Monday, October 15, 2007


There's a house behind my office that's having an extension built on it. There was once a screened in porch which was broken, I assume, from Hurricane Wilma; left only with an aluminum frame. I would watch the owners sit on a porch swing and smoke butts and it was killing me. More than once I walked halfway across the parking lot to their yard wanting to ask "What are you going to do about this?"; I couldn't stand it, half destroyed. But I never made it there. How could they leave it like this? They have a dog, an old chocolate brown lab named Hershey who sometimes leaves piles of crap so big in our parking lot you'd think horses have come through. He's so big, stupid and sweet; he wonders around the yard and our lot, sniffing our dogs smells and I always watch him waddle back home. Anyway, a few months ago, they started construction. First, they took away that aluminum frame and jack-hammered the concrete floor. There were 4 workers at first and as usual, two guys standing around watching while the other two humped like camels. One of the men always working hard is an older black man. Perhaps in his mid-to-late 50's and seriously balding. I can't tell how tall he is from where I watch through my office window but he seems to be average height and thin. He's here nearly everyday; working through the wooden framing, electrical wiring, drywalling, installing windows and let me tell you, this man can stucco like no one's business. One day, I noticed a tree I hadn't noticed before; they have a banana tree and it was growing bunches and bunches of green bananas. I walked across to get a close-up view-how absurd I'd never seen bananas growing on a tree before. He watched me walk over and examine the tree but never said anything. You know how you can feel someone watching you? I felt that burning sensation as I walked back to my tiny office. He cannot possibly know I watch him work as the french, double paned windows are slightly tinted to filter out harsh Florida light. I must spend hours watching him work, fascinated by his determination, I know, to do a good job for these people. Several times a day, I go outside to smoke cigarettes, something I take great pleasure yet relish with guilt in. Every time, my friend stops working and puts down his tools to wave to me. I wave back. "Hello, my stranger friend!" I want to shout but have never spoken. The kind gesture moves me.

They've started painting today and I assume he'll go away soon as the end of this build out winds down. This man, whom I've nothing in common with; average, black, older and balding, working through hot sun and humid rain; a connection. My life blows by so fast and sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can grab hold of a branch and see the vivid colors around me. Like the bananas once green a perfect color yellow.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The mystery of people

I realize I'm not a "people person". I don't, in general, enjoy strangers. I love my friends, have a blast with acquaintances but I can do without strangers. I have a slight reputation for being "that bitch married to the Spacemen guy". I don't mean to come off so cross or unapproachable but that's just how I am. My feelings are always worn on my sleeve, for everyone to see. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I don't do "fake" well. So you'll understand why I have such a problem understanding people different than myself.
I'm beginning to recognize behaviors in people (by that I mean friends, family and strangers alike) which I do not possess; specifically, manipulative personality. Let's go back, way back to my childhood. In the family I grew up in, there was no bullshit. If someone was upset about something, anything, we'd say it outright. "You're pissing me off because you did this, this and this." Lots of words were thrown around, our feelings were expressed and we cried a lot of tears. But then it was over. We'd get mad, yell and by the time we saw each other again, we're long over it. And more times than not, it was never brought up again because it was resolved from the get-go. It's my opinion that this method is the definition of fighting fair.
It seems that many people in my life have an agenda, an underlying tone and I'm having serious difficulty coping with it. Manipulative personality confuses me. If you have something to say, say it; please don't make an accusatory insinuation, refuse to clarify and not give me a chance to defend myself. If you're upset about something, let me know so I can fix it. I cannot figure out why people behave like this (I'm just a writer, I'm not a shrink, ok?), I'm sure it stems from their own childhood or whatever...quite frankly, I don't give a damn.
Luckily (?), I'm surrounded by manipulative people who are also honest in their faulty fighting strategies and they're helping me understand ways to embrace people with this difficult personality.
Do you have someone in your life who's especially challenged in this department? How do you deal with it? Are you one of those manipulative assholes...I mean, friends? Please, friends, help me. How can I work through this?

Tuesday, July 24, 2007


Ok, so, I'm going away on vacation next week and I'm sort of (read: completely) freaking out. I don't travel well and I haven't flown since 9/11. Not to mention, we couldn't get a direct flight to New England so it will be a 10 hour travel day. With a hypochondriac husband and whiny 6 1/2 year old. Oh fucking joy.
On the bright side, I've stocked up on medications such as Xanax and Valium.
Plus, I'll get to pick blueberries on real farms, have coffee and cigarettes in the mountains and visit with people I love the most. And 5 days with my family? I'm sure to return with some seriously funny writing material!
So, God, if you hear me, (no, it's not Margaret. It's Sophia. Remember me?) please, please make sure we arrive and return from our destination safely.
There! Positive thoughts put into the universe and whispered into God's giant ears. If you're the praying type, whisper some more for me, ok?

Much love, BITCHES!

The quest is finally over!

Prelude: This post is about boobs. My boobs.

I didn't develop at an unusual age-I pretty much blossomed right along with my friends. Except, my boobs kept getting bigger and didn't stop until after I had the Chicken. I always used to read about girls who had animosity towards their chest, I wouldn't describe my feelings as animosity. No, I loved my boobs. I embraced them and put them up on a pedestal (ha!). If they'd had Girls Gone Wild on South Beach when I was actually old enough to be on GGW, I would totally be in one of those videos right now. (The early stages of GGW, people! Not the gross versions now where girls are making out, naked in the shower.) For all the love I've had for my breasts, I hate bras. Rather, bras hate me. I've never found a bra to fit me properly. In fact, I'm not even sure of my own bra size!
Go for a fitting, you say? Yeah, can't do that. See, I have an adversity to strangers feeling me up. Oh sure, I've tried to have fittings but every time I go to the fancy department store (read: not Target), the boobie "specialist" was either "training" (which my boobs are not) or just plain creeped me out. My friend, Stacey, has gone bra shopping with me but finding a great bra is like finding the perfect pair of ass jeans. Just not happening for me. Instead of bearing through the dreadful fitting, I continue to buy cheap, ill-fitting bras from Target.
Until last weekend. I bought several cheap (read: clearance!) bras from Wal Mart (ha!) that actually fit. Ok, so they sort of enhance the back fat but that's no thing a little camisole can't conceal. This is big news, folks!
And even though I seem to have found the perfect bras, I know there's lots of you out there with similar issues. What do you do?

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Happy Birthday, America!

I spent 6 hours cooking and cleaning for a (very, very) small gathering at our "crib" (I love ghetto) yesterday. Our guests included my mother and her "friend" Susan, Papi Gringo (also known as my wealthy, salsa dancing, Jewish-but-wants-to-be-Puerto Rican brother in law), Young Money (brother in law's 12 year old son who's voice is getting deeper as quick as he's becoming black) and our tiny little unit. It was nice. We had a lively debate about money and how it rates on the "happiness" charts, marriage and sex. You know, usual family discussions. (Oh, not your family? Well, welcome to mine.) We also watched comic Katt Williams-if you haven't seen him, try to youtube some of his stuff...especially if you love the ghetto-like me.

Now onto the real reason I'm writing today. I'm sad to tell you that, even though you've received little attention from me this summer, it's about to get a whole lot worse. Big Brother starts tonight and I've already got my live feeds going and basically, I'm a loser. But who asked you? Also, to my real life friends, please don't call me on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8-10pm. Thank you.

Oh, you thought it was a little joke I was writing? I'm not. BB is very serious for one in my house gets any play when I've got live feeds on. In fact, I have the most in-depth conversations only with my mother (a bigger BB fan than I) to discuss strategy & other BB house stuff. It might be pathetic but it's the only TV I'm serious about watching. Give a sister some slack, ok?

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

The Apple Stain That Got Away

I once threw an apple at my husband. Luckily, I have terrible aim and instead hit the soffit way above his head. Last week, he was touching up the walls and cleaned the 4 year old apple stain from the soffit and when I came home, there was a little twinge in my heart to see the missing stain. Every day for 4 years, that stain has been a reminder. A reminder of how bad things once were and a reminder of how we can overcome anything, especially apples.

Today marks 5 years we have been married & this September, we will celebrate 9 years as a couple.

Our relationship is a little tricky. There are certainly logistical challenges we face daily (one being a 14 year age difference) and sometimes, I'm not sure if they ever get better or we just get used to them (or not). People who see us together aren't always sure of what to make of "it". There's a lot of ribbing, insults and fat jokes thrown around in regular conversation and it can put people off a bit. What they don't often realize is the love that runs so far beyond me leaving the water out (on purpose) or him farting without spraying Oust. It's so deep, it cannot be seen with untrained eyes.

I hardly admit this to him (except, you know, now I am because I know he reads this blog. GO AWAY, DANNY!) but he's changed my life in ways I will never admit to. Aside from the obvious ways he's made me a better person, I truly owe my life to him.

dB, you took me out of the ghetto and helped shape me into the person I've become. You've helped me form the life that I've dreamed of since I can remember and without you, I'd be nobody. (The same goes for you, homie. After all, I do take 1/2 the credit for Communion's lead line.) I proudly stand behind you in every endeavor of our lives and your career; there is no one more protective than I. You stuck with it through my late teens and now my 20's because you knew the true person I was inside and in part due to you, that person has flourished. I love you for every risk and sacrifice you've made to allow me to become me. I have loved you since the very beginning and I'm so grateful I grew on you. And even though I'm slightly dented, I know you'd never trade this Rolls Royce. (Because I get half.)

Happy anniversary, stinky.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

My Sister

I'm going to spare everyone the back story of my sister and me and briefly mention that we came into each other's lives when I was 16 and she was 24. For the record, we are biological sisters and share a mother. (Confused yet?)
I'll never forget the first time I met her, I thought "we look nothing alike". We didn't need looks. We instantly have love. And the first time I talked to her on the phone (months before we met), I clearly remember standing in the kitchen after hanging up the phone and feeling like a small hole in my heart had just been repaired. I could have had any freak for a sister, someone who was opposite of me, who didn't "go" with me or frankly, didn't want anything to do with me. Instead, I got a sister who wanted me as much as I wanted her, who bonded with me in an instant and even though we weren't mirror personalities, I loved her fast. Later, people would comment on how great it was to have found each other and comment on the strong similarities, not in looks but in disposition. "You two sound exactly the same. You both talk fast and in the same rhythm. It's amazing." Those words came from the mother who raised her. Everyone around was surprised. And I was proud.
We were lucky enough to share pregnancies and she came to me, 6 weeks postpartum, to share in the labor of my daughter. I shall forever be indebted to her for her long 11 hours at my bedside (and ballside, rockerside and all the other fucked up positions they made me try). She shouted at the nurse when I was unhappy and shot looks at the doctor who suggested I couldn't do it. And she promised me it wouldn't hurt when they broke my water (she didn't lie).
Growing up, I was often the one in my family who was "strong". This was status quo for everyone from distant relatives to my mother. I carried many people at an age that I shouldn't have even been carrying myself and I never had anyone whom I could go and share my worst fears and deepest secrets. When my sister came along, she lifted a part of the burden. The burden of myself. She would allow middle of the night phone calls and irrational conversations. She continues to let me be myself in all of it's glory and misery. She lets me be the helpless child.
Within the past 9 years we've endured the roller coaster that traditional sisters ride. But inside the big picture, she tells me that I'm a great mom when I don't believe it and swears that I'm a good person when I'm in worst form.
In the past, my sister has credited me with many, many wonderful things. She announces to the Internet that often, I am her inspiration and has written words about me that not only caused deep emotion but rendered me speechless for a long time (a feat very few have accomplished).
Carianne, it is one of the greatest honors to be your inspiration. But truly, it's you that's inspired me to be much of who I am. You came into my life at a point where I was a very lost child and you guided me, showed me how to be a good person and mother by example without even trying. It's you that makes it look effortless and it's been my desire to be just like my big sister.
We may not have grown up together but I honestly could not have chosen a better sibling. Our connection and my admiration, love for you runs so much deeper than the blood line we share. I look forward to the rest of our lives where we'll always be making up for lost time.
So, thank you, for letting me be your little sister.

P.S. Top this one, bitch!

Cap'n Crunch

How come it's not "Captain Crunch"? This is really bugging me now. Whatever, the point is, I've rediscovered my love for this cereal. Yummo.

I know that I promised two additional blogs this week and I haven't delivered but I don't think it's actually been 1 week so I still have some time (hours). I'm trying to write about my sister and as I've said before, I start in my head and I'm just not sure how much to tell & how much to withhold. She said I could say anything I wanted but for me, it needs to be some of my best writing. I like her that much. Plus, I'm not really sure what to call her live-in lesbian lover girlfriend. I call that person my sister-in-law but what's the PC term?

In the meantime, I've been stalling by filling out some myspace surveys which I happen to know that the people on my friends list find very annoying. Hey assholes, you don't have to open & read them, ya know? Control freaks, I tell you! But perhaps I've been wasting my wit & charisma on those silly questionnaires.

A couple of updates: It looks like we're getting that big contract at work that I wrote about before. They promised me the contract this week...I didn't get it in my hands yet but I believe I will. THE COMPANY WILL GO ON!
Second, there are a couple of Trip Theory shows coming up in the South Florida area. I'll post more information when available.
Lastly, I have a really great story in my head about a friend of mine (and by friend, I mean really annoying person that gets on my nerves so I avoid at all costs) but she may or may not read this blog so I cannot post. But if you want to know, email me & I'll tell you the story.

Check again, soon. Sister story is coming, I swear! AND, I'll post a picture of us. That will be worth the wait. She's just as pretty as me.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Kara & the benefits of girlfriends (and danger of none)

At my age (that would be 25), I imagined I would have a tight circle of girlfriends. Where we'd sing a drunken rendition of "Lean On Me" in the football field of our old high school and exchange poopie stories of our children whilst they played lovingly in the front yard, complete with tire swing. As I write (type?) this, I can actually visualize this in my mind.
But you know, none of it materializes. And if I'm going to be completely honest; I have no girlfriends.
When I was entering the "tender" years of my life (read: preteen & young adulthood), there was 4 of us. But as I grew older, I grew apart. The rest of them didn't (except the one who isn't with us anymore). They still talk and occasionally enjoy each other's company while I'm over here, ALONE, in hell (also known as the smallest place 3 people can live). (Where's my mama? Because the drama is overflowing!) It wasn't really their fault. You know the story: girl meets boy, girl's mother abandons her for New England, girl moves in with boy, gets knocked up & lives happily ever after. Oh? That's not the story you meant? Anyway, I moved less than a hour away but for me, each mile apart felt like 100.
Since then, I haven't felt the security of having a "best friend" around. I still have Jess, and we talk once in a while but not in the gut-wrenching ways that girlfriends talk.
And I have Kara. She lives two hours away but still has guided me in ways that I've needed yet missed for the last 9 years. She came to visit me last weekend & I learned about the beauty of flat-ironed hair. We also talked for a long time about a lot yet nothing. When she left, I had that sinking feeling in my chest again. I suspect this feeling is loneliness.
There is something missing, a small piece of my soul is absent. My (good) sister thinks this is because somewhere along the line, I lost myself. I disagree. I think all of me is here only to be awakened by the benefits of having a friend. One of complete unselfishness & agendas where similarly, differences, kindness and compassion runs deep and bonds.

I mentioned in a previous post that I'm taking a writing class. I'm telling everyone it's because I want to be a better writer (which is true) but really, I'm taking it to meet people (my reasons extend further than those two reasons; you'll see in later posts). My life is pretty limited in opportunity to meet new strangers (is that a double?) as my life is fairly limited in itself. I work for a company which employs 5 people (3 of whom are men), my child attends a school where there are less than 150 students and the moms generally suck.

(Feel free to insert the standard paragraph about how lucky I am to have my life, I wouldn't trade it for the world, blah blah blah.)

I want to gossip about celebrities, trade make-up tips & hair styles. I want to talk about my husband and child without the faint smell of competition. I want to look at pretty men in the mall and exchange knowing glances.

So, I'm embarking on this new quest to find myself a real friend. Wish me luck!

And then I scratched my butt!

On writing: I'm a bad blog keeper-I get it. I know the secret to a super blog is posting nearly everyday but lately I feel like my writing is left with much to be desired. (Say it ain't so, boss!)
In an attempt to ignite the fire and connect my brain to my hand(s), I'm taking a writing class this year. I hope it will tap into the passion like you tap a keg thingie into a tree for maple syrup. You know what I'm talking about, don't give me that look!

So, I promise to you (mostly to myself) to write about the following subjects within one week of today:

My sister(s)
Kara & the benefits of girlfriends (and the danger of none)

I don't know that any of those items will reflect my best work but at least I'll be using that mushed up, pink (!) brain of mine.

Please come back & see!

Thursday, June 7, 2007

The 90/10 Principle

As "borrowed" from another blog. I'm so trying this-starting immediately! If you try it, too, let me know how it works out for you & I promise to keep a quasi-updated record on how it's going for me.

Discover the 90/10 Principle. It will change your life (at least the way you react to situations).What is this principle?10% of life is made up of what happens to you.90% of life is decided by how you react.What does this mean?We really have no control over 10% of what happens to us. We cannot stop the car from breaking down. The plane will be late arriving, which throws our whole schedule off. A driver may cut us off in traffic. We have no control over this 10%. The other 90% is different. You determine the other 90%.How? By your reaction. You cannot control a red light., but you can control your reaction. Don’t let people fool you; YOU can control how you react.

Let’s use an example.You are eating breakfast with your family. Your daughter knocks over a cup of coffee onto your business shirt. You have no control over what just what happened. What happens when the next will be determined by how you react. You curse. You harshly scold your daughter for knocking the cup over. She breaks down in tears. After scolding her, you turn to your spouse and criticize her for placing the cup too close to the edge of the table. A short verbal battle follows. You storm upstairs and change your shirt. Back downstairs, you find your daughter has been too busy crying to finish breakfast and get ready for school. She misses the bus. Your spouse must leave immediately for work. You rush to the car and drive your daughter to school. Because you are late, you drive 40 miles an hour in a 30 mph speed limit. After a 15-minute delay and throwing $60 traffic fine away, you arrive at school. Your daughter runs into the building without saying goodbye. After arriving at the office 20 minutes late, you find you forgot your briefcase. Your day has started terrible. As it continues, it seems to get worse and worse. You look forward to coming home, When you arrive home, you find small wedge in your relations hip with your spouse and daughter.

Why? Because of how you reacted in the morning. Why did you have a bad day?A) Did the coffee cause it?B) Did your daughter cause it?C) Did the policeman cause it?D) Did you cause it?The answer is D.You had no control over what happened with the coffee. How you reacted in those 5 seconds is what caused your bad day. Here is what could have and should have happened. Coffee splashes over you. Your daughter is about to cry. You gently say, “It’s ok honey, you just need, to be more careful next time”. Grabbing a towel you rush upstairs. After grabbing a new shirt and your briefcase, you come back down in time to look through the window and see your child getting on the bus. She turns and waves. You arrive 5 minutes early and cheerfully greet the staff. Your boss comments on how good the day you are having.Notice the difference? Two different scenarios. Both started the same. Both ended different. Why? Because of how you REACTED. You really do not have any control over 10% of what happens. The other 90% was determined by your reaction. Here are some ways to apply the 90/10 principle.

If someone says something negative about you, don’t be asponge. Let the attack roll off like water on glass. You don’thave to let the negative comment affect you! React properly andit will not ruin your day. A wrong reaction could result inlosing a friend, being fired, getting stressed out etc.

How do you react if someone cuts you off in traffic? Do youLose your temper? Pound on the steering wheel? A friend of minehad the steering wheel fall off) Do you curse? Does your bloodpressure skyrocket? Do you try and bump them? WHO CARES if youarrive ten seconds later at work? Why let the cars ruin yourdrive? Remember the 90/10 principle, and do not worry about it.

You are told you lost your job. Why lose sleep and getirritated? It will work out. Use your worrying energy and timeinto finding another job.
The plane is late; it is going to mangle your schedule for theday. Why take out your frustration on the flight attendant? Shehas no control over what is going on. Use your time to study,get to know the other passenger. Why get stressed out? It willjust make things worse. Now you know the 90-10 principle. Applyit and you will be amazed at the results. You will lose nothingif you try it.

The 90-10 principle is incredible. Very few know and apply this principle. The result? Millions of people are suffering from undeserved stress,trials,problems and heartache. There never seem to be a success in life. Bad days follow bad days. Terrible things seem to be constantly happening. There is constant stress, lack of joy, and broken relationships. Worry consumes time. Anger breaks friendships and life seems dreary and is not enjoyed to the fullest. Friends are lost. Life is a bore and often seems cruel. Does this describe you? If so, do not be discouraged.
You can be different! Understand and apply the 90/10 principle. It will change your life

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

B is for Boy, I'm sore!

Last Christmas, my husband's partner (Studio partner, not lover. That would be awkward.) gave me the Billy Bootcamp (as in Billy Banks, the Tae-Bo guy) DVD set complete with workout band. I thought this was a joke and expected to open the box and find really nice jewelry or a gift certificate (because usually, he gives me super great gifts) but when I opened the box and it actually was Billy Bootcamp, I was pretty offended. And disappointed! The plan was to return Billy Bootcamp (it was a $40 set!) but Chicken opened the DVDs so it's been collecting dust on my bedroom floor since December 26th.

Husband keeps complaining his shirts feel a little tight and I should start cooking healthy dinners. I can barley munster up the energy, creativity and time to put a frozen lasagna in the oven. (For the record, I'm actually a pretty good cook. But I'm also lazy.) I jokingly said he should use Billy Bootcamp! He took this in seriousness. That was 2 months ago. Everyday is "the" day he's going to Bootcamp!

So, you'll imagine my surprise when I came home Saturday evening to find my husband in
this position (the same outfit, too!). I had Subway in hand for dinner and dropped it all on the floor and followed the sandwiches by laughing until I nearly peed. It was quite the sight. When I was finished making fun, I looked @ the DVD player run clock which read 4:30 (as in 4 minutes, 30 seconds). Realizing I had food, he turned off the DVD player.

For the following 2 days, he moaned and groaned about the pain after 4:30 of aerobic stretching and I laughed more with each vision in my head.

Last night, after eating a lot of food (and cake), he "worked out" again. This time, I joined him. We went a whole 12 minutes, 20 seconds.

And now, muscles and ligaments hurt in my body that I forgot existed. While "stretching" I recalled my days as a speed skater and having to do the same exact stretches.

Except back then, I actually could touch my toes and plant my face on the floor.

Really! I'm Ok!

Lots of people get jacked up after a long weekend; sometimes it can be hard to adjust. "Is it Tuesday? Feels like Monday." And so on. This is no problem for me, though because my week was going to be jacked up regardless!

I'm working today and tomorrow I'm off to attend the Carnival Day @ Chicken's school which I've spend the past 3 weeks organizing (see below). THEN! As if that were not enough, Chicken's last day of school is Thursday but it's a 1/2 day so they get out @ Noon. And Friday is the official mark of summer for the kiddies.

Yeah, I'd better load up on some kind of pain reliever.

At work, I'm bidding on a new contract which will essentially make or break this company. If I get it, we'll be comfortable enough to distribute regular bonuses (like we used to) and perhaps have more than a few quarters in petty cash. Maybe we'll even get a refrigerator! (Over a year in this office and STILL no refrigerator. But we did finally get a water cooler which of course, means we're legit.) On the darker side, if I don't get this contract, this will probably be our last year in business. But you know, no pressure. Normally, I would lure the potential customer with my extremely good looks but they're based out of state which poses a real problem. Now I only have to go on my personality and charm. We're fucked, aren't we?

Our school placed 6th in the entire state for national testing scores. This would be a big deal to any school but our school? We go all out. We decided to hold a "Carnival Day" for the kids on the second to last day of school complete with small game booths, treats and a hot dog lunch! Because, you know, it being the SECOND TO LAST DAY OF SCHOOL! isn't enough excitement. Sometimes, I'm a sucker (ok, most times). When the principal casually asked me for a brainstorming meeting a month ago, I assumed she wanted to look at me for a while. But when she started to talk, I still hadn't realized I was being roped. That actually did not occur to me until last week when the pressure was on. Oh! I was supposed to create, organize and prepare Carnival Day! D'oh. Originally, the school was going to buy everything we needed because there happened to be a little bit of spending money left over in the budget. (Which I would attribute to me because I've spent so much time and money there, they haven't had to pay a single model.) Then some jackass (read: teacher) thought it would be silly! to SPEND the money the parents have donated. Instead, lets ask them to donate more stuff! During the last week of school. Yes, yes. Good idea. OH! And don't send out the notice to parents until FRIDAY. Friday was also the day all the children cleaned out their desks and took junk home. Plus, Monday was a holiday. That leaves TODAY. One lonely, single day to gather all of the supplies, set up all the classrooms and apply extra hairspray.

Again: we're fucked.

Where did I put the liquor?

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Dammit, Karen!

No, not my actual friend Karen. I think it's a term taken from a mob movie but I stole the saying from another friend, Shilah.

Anyway, so far this week, I've:

-inserted a small memory stick into a large floppy disk hole and cannot get it out
-left my keys in my husband's vehicle and he's gone to work until tomorrow
-burned several pieces of bacon
-forgot my camera when going to visit a brand new baby
-still have not paid for show tickets at Olivia's school (they were due last Friday)

All of this and it's only Tuesday.

Rut-ro, Shaggy.

Thursday, May 3, 2007


I try to come across as well-spoken, intelligent and quasi-classy. However, sometimes, the ghetto comes out and it's a little embarrassing. Yesterday, I spent the day @ Chicken's school (more on that later) and while discussing some Carnival Day booth options with the principal, I said about a dunk tank set up, "That's wack". They (said principal and other teachers surrounding us) thought it was really funny because I don't generally speak in such a manner but I was mortified. In hindsight, it was pretty hilarious because it was completely impulsive and shocking but on the flip side, I heard the principal use it in conversation with another parent this morning. Now that is funny listening.
In accordance with the ghetto; I'm seriously slippin'. Or is it trippin'? I don't know, I don't actually live in the real ghetto anymore (just behind the ghetto) so I'm losing my terminology.
This is the second week I haven't done Wunnerful Word Wednesday, I'm so disappointed in myself. I promised a weekly feature and I couldn't even get past week 1 but I promise to try and do better!
So I took the day off from work yesterday to chaperon a field trip at school and ended up spending the entire day there. The day flew by in such a flurry of excitement and promise, I was sad to leave at 4pm. When I came home and reflected on my day, I realized it was the best weekday that I've had in years. I know I said my job is perfect for my lifestyle but I can't help but notice that I feel more and more unfulfilled with each coming day. Silly monkey job is so unimportant, it disturbs me. Not that my position isn't important but the work we do doesn't make a difference in people's lives and I'm just very sad about the entire situation. Perhaps because there doesn't seem to be any kind of promising light at the end of this tunnel is why I'm feeling more pressure on myself. Whatever it is, I'm getting a serious itch. I need to do something that makes me feel good about myself as a person. I want to help people, make a difference and come home every afternoon feeling like I've done good with my day. Not just answer phones, tell men where to go and gossip all day.
Any suggestions?

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Too Bizarre For a Title!

Remember when I told you that there was a strange smell in Chicken's bedroom that smelled like pee?
As it turns out, that's because it is pee.

See, what happened was:
Husband got new costumes for his music group, Spacemen and I was trying to get everything organized for the show last night so I put the old costumes & helmets in her room on Wednesday. Thursday morning, the room reeked. I thought it must have been the costumes but I repeatedly asked Chicken if she had an accident which she insisted she did not.
Fast forward to Friday (yesterday), I took the costumes out of the room and the smell didn't follow. She slept at Grammy's and when she came home, it was still a-stankin'! I asked again, she said she did not have an accident. Then she blurted this out: "I peed in a pink tin."

Come again?

Yeah. Apparently, my daughter, always the curious, decided she wanted to see what it would be like to pee in a pink tin (which about the size of a shoe box) so she did. And the pee has been rotting away for just over a week.

One day, when she is dating or perhaps even married, I will tell this strange story of when she peed in a pink tin.

Until then, we're all still peeing in pink tins from laughter of the situation. But we still can't figure out why.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

T-Minus 24 Hours & Counting

Tomorrow night, Husband has a VERY! IMPORTANT! SHOW! locally of which I have some VERY! SERIOUS! RESPONSIBILITIES! that I'm not really looking forward to.
And I have a gazillion things to finish tonight before I return to silly monkey job tomorrow. Instead of doing those things, I'm writing. Because it makes me feel better. And I've had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (like Alexander).
In tune with my procrastination, I will list all of the things I still need to do. I like lists, they make me feel in control. In fact, every Saturday morning, I sit down and make a list of all of the productive things I'm going to do this weekend. Never mind that most of the time, the list is lost, thrown away, folded into a million pieces, used as scrap for Olivia or hidden in the couch cushions.

Here we go:
-Clean the filthy bathroom (total emphasis on "filthy")
-Vacuum half the floor (because I already did one half)
-Mop kitchen
-Finish laundry (one load in the dryer, 4 more to go!)
-Figure out where the pee/fish smell is coming from in Chicken's room (she swears she didn't have an accident. Hrmm.)
-Pack Chicken's clothes (for she will be staying with the Grammy. Don't forget sunscreen.)
-Make a list of things to pack for Chicken
-Iron my vast selection of outfits for tomorrow night (there are 5 different "looks" in the running)
-Fluff pillows (because I like to)

That entire list adds up to a gazillion in my head, ok?

In the spirit of creative writing, I'll tell you a little bit about today. But only a little because you know who's a-lurkin' around here.
I performed stage 2 of a big argument with Husband about nothing, really (we're over it now, in case you were worried). Then I went to work and realized that I continue to surround myself by stupid, useless men and wondered why I stay at a job that I usually find highly unfulfilled. While in a heated debate with myself over that very subject, I remembered that I have dream hours, excellent pay, generous benefits, freedom and flexibility at that silly monkey job and talked myself down the window sill. (It's a good thing, too, I was really going to jump. Except I work in a 1 story building. But I could have scratched myself on the rose bush below.) I proceeded home only to enter into a bigger mess than when I left. So I stormed out to meet my nail appointment. Then I bought two new pairs of shoes. And now I'm happy.

So I shall go do one of those a-gazillion things I keep talking about.

PS-I know I didn't do Wunnerful Word Wednesday but I'm going to, I promise.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

It Could Happen To You!

Wouldn't it be funny if:

Your husband had major surgery which nearly killed him 5 years ago?
And left a actual, visible hole in his stomach for 2 years?
Then he had the hole repaired,
And the doctor's office told you insurance never paid for the original surgery?
So you do the right thing and battle with said insurance company for months to get the doctor paid?
Then you don't hear from the doctor's office for 2 more years and naturally assume the bill has been paid,
Until you receive a final collection notice on behalf of the doctor's office threatening to steal then sell your blood unless you pay them $8,000.00?
And when you dispute the collections notice, the collectors call you a deadbeat and hang up?
This all happens when you're about to buy a new house and have spent a year cleaning up your credit?

My Journey

Money cannot buy me happiness.

But money can buy me things.

And I like things.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Interview Meme

Another blog I regularly read is Solo Mom. Go read her. Now. She's funny.
In the meantime, she kindly sent me this interview meme. Enjoy!

If you'd like me to interview you, do this:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Now onto the good stuff.

1. George W Bush, Demon or Demigod? Why?
It's my opinion that he is too stupid to be a demon, he's a puppet in the "Cheney Show". How we ever elected a president that cannot put two words together is beyond me. (Don't look at me. I didn't vote for him!) I believe we are in a (losing) war that is beyond illegal for money with complete disregard to the thousands (over 3 thousand Americans) of young people who've died for nothing. (I support the troops, just not the people who sent them there.) I could write an entire essay of how this Administration has gone wrong but I wont. At least not today.

2. Who was your very first teen idol crush?
Promise not to laugh? I loved New Kids on the Block, which I know everyone did but I daydreamed about Jonathan Knight (he was known as the ugly one). Something about him was very charming-especially when I had his face plastered on several of my Bedazzled tshirts (complete with MC Hammer pants!!).

3. What is your earliest memory?
I can remember things as early as 2 years old but I see them in my head as snapshots, not as motion memories. I can remember being 2 1/2 years old, living in a seedy apartment in downtown Lake Worth with my mother; she just started dating my step dad when my biological father came over in a rage and kicked in the new TV set. I see that one moving through my head like a still picture show. My first actual, vivid memory is of my 4th birthday party (Strawberry Shortcake themed) and my biological father came from New York to celebrate at my party and he made chocolate cupcakes with white frosting and a sliced strawberries. When I discovered that I would not, in fact, be able to open my presents as they arrived, I threw myself under the bar and graced my guests with one of my famous temper tantrums. And the song that was playing in my head? "It's my party & I'll cry if I want to, cryyy if I want to, cryyy if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to youuuuu." (Seriously)

4. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A mom, always. I'm pretty much living the life I always dreamed of and for that I feel very lucky. During Middle & High school, I wanted to be a lawyer. Mostly because my teachers told me I should be - because I had a big mouth, an argument for everything and I was (am?) very stubborn. I think they used lawyer as code word for "freakin' psycho bitch student". I'm not sure, though.

5. If you could only do one or the other, would you choose to read blogs or write your own?
Great question. I think I'd chose to read blogs because 1) I'm not that narcissistic (oh, who am I kidding-yes I am) and 2) I get so much from reading other's writing and I could always write blogs in my head for myself (I pretty much do that most of the time, anyway). The humor and good sense I receive from other people's blogs is irreplaceable.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

My Erin Brockovich Moment

Chicken attends a very small charter school here, which houses just under 150 students in a tiny facility. Our library is shared with the kitchen, faculty bathroom, Dean's office and planning office. We're small but tight; there for one purpose: a better education.
Since 2002, our school has been trying to get the Town to approve site plans for a NEW! BIG! school which will house 18 classrooms, a cafenasium (cafeteria/gymnasium/assembly hall), real library, sports field and many other amenities that we've given up in exchange for higher education (trust me, it's proven well worth it). Last night was the final Town Hall meeting where the Mayor & his peeps would make a decision. Notices were posted all over school this week: "Please support our new school!" "Vote YES to the expansion!", etc. Everyone was given notice but we all knew who would actually show up, many of us were called by the principal, specifically asking us to speak. I was one of them. "Many parents are too intimidated to speak, I knew you wouldn't be. Please talk at the Town meeting on behalf of all the parents." she asked me. I thought, that's a pretty tall order. I'm loud, I'm opinionated and sometimes, well spoken but I can't go in front of the entire municipality, on local TV and beg them to give us the opportunity to build a new school.
Luckily, I had dinner plans. But my dinner plans were cancelled and I participated in an event that is a metamorphosis in my life.
The meeting began at exactly 6:30pm, we arrived in strong numbers, 50+ parents, many of us with our children. We're last on the long agenda. Short, stout with big frizzy hair, a former councilwoman said to us "If you're here for the charter school, you won't be heard until at least 10pm." "Well," we thought, "we have important people here. Lawyers, engineers, architects and investors. Surely, they'll see our children and let us go early." They did not. By 9pm, our number were less by more than half.
At 10:20, they called our item: 4.23 on the agenda. The lawyers spoke, the architect spoke, our principal spoke and I spoke (along with a few other parents). I made direct eye contact with the Mayor and our district councilwoman and told them I live, work, play and my daughter goes to school right here in Town. I told them the story of Chicken's early reading skills and how our puny school took her in, accommodated her skill and how she's flourished. I spoke eloquently, my voice didn't quiver (shockingly) and towards the end, I cried a little.
The Mayor voted against us, the council people voted for us and we won. Like in Erin Brockovich, we jumped out of our seats, sleeping babies and all, with screams and endless hugs.
In 5 years, my daughter will be one of the first students to enter our huge, 2 story, several acre school as a middle-school student.
And I will forever remember this day, this feeling and our powerful victory.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Not as in Pretty Hot And Tempting (PHAT)

It used to be the fatter I got, the skinner I felt. When I revisit photos of myself from 5 years ago, I relish in my skinniness, it's amazing that 10 years ago, at a size 7, I thought I was fat. Oh, how I wish.
I used to say that God makes me stay fat because if I were skinny, I'd dress like a skank-ass hoe (Not to be confused with "nappy-headed ho". Please don't fire me.), wildly inappropriate to show all my skinniness.
When I pass a mirror, door or large framed picture and see my own, ever expanding figure, I think "Who IS that person?". Not along ago, I had the confidence that screamed "I may LOOK like Carnie Wilson (pre-surgery, of course) but I feel like Jessica Biel! I don't feel like that anymore. I don't want to be the fat girl married to that amazing guy from Spacemen anymore, I want to be able to shop with the rest of the people my age, in all that cuteness. It is not fashionable to be fat, no matter how much he tells me I look beautiful. I still feel like a fat girl trying to dress like a skinny one.
So today is the day!
Ok, maybe not today because I've already got dinner plans to make lasagna for my very beautiful and trendy friend. You can't have a special dinner without special dessert (which is to be determined).
Today isn't the day. But tomorrow is the day! No more chocolate cake for breakfast! No more Kit Kats for lunch! I'll eat salad! I'll eat half portions! I will work out (almost) everyday until I lose 50lbs.
This means, of course, that I'll have to give up the full fat mayonnaise and ice cream, which is very sad (although Hagan-Daas makes a really good S'mores ice cream in 1/3 fat). And I love McDonald's greasy fries, especially when they're hot.
On the bright side, if I loose weight, I won't look pregnant anymore and perhaps will actually get pregnant!

Wunnderful Word Wednesday

I read lots of other mom's blogs but my favorite is wouldashouldacoulda, Mir is insightful, funny and very bright. She features "Love Thursdays" where she posts something obscenely mushy and quickly puts you in a good mood with all of her love.
In honor of Love Thursdays (in honor of or just stealing the idea? You decide.), I'm going to start a weekly feature, too!
Wunnerful Word Wednesdays!
I realized that while my vocabulary is quite large, expanding it wouldn't hurt. So every Wednesday, I'll pick a new (to me), interesting word and use it in my post! (Plus, it'll guarantee a new post every Wednesday!)

How does one know that they're about to fall off the edge? Perhaps, for me, it is wearing fuzzy, pink bedroom slippers to work on accident (or subconsciously on purpose) two days in a row. Maybe the 4 hour nap I took yesterday was a big warning sign.
There is a looming, vapid feeling my life this week. A feeling that I just cannot shake or pin point, it's just there. The tragic events on Monday at VA Tech, I hope, has contributed but I keep feeling like there is something else. Is something missing?
I thought for sure this month would be the month I discovered I'm pregnant but sadly, awoke yesterday to discover it is not, in fact, the month.
On the surface I'm able to foster a quasi-smile but anyone who knows me is aware that this cannot last long. Soon the quasi-smile will transgress and I will just be sad. I can only fake myself through this life for so long.
I sense a whole lot of guilt these days. Guilt for taking that 4 hour nap, leaving Husband with Chicken, guilt for not getting the laundry out of the dryer before it wrinkled, Chicken-imposed guilt for forgetting to pack her a drink in her lunchbox last week (she's still bitching about it) and guilt for not having a funny, positive blog post for days.
Tonight, we have dinner guests, people that we adore and are great fun (and hopefully, a distraction). I will make lasagna and drink lots of wine and laugh a million laughs.
Lets just hope my quasi-smile doesn't expire before then.

Vapid (vap-id); adjective - lacking or having lost life, sharpness or flavor

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Just Can't. Not Today.

I had a couple of ideas rolling around in my head yesterday, a long laundry list of things I wanted to write about. Yesterday, around 11am, I sat down at my work desk to write (it's slow, what can I tell ya?). I opened the Internet to find "Breaking News". I am sorry that I clicked because it would be the start of a possibly endless feeling of sorrow and sadness.
Everyone, everywhere in the country is talking about the tragedy at VA Tech University. My favorite morning radio show dj's are discussing it and one is completely outraged by the apparent lack of communication by the school to students.
Today is going to be one day that I'll not state my own opinions. I'm not sure what my opinions are, I haven't been able to take it that far.
I know this: I'm feeling completely empty, shocked and devastated. My heart feels so full that I cannot cry, much like it did when I was a rebellious teenager with no one to confide in.
With no control over the situation, no way to reach out and touch the lives of the wounded and families of the dead. By helping them, I can comfort myself?

Until I can make my own sense and come to terms with what happened yesterday, I'm going to pray that I'll finally cry and hold my baby tight.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Pixie Power!

Chicken got all A's & 1's on her 3rd quarter report card. "What would you like to do for your reward?" I said, beaming with pride. "I want my haircut short!" she gleefully answered.

Hm. Haircut? Before we go into detail, let me bring you back. Way back.

My grandmother, overwhelmed with 4 children and a military husband, kept her only daughter's (that would be my mother) hair very. very. short. This was scarring to my poor mother who had beautiful, bright blond hair that many New Englanders envied (even during the dark winter months). I believe my grandmother forced this "hair style" (I use the quotes on style seriously) on my mother for at least 12 or 13 years.

Remember this story when I tell you what happened 15 years later.

After a long struggle to get pregnant by my father (even though they were no longer in any kind of relationship. Hm. No wonder why I'm so screwed up!), I was finally born in 1981. And I was a girl! I didn't have beautiful blond hair that would forever link me to the Snell gene but I had thick black hair and that was good enough!
So began the 16 year battle my mother and I would have over hair. She kept my hair very. very. long. When I was 7, my mom thought it would be a GREAT! idea if I had a perm (hey, it was 1988, everyone did it, don't make fun!) and clearly did not follow the beautician's advise NOT to perm my hair (she took my mother's $40 and did it anyway). I distinctly remember the beautician telling my mother that she should wait until I was 10 to treat my hair since at the ripe age of 7, I still had "baby hair" (you can imagine my horror) and the chemicals may not "take". I remember the smell of the potion clearly (a cross between ammonia and burning follicles). The perm didn't take (surely because I had "baby hair". Ugh) and I was left with a luxurious head of long, dirty blond hair so thick that you couldn't wrap a single hand around it all.
I wonder if this was the point where my mother decided she would live vicariously through my head? Because for the next 10 years, I was forbidden to do anything to my hair. Especially cut it! I vividly remember arguments (visualize hands flying very fast but no sound) that I lost every time. "When you're 18 and not living in my house, you can do what you want. Until then, you may not ever. touch. your. hair!" "But it's MY hair!" was my argument every time. (Hard to believe I didn't win with that, eh?) When I was 14, I dyed my hair blonder because my dirty blond was not bright enough! Surprisingly, she was ok with this (remember her own, very proud head of very bright blond hair) but I was reminded that I could. not. cut. my. hair!
On my 16 birthday, I realized something: "I have a car. I have a job. I can do whatever I want!" And so I drove to Kool Cuts (why the K for cool, no K for cuts? I'll never know.), Home of the $7 haircut (seriously), gave the nice lady my $7 and asked her to cut my waist-long hair to my shoulders. She tied it in a pony tail and with one swift cut, gone was my hair. She put the pony tail in a brown paper bag (in case I wanted to reattach it?) and I brought it home to my mother. She cried. And she threw things. And she cursed me. And she saved that brown bag with my hair (creepily, she still has it).

When my own daughter came to me, wanting her hair cut, I had traumatic flash backs to all of those wasted battles against my mother. I decided (against Husband's opinion-what does he know?) that she was old enough to decide how she wanted her hair to look.

After all, it is HER hair.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Sometimes, I'm not at all funny

I really wanted this blog to be light-hearted and funny. Like me! So I must apologize in advance to all my old (and new) readers who came here looking for comedy relief only to find political speak. I promise to get back in the hilarious swing of things very soon.

In the meantime, I'd like to take this time to welcome everyone to my new writing haven! I'm so excited about this and have a running list of things I can't wait to write about in addition to stories about my funny life. Hopefully, you'll find me interesting and readable, I often write how I talk: fast, long-winded and in circles.

Until I can sit down and write a proper description and introduction (very soon! Like, tonight!), please browse through my archives and see for yourself how funny, smart (and pretty) I am!

Don Imus

Caution: This post may be found offensive by some readers. My opinions reflect me and only me. Besides, it's my blog and I can write about whatever I want to. SO THERE!

In case you've been off on a space tourist mission launching from Katzastan with specially created astronaut meals created by my woman-lover, Martha Stewart, you're probably well aware of the controversy surrounding Nationally syndicated CBS morning talk show host, Mr. Don Imus this week. He referred to a mostly black, women's college basketball team as "nappy-headed hoes".

Please let the record show: I do not support Mr. Imus' comments.

A national uproar has stemmed from these statements, especially from the black community (and rightfully so). Prestigious figures and companies are criticizing, boycotting and calling for the firing of Mr. Imus. MSNBC (who televises his radio broadcast daily) has already dropped his show, saying "It was the only decision we could come to." I am all for boycotting and speaking out against him; it's the American way. African-Americans protested the public transportation system and won. That's a great example of how speaking out and withholding your money (equals power) will send shock waves throughout. However, I am hurt by the MSNBC firing and the possibility of CBS letting Mr. Imus go.
Where did our constitutional right of Freedom of Speech go?
In my opinion, Mr. Imus made a bad joke in very poor taste. That's what he does, he's part shock jock, part commentator. If you review just a few of his decades-long transcripts, you'll find he's said far harsher words. It's his shtick to be offensive and he's an equal opportunity basher. Think Howard Stern with less sex and more politics. It's his job (which he's been very successful) to be shocking and perverse. Don did not go on a drunken hate tirade. He did not respond to hecklers in an angry, racist rant. He said a joke. A very bad joke. I don't believe it was with hateful intentions; he thought he was funny (he wasn't and quickly realized it).
With Freedom of Speech comes the responsibility to be held accountable for your words so criticizing and boycotting him is the American way. It's how we should respond when we're offended. Now that we've got the thought police intruding on opinions, jokes and conversations, I believe we're in severe danger.
Aside from my opinions on Freedom of Speech and this situation, I feel sorry for Mr. Imus.
He's simply the victim of "the art of distraction". Because this administration thinks they're so much smarter than the American public, they blind us with useless news. In case no one has noticed, we're in the middle of a (n illegal) war. Thousands of people, OUR people, have died for oil and contract money. Where is the outrage for that? Sure, plenty of people are protesting but no major news network is reporting any of it. Instead, we're consumed by Anna Nicole's death and Brangelina's next adoption. Do not be fooled by Freedom of Press. The current administration is controlling all of what we see and hear.
How many of you have heard or read about the awful conditions of William Reed Hospital in Washington DC? Where our troops are coming back from Iraq without limbs and being cared for in dire and disgusting conditions. How many of you have heard or read about the terminal illnesses the first responders of 9/11 are suffering from? They will soon be dying at alarming rates from all of the debris and disease they inhaled on that day. Why isn't that breaking news? Because it's not glamorous and pretty? I refuse to buy into that. We, the American people, cannot be that shallow and petty. If you read or watch any news outlets outside of America (such as BBC America), you'll see the actual news and the tragedy our forces are suffering daily (not to mention the suffering of the innocent in Iraq).
I am saddened by the future of our country. We are headed for bad times unless people start standing up and speaking out for themselves, our Constitution and what's really important.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Busted - Part Deux

Remember when I told you my story of being busted by a school bus full of kids while dancing?
Well, it's happened again. Only this time it wasn't a school bus full of kids. It was a Honda Civic with 4 teenagers inside.
And it was during the same. damn. song!
To celebrate this, here are the lyrics to the song I love so much. You can also find the video on youtube. Maybe now I'll get over it and quit dancing like a fool in the street.

Jagged Edge Let's Get Married (reception Remix) Lyrics

JD: This here Is a remarkable
So-so def...remix
J.E. y'all
To the beat y'all
And me...y'all know my name

Jagged Edge:
See first of all (Yeah)
I know these so-called playa'z wouldn't tell you this (What?)
But I'm go be real and say what's on my mind (Yeah)
Let's take this chance and make this love feel relevant
Didn't you know I loved you from the start? (Yo)
When I think about (Uh-huh, huh)
All these years we put in this relationship (Yeah)
Who'll knew we'd make it this far? Then I think about (Uh-huh)
Where would I be if we were just to fall apart?
And I can't stand the thought of leaving you...

Meet me at the altar in your white dress(Uh-huh)
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
I been feeling you all the while girl i must confess girl
let's just get married I just wanna get married
Meet me at the altar in your white dress
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
Been feeling you all the while girl I must confess girl
Let's get married i just wanna get married

Said I done it all but frankly girl I'm tired of this emptiness
I wanna come home to you and only you{Why?}
Cause making love to anyone ain't happenin' I just gotta be with you
I think about
Us finishin' somethin' we started so long ago?
I wanna give you my heart
Do you think about maybe us having some babies? C'mon won't you be my lady?
Forever girl....

What's goin' on across the sea?
It ain't nuthin', I ain't frontin'
Shorty coming wit' me
Now I done already gave you the keys to the Range
And your last name 'bout to change
Now you Mrs. Simmons
Got a better livin'
What a dif-rence Rev Run made
I use to be the snake type
Hangin' out late night Girl you done made me change my life
Ever since you met me Keys to the Bentley
Now they call you the preacher's wife
I'm the type of guy that
Take you out and buy that Ring with the rock that'll break your arm
Playaz won't try that
Now you can't deny that
Triple dub Rev to the Run dot com

Jagged Edge:

Meet me at the altar in your white dress(Uh-huh)
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
I been feeling you all the while girl i must confess girl
let's just get married I just wanna get married
Meet me at the altar in your white dress
We ain't gettin' no younger we might as well do it
Been feeling you all the while girl I must confess girl
Let's get married I just wanna get married

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Spotlight 25 & Domestication

Since these two subjects are slightly related (ok, really, the only thing they have in common is me), I'm going to condense two blogs into one. Besides, some of my last few posts have been about other people. I need some time to talk about me. Because I like me. I am freaking awesome.Here we go...
I watched a Lifetime special called "Spotlight 25". The premise of the show was to infiltrate the lives and minds of women my age; 25 years old. I was really looking forward to watching this special mostly because I wanted to see myself in comparison to my generation. As many know, I've never quite "fit in" with my age. For as long as I can remember, I've been attracted to people older than myself. Lots of people chalk this up to being "mature, wise beyond years", etc. That's probably true but it's always been a little difficult, not ever feeling "normal" within my age group and a little lost in my own head. The special was interesting regardless but personally, I was frustrated because out of 12 women, only 2 had children. And the two with children were very career oriented, climbing-the-corporate-ladder types. I'm nothing like that. There were no women featured like me; young moms/wives who's life focus is on their families and nothing else. Needless to say, it was deflating to see that once again, I did not fit in with others my exact age. It was bizarre watching women on TV that are "supposed" to be just like me. On one hand, I felt much wiser and perhaps slightly superior than most of the panel. On the other hand, I felt inferior. I do not, like many of these 12 women, have a college education or a high powered career. I do, however, have experience where they have education. And I have love which most of these women were still searching for. It's a strange feeling to be both disappointed and proud of yourself in 1 hour's time.Lifetime is supposed to be running a special where the spotlight is on 30 year olds. I'm tuning into that with hopes that I will feel satisfied by this age group. Or maybe I will never fit in with any group. Perhaps I have the best of both worlds, a young age number with older opinions, experience and lifestyle. This way, I get away with a little more. On the plus side, I always win those "guess your age" games at the fair.
Before you read this next part, please go back and read my most recent post about "How Wild Women Stay Thin".
Did you read it? Ok good. Moving on...
As you know (since you were specifically asked to read the article!), the article (which was written by a man. UGH!) makes the observation that women who are "domesticated", i.e., wives, mothers, caregivers, etc, are fat because they don't get a chance to express their wildly desires so therefore, they turn to comfort foods. I have severely mixed feelings about this article. I'm offended first, because it was written by a man. What the hell does a man know about being domesticated and the feelings of oppression one may have? Even if the oppression is self-imposed. Second, the article insinuates women cannot be both domesticated AND "wild". I'm not sure they can either but that's neither here nor there. Lastly, are "domesticated" women feeling SO sorry for themselves that they're turning to comfort foods and making themselves fat and ugly? I hope not.With that said, I tend to agree with this doctor. In order to express WHY I agree, I'm going to talk about myself. (Remember? This blog is all about me because I am great!)I feel a lot of oppression. Not from anyone but myself, it's completely self inflicted oppression. I oppress myself because of a huge responsibility I have to my family. I oppress in order to be superior to those I openly criticize. Thanks to the WWoMS (this would be: The Wunnerful World of MySpace), I've reunited with lots of old friends. And they all say the same thing to me; "I cannot believe how much you've changed!" and "I would have never pinned you as a wife and mother!" I was wild. I was loud and outgoing, slightly crazy. I was angry, passionate and maybe showed some bi-polar tendencies. I would try just about anything once and jumped on every dare. I've been like that since the age of about 7. Then something shifted. I had a baby, got married. I cannot credit (or blame) my transformation on Chicken or my husband, Husband, because the process began years after both of them came into my life. I wish I could pinpoint the exact time in my life where I changed but I cannot recall. Probably because it didn't happen that fast (although it truly feels like it did). It was more of a gradual change starting when I was approximately 17 years old. Since then, I've learned and grown so much. My priorities were modified and I needed to give my child a life that I never had but always dreamed of. I wanted to be the perfect wife. Those dreams are still strong in my mind but over the years they've faded and have too, changed. I'm not the perfect wife and I'm far from the ideal mother but my focus is 100% on my family. I'm no longer wild, I'm not dangerous and much more contained. Although, I'm still loud. On my journey to be "normal", I've oppressed my own desires. But here's the thing; I don't feel like being "wild" is a particular desire that I have. Of course, I crave a girls night out like everyone else but my idea of a perfect girls night out is a bottle of wine and an art project. Or going bowling and drinking cheap beer. Maybe I'm different because I sewed my wild oats long ago. I know what's out there and I know it's not always pretty. Or maybe I've oppressed myself to the point that I don't even KNOW what my true desires are anymore!With regards to the comfort food issue, I'm not sure it's true for me. I've certainly gained plenty of weight over the years but is it because I've turned to comfort food as a form of feeling sorry for myself since I'm no longer considered a "wild girl"? I hope not. I always thought I gained so much weight over the years first as a way of comfort after my dad passed away but later because I was happy. Not because I am sad. Besides, I've seen plenty of fat party girls.

I wanted to write more about other things but this is enough about me (because really, I'm not THAT awesome). For now. I've put myself out there for everyone to see and I hope I've done it well without too much confusion and contradiction. Then again, that's me; my life has always been filled with a lot of confusion and contradiction. And pretension.
That pretension, she's a bitch.

No Wonder Why My Ass Keeps Growing!

I borrowed this article from I find it to ring slightly true in my personal life but also found it to be highly offensive. Especially since it was written by a man. I have a lot to say about "domestication", particularly when it pertains to women my age and I'm trying to gather my thoughts to write a blog about it. Stay tuned. In the meantime, enjoy the article and let me know your thoughts on it!

How Wild Women Stay Thin
By Dr. Matthew AndersoneDiets ContributorUpdated: April 5, 2007
A life too focused on domestic duties and expectations can drain a woman of her instinctual wildness, passion and creativity. Too many women control their wildness with comfort food, and thus create extra pounds instead of aliveness.
I'm going to share the definition of "to domesticize" with you. This may make you sick, but sometimes getting sick is a healthy response to something toxic.
To Domesticize – To train, to live with and be of use to man; to tame.
This definition originally applied to animals, however, too often now, applies to women. When a woman cooperates too fully with the process of domestication, she runs the risk of losing her connection to her instinctual aliveness. Weight gain is a significant result of this subtle, but dangerous process.
Question: Have you been overly domesticated? Is your day and your life filled to the brim with domestic duties? Do you ever feel that you are a slave to your household duties, to your children's and/or husband's needs?
Question: Do you ever have the urge to be something other than, or in addition, to domestic? Does this idea seem exciting or threatening, or both?
Question: Do you ever feel the urge to live a life that is an expression of your wild energy -- more robust, inventive, creative, passionate, more wolf-like than domestic pet, unashamed, un-muzzled, animated and imaginative, confident, clear, dream-driven and ultimately fully alive?
Question: Do you use comfort food to manage your wild energy? Many weight-challenged women in America unsuccessfully attempt to domesticate their natural and instinctual energies under the guise of being good mothers, good wives and good citizens. Then they fight a daily battle with their deeper untamed selves. The most obvious symptom of this battle is fat.
You are not a family pet that needs to be tamed. I know our culture might have you think this, but you and I both know this idea is reprehensible. I am certain that there is an energy rising in you at this very moment that wants to shout an untamed, "Yes!" The question then is: What are you going to do with it? If you do not find a meaningful path of expression for this energy you will continue to have an extremely difficult time losing weight
It works like this: Your wild energy wants to find expression in your daily life. Your rules about having to be a domesticated being demand that your wildness get back into its cage. Comfort food becomes your main means for caging the energy. Since your wild energy is instinctual and basic to your existence, it will not go away. Thus, you require an endless supply of comfort food to manage it.
If you go on a diet, you have to try to manage your instinctual wildness with willpower instead of comfort food. Using willpower in an attempt to manage your instinctual wildness is like using a dog leash to handle King Kong. No wonder your diet fails!
What then is the solution? Here is a brief, but highly effective set of guidelines I have often shared with my clients and workshop participants. By the way, they work for men too.
Guidelines for Expressing Your Wildness
1. Acknowledge and accept the fact that instinctual, healthy wildness is an essential part of your being.
2. Get a journal and begin to list and describe how your wildness could be expressed. This exercise will help you moderate the anxiety that may initially arise when you approach these energies in yourself. Remember, your wildness is not inherently dangerous, but you may experience some discomfort as you begin to get to know it.
3. Read the book Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Try to read it in an undomesticated way. I know you think you have to read a book front to back. Forget that. Read this book in any fashion you like. Choose a story and read it. Find a paragraph that turns you on, write it on a card and carry it around with you. Devour the book.
4. Start every day with the following question: How can I express my wildness today?
If you want more encouragement and ideas about how to express your wildness, please email me at

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

The Art of Butchery

Not butchery as in a butch lesbian. Nor butchery like the handling, carving and distribution of meat. I mean butchery as in destroy, humiliate and completely destroy up the English language.
Today, while browsing houses for sale on a popular website, I came across a disturbing discovery. An owner (and I know it was an owner because it was the BUYOWNER website) boasted this: "...access to private golf coarse..." What? Are you kidding me? You want me to pay half a million dollars for your house (which looks like it's worth a quarter of that price) and you cannot distinguish the difference between coarse (as in rough) and course (as in obstacle)? NEXT!
My education is less than most people I know. Which, in my opinion, gives me the authority to be appalled by the lack of proper writing. Not just formal or creative writing but good 'ol regular letter writing, emails, even instant messages. Perhaps that's why my love for proper language has cultivated into near obsession. Almost as if I have something to prove. Something like this: "I may not have graduated with my class or walked across a stage for a diploma, but dammit, I'm smart!" We, as a generation, have damaged our reputation with regards to writing and grammar. My 6 year old is in 1st grade reading where they're learning to form proper grammar, letter writing and English language skills. I know we've come a long way since 1st grade; our brains have been filled with so much since 20 years age but try to use some of the tools taught to you during elementary education.
When I was dating (hard to remember such a time, eh?), I had very few requirements in a man. They needn't a car or a job. They needed to possess conversation skills. They needed a sense of humor and intelligence. If we reflected back to the different kinds of guys I've dated, we'd find that they had nothing in common besides basic use their brains and usually the ability to make me laugh until I peed myself. I dated wanna-be gangsters, wanna-be punk rockers, night club managers, pre-law college students and eventually married a musician (a good one, too!). They were all shapes, colors and levels of appearance. One had a face only a mother could love. I once dated a guy who was so bad for me but I didn't care because even though he had a certain exterior; inside, I knew there was a very smart kid and if only I could get him to express it more, we could get married and live happily ever after. Well, obviously, that didn't happen. I still believe he's smarter than he lets on but he's still living with his parents, doesn't have a job or a car and lives the same life as when we dated. Boy, am I glad I didn't go THAT route!
In a time where hardly anyone hand-writes letters and notes (I do) in lieu of computers and programs like Microsoft Word, it's shocking and disturbing how the English language is being butchered in such a manner. I am not, by nature or history, a spelling bee champion, nor am I a prize-winning writer. I just have a need to portray myself as well-spoken.
Even if I am a crazy bitch.
I realize now that I've probably subjected myself to extreme scrutiny with respect to my writing. I'm not saying my grammar or spelling is free of mistakes. I'm just saying I use Microsoft Word and even that only catches so many errors. And I do make typos. A lot. And I do often write exactly how I speak (like how I just used "And" at the beginning of several sentences. A big no-no!). In other words, I'm not perfect. But I'm damn close!
My friends, smart and dumb, please use the program which comes free with most computers to check the errors of your ways. You can only blame the education system for so long before it's no longer a reflection of your poor education but a reflection of your laziness and stupidity. Single women, you will attract much better men, single men, you will attract much better women. And everyone will live happily ever after.
Just like me. (haha)