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.

Trouble

Crap.

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.

The Guilt Fairy

Chicken is sleeping in my bed tonight as she is being left with a babysitter tomorrow for the very. first. time. ever. And I am so. freaking. nervous. And feeling guilty. So I've indulged her long request to "please mommy PLEASE let me sleep in your bed tonight.". "Ok, Chicken" I said.
In the past 6 years I've had a handful of nights out but she's always been left in the care of family. Or very close friends. Never a teenager.

"A TEENAGER?!" you say? Before you nominate me for Worst Mother To Ever Bore Child(ren), let me explain. There is a girl who lives in our neighborhood. A very sweet, church going, Publix working, shy, good, 17 year old girl. She lives with her slightly overprotective single mother. Rightfully overprotective. You see, our babysitter is strikingly gorgeous. And if I weren't sure Husband knew that I'd certainly get more than half (probably 3/4), I'd be a little nervous. Anyway, she lives in the neighborhood, therefore making her mother VERY close by in the case of some kind of chaos (and also ensures no boys will be coming over). She is babysitting because I'm out of back up plans.

Normally, my Mom would watch Chicken. But she has a date (and seeing as I am encouraging a slight case of gold digging, I couldn't guilt her into NOT going). Then Chicken was supposed to sleep over her friend's house (who's parents happen to be very close friends of ours) but her friend's mom had emergency surgery this week so with a part of the friend's mother intestine, there went plan B. Plan C usually consists of one of my relatives but they're all out of town camping (something I wish I was doing with them). Lastly, Plan D was foiled because of my pride. See, we have another set of parents-to-a-child-Chicken's-age friends but when I hinted to the mom that I had run out of arrangements for Olivia on Saturday, she did not offer her services. And because I hate to impose (and a little bit because I feel I'm "punishing" her), I didn't ask.
During past situations like this, I would just decide not to go out at all and stay home with the baby and bake yummy cookies and make stuff. But I need this. I need to have conversations with ADULTS. Conversations that do not include arguments about money, air conditioning, Halloween and Chicken's education. And. I need a drink. (I do not believe I've EVER said that in my entire life.) It's true, I don't drink. But I seem to have bit off a little more than my big mouth can chew and I just need to breathe. And maybe get a little tipsy. (Not so) sadly, I will end up talking about how smart and great Chicken is, what she's going to be for Halloween (a bride. Kind of creepy but I'll explain in another post), work and my love for Husband (in the form of nasty jokes and snide comments).

Such is my life. A life I chose with a great deal of thought. A life I am so proud of and grateful for. So I'm paying a beautiful 17 year old girl $50 to watch my child for a few hours so I can watch my ridiculously talented husband perform songs that were created in my bedroom.

I will definitely have toes in my nose tonight.

This Totally Made My Day!

Here's a small cheesecake slice of humor.
Allow me to preface my little story by telling you it is an ACTUAL true story. This really happened. Which is what makes it so damn funny.


Yesterday, Husband took Chicken to the studio with him. I decided to go to Target. I wasn't in the greatest mood; I had a bad day and just wanted to burn a little money.

I parked my car next to a family of 5; three adult women and two little girls; ages around 3 years old and 6 or 7 years old. The women were packing up the car with their bags and one was going to put the cart back to the cart depot. The 6/7 year old girl was trying to help her mother push the cart. She was really quite sweet about it. Her mother told her to:


"GITCHO ASS OUT DA SCREET"

I swear to God.

It's CHEETAHLICOUS!

We took Chicken to the Cheetah Girls concert this week at Large Concert/Sports Venue. Have you ever been in a giant arena with 10,000 girls between the ages of 5 and 15 year old SCREAMING in that girly shrill? No? You should try it. It's a guaranteed headache.

But we had so much fun! Chicken was singing and dancing, generally acting like a fool! (While I prayed for safety and quietly cried because the seats were frighteningly high up.) Plus, not only were the Cheetah Girls there, but HANNAH MONTANA was there too. DOUBLE THE FUN! I know I'm making fun but I shouldn't because I was dancing and singing as much as Olivia (I refuse to admit I was louder and more excited). I love those Cheetah Girls...and Hannah Montana is actually Miley Cyrus, daughter of former mullet head Billy Ray Cyrus. He doesn't have a mullet anymore and is really quite handsome. They're all very cute and promote a lot of good things for girls like girl power (growl power), independence, etc. Except that Raven is a little ghetto. But Raven only does the Cheetah Girl movies, not concerts. Anyway...you guys don't care. Most of you probably don't even know who the Cheetah Girls are. But you will...they're going to take the world by storm! (Ok, seriously...someone please take me to a grown up place.)

In more good things to say, I've come to an agreement with my current place of employment to finally work part time. I've been complaining and trying to work part time since Chicken started Kindergarten this year. As she gets older, her social and activity calendar becomes fuller and more difficult to manage. Working full time simply was not acceptable and I needed to accommodate Chicken and her growing life. But since we've already paid for after school care through October, my new 8am-2pm hours won't start until November 1st. Which is fine since cheerleading finishes next week and soccer doesn't start until the 1st week in November so things won't be so bad between now and then. But I'm so very, very happy about this.

In relation to my recent job news, please visit our very good friend, psychic medium, Robyn Z. (http://www.robynz.net/) She's been a personal friend of ours for many, many, many years and has provided support, insight and light for us. When Chicken started school this year, I was complaining (how unusual) to Robyn about how difficult it was for me to work full time and that I needed to work part time ASAP. She told me to be patient, that I would be working part time very soon and seemed to think I wouldn't have to leave my current job (which I love). She has also communicated some very important messages for me from people in the beyond. Through her, I often feel very close to my dad and others who've passed away. Seriously. She's as real as they come and so kind. Thanks Robyn, for all of your support over the years. WE LOVE YOU GUYS!

Moving on, I keep talking about the holidays. And Christmas has already consumed my thoughts. I am so freaking excited! I've started writing shopping lists in my head and am planning my tree theme and everything. It's sick. Robyn has a song called Myspace Anonymous for those addicted. Is there a Christmas Anonymous?

Husband had nasal surgery last week to repair a deviated septum (and by deviated septum, I do not mean nose job) and suck out some mucus from his sinuses. You're welcome for the graphic picture now embedded in your brain. It was outpatient surgery and aside from the fact that he's a big cry baby, he's fine. Still swollen and unable to breath but he'll live. Thank God for Afrin.

Back to Christmas, my sister is coming from New Hampshire in December right around my birthday (listen, I make no secret of my birthday, its Dec. 14th; I expect a lot of attention and mainly, gifts.)...well, she's not coming HERE, she's coming to Orlando. But all the better because not only will I be able to see my FAVORITE sister and her family, but we'll see Mickey during the holidays. It's a twofer!


Merry Christmas!

Frienemies

Husband & I sometimes like to have a drink at the Seminole Paradise (large shopping complex by day, clubs and bars by night) watch people. It's amazing. Who lets these girls go out looking like THAT? Who the hell lied to them? Did their friend take one look at them and go "Totally! That's what's going to get you laid tonight"? Sister, that "friend" is no friend! She's a frienemy! She wants YOU to look as bad as possible so no one looks at you and looks at her instead. Women suck...trust me. I used to know girls that only associated with other girls that were AT LEAST 10 lbs heavier than they. I once had a "best friend" that I kept around for so long because I knew I was cuter than she. See...even me, the Good Christian Brown has done it.

That's right. Even I have been a part of the FRIENEMIES!

Ladies: follow your instincts. If you think you may be able to see the dimples of cellulite through the second skin (oh, those are white pants?) then SO CAN EVERYONE ELSE! No, your mirror does NOT play tricks on you. It doesn't invent foundation lines on your face, wrinkles in your eyes, weight to your boobs and it certainly does not create cellulite in your thighs. Get over it, its there. Find a way to camouflage it.
And when all else fails, wear straight leg, black pants. Always works.

Just don't let the flab hang over the waistband. OK?

Taco Bell & The Homeless

Last night we went to buy Chicken a bunk bed.

This, of course (like everything else in my life), must be performed in steps. First, we go to Warehouse Store to get the bed. Today, we'll go back to get the two mattresses, Saturday, I'll buy the bedding and pillows. And finally Sunday, the bed will be built and I can finally sleep at night without an elbow in my ear.
We've had an on-going bunk bed/one full size bed/toddler bed debate for 2 years now. I have finally won the bed battle! I always win. I guess that's what happens when you're younger (and more beautiful) than your spouse.

But I digress. That's not why I'm writing today. Before we make the short trip to Warehouse Store, Husband is hungry and wants Taco Bell (he rambles about some greasy, nasty crispy wrap). Luckily for him, there is a Taco Bell in the shopping center where Warehouse Store is. Before we walk into Taco Bell, I see a homeless woman carrying a large BIG GULP-type mug...by large I mean 1000's of fluid ounces. She is peering through the windows and walks in before we do and I see her filling up her huge mug. A Taco Bell employee says to her "Hey stupid, you can't be fillin' your cup in here". The homeless woman ignores her and continues to fill up. 4 Taco Bell employees begin screaming obscenities at her, one looks as if she's going to jump over the counter and beat the homeless woman. I say to the angry employees, "We will pay for her drink". "That's not the point", very large, female employee says, "It's unsanitary for her to fill up her nasty cup in our fountain". The homeless woman looks at me and after filling up, walks out of the restaurant. The homeless woman's cup never actually touched any part of the fountain. Granted, her hands were dirty and she was pushing the Pepsi button but plenty of people who have dirty hands touch that button everyday and I've never seen anyone clean the fountains. Anyway, after a long lecture from very large, female employee regarding the issue of sanitation, I observe something in the back. Then I say, "The people back there touching my food aren't wearing gloves so I can't imagine cleanliness is a concern at this fine establishment".
At this point, Husband is mortified and angry. He thanks me for ruining his Taco Bell fantasy dinner and we walk out. He's been bitching about it since yesterday; about how I shouldn't get involved and he was really looking forward to the crispy wrap grease gordito (or whatever it was). "They have a point, who knows where that cup has been" he says. "God forbid that should be someone we know. She just wanted a drink!". He isn't the most compassionate man on earth. He rarely puts himself in another person's shoes for the sake of kindness. So we walked over to McDonald's and he grumpily swallowed a Big Mac.

Looking back on it, I guess it's a pretty funny story. But I'm still haunted by the vision of the humiliation the homeless woman suffered. I felt like the Taco Bell employees should remember that by one slip up of their job and it could easily be them simply seeking a sweet drink.
It could easily be anyone.