Random Statements

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


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

Secret Lover

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!