend things are easier than they are because we want to appear to have it all together. Because of course we look around and everyone else seems to be doing okay(see the viscous cycle here??) We leave out details of marital spats, calls home from school, a lackluster job review perhaps out of fear that others will make a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe it's out of fear that others will offer to help us and we'll feel beholden or looked down upon. But it is important to share the truth, it's one of the things that attracted me to this whole blogging thing in the beginning. I found the virtual anonymity fostered in many, a more honest sharing of the highs and lows of being human in this day and age.

So in the spirit of full disclosure

1.There are very few things I won't talk about. The thing I rarely discuss, at least online, is when my husband and I argue or don't get along. I don't do it to impart an image of perfection as much as when it comes to our conflicts, I have learned a short memory serves me well. Writing about it would leave a record and I am already bad enough about keeping score, I don't need to have the evidence to go back to. The truth is, we argue. Thankfully it doesn't happen too often because he is almost perfect but it happens. One of the last arguments we had was after he let my nine year old buy something before he had saved enough allowance. "He's going to pay it off over the next few allowances," he said. "Wonderful," I replied, "you just taught my nine year old how to use a credit card." Maybe I'll write about that one because it was funny(and I was right and I am much more likely to write about the time I was right than when he was right).

2.Like Well Read Hostess, I wish I were a better mom and wife some days. I wish I didn't crave and guard my personal time so closely. I'm an extroverted introvert and I need that time alone to recharge but it makes me feel selfish.

3.I regret getting a dog. I love her, the family loves her, in time I may even like her again but she is way more work than I bargained for and every time she escapes our front door and takes off running toward the busy street, my heart lurches and I pray she doesn't get hit by a car. All that silent pleading has made me resent her, oh and she won't stop shitting in the house.

4.In spite of all my koombayas about accepting yourself and appraising your body kindly, I think I will always struggle with body image. It's probably why I have written so much about it, it helps me work through it. I intellectually understand but accepting myself on an emotional level is much more challenging.


5.Years ago a bunch of my college poker buddies were all talking about how crazy girls make the best lovers. I took great exception to that because I knew I was a girl with, shall we say, certain talents and I clearly had my shit together. Years later, turns out? Yep, I am the crazy one.


6.I'm embarrassed by how much tv I watch. I go glassy-eyed watching Top Chef and every once in awhile, I uncomfortably contemplate all the things I could have accomplished with that time.


7. I have a nice singing voice but I am uncomfortable performing. Once I start doing it, I'm ok but just beforehand I get severely nauseated and panicky. It's stupid because people always enjoy it but I, ugh, just thinking about it brings on some cold sweats . It took me a long time to even sing comfortably in front of my husband and he's seen me nekkid, in fluorescent and other exposing things. I do not, however, have any hesitation singing to my children, go figure.

8.I am really impatient with my kids. I do things efficiently and quickly and I have never quite learned how to dial it down. They are slowly wearing me down. Truthfully, the bebe will probably have it easiest.

9.When I moved out to California,I quit smoking, I lost a bunch of weight and got healthy. I ate well, I ran, I drank green tea, did yoga, took ballet classes, I was a well oiled machine, I maintained it for 8 years and I promised myself I would never be overweight again. Guess what? (While I fell off the wagon with things like bagels and real, homemade buttered popcorn, I never did start smoking again.)

10.I am outwardly, a very outgoing person but actually, I am very introverted, being chatty and getting to know people is something I do to get comfortable. I hate silences with newish people, it makes me really uncomfortable and sometimes I just talk and talk and the little inside my head voice is begging me to shut up and let someone else talk.

Ok, that's it.

I nominate because I lurvs them:

Rassles(cause I wonder what secrety secrets a wacky twentysomething has)
Blues(cause she lives in Spain and her secrets probably have a spicy, Latin tinge to them)

Ginny(cause she has a life very close to mine)
Gypsy(cause she is so nice, there has to be a little dirt there)

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Big Surprise...Another Rant
Monday, October 5, 2009

I know, I know, I'm not funny anymore, I write like I "want to win some Reader's Digest award", I'm a downer, blah, blah, blah... First of all, yes, I am currently afflicted with some kind of low-grade writer's block and it will pass eventually, just like last night's street taco dinner(I probably just need antibiotics). Second, there's a lot of stuff going on and I am up to my eyeballs in detritus that no one besides me cares about(and sometimes my husband when he gets a free thought moment that isn't clouded with techie engineer crud and paying our mortgage.) Third, fuck you, I am funny and if you waxed vag all day, you'd realize that you can't do that job and not be funny. So, if I want to rant and rave, well as Bobby Brown says(and we know that he is oh so sage and quotable)"It's my prerogative."

So here goes, FormerlyFun decree #213

People, please stop cheating on your spouses.*

Now if me saying that makes you angry, you are probably doing someone something you shouldn't. Knock it off.

Honestly, isn't this kind of like having to tell kids not to wipe their nose on their sleeve? Doesn't it really go without saying? Come on, you promised, the rules were clearly laid out, it's not like the Columbia record club and you just signed hoping for the free cd, never really thinking about the others that would come later.

Grow up. It's unfair. Unfair to your partner, your kids if you have them, your friends and family who have probably made effort and room for this person you brought into their lives. It's unfair to you. You deserve better. If you're not happy, get out, get happy. If you can't get out then turn your energy inward and as Tim Gunn says, "Work it out." Most of the unhappily married people I know can get out. It would just be much more challenging than staying put. Yes, maybe you'd be poor for a while or not have a date for the company function or be the talk of your town or have to go back to work or downgrade your lifestyle or admit you wanted better for yourself or confront your families or disappoint your kids or feel like the latest failure..... But you would be free to figure out what you want or who you are or whatever.

But FF you say, I fell in love, I really love this new one. I call bullshit because love is something you work at and cherish and protect. Love is not some woman in your office that "gets" you or some man who is unable to communicate frustration to his wife and therefore needs you to make it bearable... If you love someone that much then leave them alone you are going to ruin their life(don't care) and probably a lot of other's who didn't get to decide they wanted their families torn apart(do care). And the fun part about marriage is(with very few exceptions), you bring half the problems so they are likely going to trail just behind you right into the next relationship unless you deal with them in the current one.

The grass is rarely greener. That guy who is wooing you now is just someone else's version of your husband that seems better because you don't share the conflicts that come with combining your life with another person. And mister, that twentysomething will get older and nag you just like the one you have now except you are going to have to work even harder to keep her happy because really, she's out of your league. And someday, when you have old man boobs and you are trying to make the last wisps of your hair cover your liverspotted head, she is going to be looking at you wondering whatthe hell she did and hoping the payout is there because there had better be a payout for bedding your old ass.



*I am not addressing any of you specifically, only the current near epidemic of shenanigans I am seeing around me and yes, I said shenanigans because I have the vocabulary of an eighty-five year old woman.

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