Thursday, November 30, 2006

Random Statements

An ode to Kara's random facts, I'm going to bite her idea.
This may be long. Enjoy.

I'm terrified of heights, roller coasters and airplanes. I wish I had whiter teeth but can't stand the taste of whitening gunk. I listen to the radio. A lot. I hardly watch TV. My handwriting beauty depends on the pen I'm using. I wish pencils were more permanent, my handwriting is best with pencil. I keep most of my friends like they're family but don't think they do the same. I'm generous and kind. I love pink. ALL colors look great on me except "army" colors and stark white. I'm obsessive about my skin. I rarely wear make up but when I do, I feel 100 times better about myself. I believe in God and miracles. Many miracles have happened to me. I am afraid of ghosts. I wish I would go to church more often but do not feel guilty about it. I mostly think I'm a good parent. I cry. A lot. At least once a week. I worry about my mother every single day. I miss my dad and am daily saddened by his death 5 years later. I enjoy having house guests and parties. I love planning parties and events, especially last minute. I planned my wedding in 3 days yet it takes me 2 months to plan Chicken's birthday parties. I am by far, the most normal and functioning person in my entire family, all sides. I hold grudges for a really long time. Sometimes forever. I'm thoughtful. I love to bake. I'm good at making things. I enjoy my job less and less everyday. I used to want to be a lawyer. Now I'd like to be a teacher but won't go back to school. I wish I lived somewhere else. Like North Carolina. I have moved more than 20 times in my life. I still draw stick people but can color anyone under the table. I don't drink often but when I do, I drink too much. I lived in Vermont for over a year and hated it. I think my husband is so talented but I almost never tell him so. I'm very moody. The reason I'm such a control freak is because I'm petrified I'll turn into my mother. I want another baby but not a boy. Boys scare me. I can be overbearing but I truly mean well. Sometimes I pray for silly things and wonder if I'm wasting God's time. Proper grammar is way too important to me. It takes a lot for me to hate someone. I can be jealous. I'm always afraid to open myspace bulletins because of those stupid "if you don't repost, you'll die" ones. I'm superstitious. I wish I were less conservative in my actions. I am in awe of my child on a daily basis. I talk too much. I'm a strict parent. I bake the best damn chocolate chip cookies and oatmeal cookies this side of the Mississippi. I still have to say "MI SS ISS I PP I" to spell it properly. I'm messy. I'm a clean freak. I'm not as organized as I'd like to be. I love vacations. I don't like the beach because I'm afraid of the tiny clear fish that poke at your feet. I love to swim. Christmas is my favorite holiday because of all the wonderful things I love, like shopping, wrapping, baking and entertaining. I love Rachel Ray and think she's the modern girl's Martha Stewart. I'd pay all the money I have to spend 24 hours with Martha Stewart. I never use cook books. My favorite smell is newborn babies. My birthday is December 14th and I'm always disappointed by the amount of people who don't care or forget. I'm notorious for having horrible birthdays and New Years Eves. I love jewelry but almost never stray from my every day pieces. I love doing laundry. I hate folding and putting away clothes. I clip coupons every Sunday but never use them. I used to think my best physical attribute were my legs and ass. Now I think it's my rack and hair. I have a secret to taking good pictures that make me look thinner. No, I won't share it with you. I don't sing in the shower. I drive fast but have never received a speeding ticket. Husband is my best friend. I have very few close and actual friends but I know a lot of people. I can be pretentious. I love chocolate. I don't like pie. I don't eat desserts with fruit in them. I feel sorry for Britney Spears. I, like Rosie O'Donnell think I can save her. One of my childhood best friends killed herself via shotgun to the head. To this day, I think I could have saved her, too. I have two sisters, I have never lived with either of them. I hated being an only child and silence. I love flowers. Especially tulips. I want to learn to make soup from scratch. I don't have a gold tooth. I read all the time. Most of my time on the Internet is reading a large variety of things. My feelings are hurt easily. I'm naive. I learned to spell naive by spelling Evian backwards. Chicken weighed 8lbs, 2oz and was 3 weeks late. I was in labor for 24 1/2 hours without drugs. I am a champion. I'm not athletic but like to play different sports. I want to join a women's softball or volleyball league. I've never actually played either of those sports. I'm easily overwhelmed. My fantasy life is to be barefoot and pregnant with many children living on a multi-acre lot of land with a small farm house with a garden and craft room. I dance well but few people know. I do it all the time when no one is home. I hate to exercise, I never try fad diets. I once lost 30lbs by switching white bread to wheat and using Equal instead of sugar. I'm secretly attracted to men of color. I sometimes wonder if I had Chicken and married too young. I wouldn't take it back for anything. I'm too old for my age. I have horrible luck with women named Sarah and men named Ryan. My favorite season is summer. I wear shorts, tshirt and flip flops every single day except when it's below 60 degrees. Then I trade that in for jeans, sweatshirt and Nike Shocks.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Secret Lover

I have a secret lover. Well, it's not really a secret anymore. You see, I've been pining away for this relationship for years, dreaming of it in my sleep. Oh, the things we could do together! The memories we could create, the cream we could whip.


I'm talking about my brand-spankin'-new KITCHEN AID CLASSIC PLUS MIXER. (What were you thinking? Oh, you dirty, filthy man!)

Oh yeah, BABY! I've wanted one for as long as I've been out of my mom's house. I've hinted to everyone I know, begged Husband for the past 8 birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries, etc. 8 years have come and gone, no mixer. I got a George Foreman grill once. It was nice but not my dream boy. Earlier in the month, Husband made my dreams come true. "Ok, for your birthday this year, I'll get you the mixer. BUT the refurbished one from Amazon." I was ok with refurbished, as long as it mixed, whipped and kneaded, I didn't care. Then I got the circulars for Black Friday and that's when my life changed.

I stood in line at Target on Friday for nearly 30 minutes to purchase this fantasy contraption. I think I had a tiny orgasm when I actually got the thing in my cart. I guarded it more than I guarded my purse, which at the time, contained hundreds of dollars. (Don't get excited. Most of the time, my wallet contains a Warehouse Club membership card and pennies.) They could take my money, they can't take my boyfriend.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday passed. My new boyfriend remained in his box. I could hear him banging on the inside, begging to be let out. But I didn't have time. There was loads of laundry, lots of things to clean, decorations to be finished, things to do! I wanted to give my boyfriend the proper attention he deserved. Then yesterday came and I MADE time for him. I went to Publix in search of ingredients for a new-to-me cookie recipe, Chocolate/Peanut Butter cups. That's how we would christen our affair; gourmet chocolate and creamy peanut butter. It's like sex in a machine!

Husband played video games, Chicken sang to Hannah Montana and I was happily cutting shortening into flour with ease. My ingredients mixed into a creamy batter while I greased the pans. LOOK MA, NO HANDS!

I overcooked the cookies so they had to get thrown out. But I didn't care.

Thank you, Husband, for making this the BEST birthday present ever.

Except now, you know, you'll have to top this next year. I've got my eye on a diamond tennis bracelet.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The Big O

OJ Simpson saved my mother's life.

At the time of the Simpson trial, she was in a severe depression. If I knew then what I know now, she probably would have been institutionalized. When they decided to broadcast that trial, my mom suddenly had something to live for. She watched every second of the drama. To this day, she has every single book written about the whole fiasco.
By the time it was over, my mom was a little better, went back to work and was on the road to normal (or as normal as my family gets).

OJ Simpson is releasing a book about how he murdered his wife and her boyfriend. Hypothetically, of course. He's also doing a TV special on Fox where he tells an interviewer what and how he committed the murders. You know, hypothetically.
Is this for real?
Why the hypothetical bullshit? He can't be tried again in criminal court and he already owes the Ron Goldman's father millions and millions of dollars from a civil case. (Which, by the way, OJ has been open in saying that he spends all of his money before the father can get his hands on it.) Why not come out with it? We all know you did it. Embrace what a parasite you are; a waste of human flesh and existence.

I've been able to forget that horrible time in my life. All this OJ news only reminds me of it.
And my period. I got my first period on the day OJ fled police in his white Bronco.

Saturday, November 4, 2006



I volunteered to coach Chicken's soccer team this year. I played soccer for two seasons when I was 14; I sucked.

One may ask "Why, o' self-professed-bad-soccer-player, would you sign up for such a task?!" Because during a parent meeting, the director of the soccer program stood up on his golf cart and explained that there were 16 teams and they only had 9 coaches. That means any team without a coach would not be able to play soccer this season. That's horrible. What if Chicken got drafted onto a coach-less team? She would be devastated (not to mention I've already invested $150 in this sport). So I raised my hand to coach.
Chicken said "Mom, girls can't coach soccer. Only boys". Now I HAD to coach. "Girls can do anything boys can do. They can coach and be anything just as good as boys." I told her. Even if we have the worst players and lose every game, it won't matter. As long as my baby girl knows that girls can and should do anything boys can do.

Except pee standing up.

Updated 11/8/06:

We had soccer drafts tonight. I watched two grown ass men nearly come to blows over a couple of 6 year old soccer players. Twice. Of 16 teams, I am only one of two women coaches. The other mom has been coaching soccer for years and is one of the guys. We sat in a big room and chose players for our respective teams. Personally, my only request was that I didn't get any girls that I had from Cheerleading because I wasn't crazy about their parents. I was the only one without a premeditated roster. These men (and woman) knew who was "good" (Good? They're 6!!!!!!) from past seasons. They wanted to form their team with the most powerful players to win. There are no rewards for the "best" team. Everyone gets the same sized trophy. All of this nonsense is based on pure gorilla-like ego. Men can be so stupid.