Thursday, September 30, 2010

My Apologies...

I owe some apologies.  I feel really bad.  My moxie mouth sometimes gets away from me, but I can and will say I am sorry when I am wrong.  Let me kiss and make it better...

Apology #1-   As it turns out, there is such a thing as multitasking.  I have been learning this over the course of the week since my treadmill recently broke down and the warranty I smartly purchased proves to be as lovely as my home warranty.  You know, the one where I have to get past Mr. Negative first?  So, as a result, I have found myself running outdoors again and discovered that I could possibly be the greatest multitasker there ever was.

I not only get in my cardio, but because of the brutal uphill route I chose, I am able to work my best asset, too!  I will no longer need those 100 lunges every other day.  Yay!  Not only that, I get to go on an adventurous treasure hunt and discover things like random razor blades, abandoned delicates, and the find of the day, a Bon Jovi cassette tape.  I love Jon!  So that really was a treasure!  But I couldn't talk myself in to picking it up.  Who knows where it has been.  You think my multitasking stops there, but no.  There is much more.  I also get to breathe in all the fresh and crisp morning road construction air, work on my fall/winter tan (mindless, I know), and the true bonus is that I get to witness all the beautiful yard decor surrounding me.  My favorite are the faux deer!  I love when people have deer decor on their front lawns year round.  I say, why do we only put them up at Christmas time?  I think more people should decorate in deer!  They bring an essence of the wilderness to our deer depraved desert while adding a folksiness to my surrounding neighborhoods.  It's so festive!  Even better is when they strategically place little elves throughout their yard.  The one's with the cute little red Santa hats and frosty white beards.  Whoever designed those darling, miniature, heavenly creations must have been all class.  If you really want to go for the mountain theme, add elves.  It will make it feel like Christmas at the cabin all year round.  Maybe those people are smarter than I give them credit for.  Maybe it is their way of warding off burglars.  If I was a burglar, I might think twice before breaking in to the crazy person's house.  The elves alone would scare me away.  They just sit and stare and glare. And who knows what they are hiding in those little pockets.  To all the classy people who love deer and elves, you have forced me into living within the guidelines of an association, which I resent.  I do not like living within other peoples rules and restrictions but will accept them in order to live in a tacky-free neighborhood.   And last, but not least, while on my morning run, I get to wave hello to Handlebar Pete during his morning smoke break as I pass by the elementary school.  That is the highlight of my morning.  (Pete is actually a very good friend of mine but I feel the need to get him back for always teasing me.)  And I think tomorrow I will snap a photo of him as I pass by.  Why should Teenage Tim get all the attention?

See how much I can accomplish in an hour long run?  So, my apologies to all the multitaskers.  You are awesome.

Apology #2-   I saw Chubby Taco in my neighbors back yard during my shower today.  That must have been my promiscuous teenage neighbor girl who called.  I can only assume that she is actually enjoying the new addition in her life along with all the added responsibilities.  Could it be that I have pushed her closer to teenage pregnancy and that my plan backfired?  I have failed her.  I'm teary eyed.  I'm sorry licentious teenage neighbor.  Let me make it up to you by throwing you your first baby shower.

Apology #3-  To Gary Busey, Steve Buscemi, Sandra Bernhard, Bea Arthur, and Harry Reid.  I'm sorry.  You are all attractive.  I mean talented.  (I just threw Harry Reid in there for fun.)

Apology #4-  To the sticker parade people.  I wasn't calling your stick figure, family car stickers tacky.  It's cute when you do it.  I was actually referring to the sticky backing on your sticker.  That's tacky.

Apology #5-  To the people who send me hearts and flowers.  I had no idea you were designing them yourselves.  Now I feel bad.  If I would have known, I might have encouraged you to use your talents and time more wisely by going to graphic design school.  Perhaps you can become the next Milton Glaser.  I still can't accept them, but I do admire your work.

Re-reading this post, I realize that I might not seem as though I am truly repentant, but then I remember my disclaimer.  It's all in fun.  And Harry Reid, I do appreciate your efforts on the fight against Yucca Mountain.  And you are cuter than your sons.

Monday, September 27, 2010

What A Man Wants, According To Me...

This morning as I was getting ready for the day, I happened to turn on the TV.  I wasn't really paying attention to what the show was, but I as I listened closer I heard a certain familiar conversation going on.  One that when I hear it, really makes me mad.  And sad.  The one where a group of women go off criticizing men.  And then one of the women said the phrase that makes me cringe every time I hear it.  "All men think about is sex.  They are all pigs."  The gloves are off.  I wish I was on that show.  I would have had no problem sticking up for one of my most favorite groups of people in the world.  It is not true.  Men are not that, and that other thing is not all that men think about.  They deserve much more credit.  I think it is disgraceful to say something so ignorant.  And you should think twice before you say it.  If you ever have.

So my message is for all the women out there.  Especially wives.  I am guessing if you are reading this, you are a friend of mine.  Or a friend of a friend.  All of my friends are the most wonderful of people, so, realize that I know that I am preaching to the most beautiful choir of women out there, but I can't help myself this morning.  I must say what I need to say.  That is not a quote from John Mayer.  I thought of that all by myself.

Men are hunters.  It really is true. And all they want to do is take care of their wives.  Their children.  Nothing makes them happier.  So when you complain that all they do is work, it is deflating to them.  A wife should inspire, never crush.  I know I joke about Mr. Smith always working.  But the secret is that I know he would rather be home with me.  I learned this a long time ago, which is why we are still married.  If you were to ask Mr. Smith if I always nag him to come home, he would say "never".  Maybe on date night, but a girl needs a date night.  However, I have compassion for him.  He is a very busy man and feels a tremendous amount of stress and burden.  I would never want to add to that.  When we were barely married two months, I found out I was pregnant.  I expressed to him that when we had children, I wanted to be home with them.  He knew how important that was to me.  He wanted to make me happy.  So when Dollface was born, as difficult as it was to have him gone so much, he worked two full time jobs and was going to school so that I could be home, taking care of my baby the way I wanted to.  When he could be home, we made it the best time ever.  I realized it was more of a sacrifice for him than it was for me.  I knew this and appreciated it.  Appreciated him.  How would it have made him feel if I would have complained and nagged all the time?  Do you think he would have felt loved and appreciated?  I think it would have made it difficult for him to love me the way he wanted to.  We can't have it both ways women.  We can't expect our men to provide for us the way they really want to, the way we expect them to, but then feel and act neglected when they are gone a lot.  I realize how difficult it is to not feel lonely. The best advice I can offer is to take care of your children and find ways to fill your cup with the things that make you happy.  Read.  That is what has helped me discover what I love and has sparked my imagination, inspired me.  Read about places you would like to visit some day, read poetry that uplifts and is thought provoking.  Read about philosophy, romance, mystery.  Open your mind to everything life has to offer.  Give.  Learn the gift of happiness by serving others.  Teach it to your children.  You will raise strong men and women who will be the future leaders.  They will have compassionate hearts and want to make real contributions to society. Generosity and charity is another radiating trait in a woman.  Your husband loves this about you.  Perhaps the most amazing two years of my life was when I served as PTA president.  I think that was the most fun I had ever had giving of my time.  Learn.  Never stop filling your mind with knowledge.  Everyone knows that knowledge is power.  When we know better, we do better.  I think one of the most attractive things to a man is a smart woman.  I could be wrong.   Live and have fun.  Don't wait around and not venture out to enjoy life just because your husband can't come with you.  He wants to see you and his children happy.  Enjoying life.  A man can tell a happy woman.  She glows and he is drawn to her.  Now, he doesn't want you going out to clubs and meeting other men, but take your children out for the day.  Or get the girls together and go to a movie or out to dinner.  A girl's night out is so rejuvenating!  If you have no one to go with, call me!  I am almost always available.   


When your man does come home, have a beautiful dinner prepared for him.  Not a freezer meal.  A real dinner.  One that he can tell was made with love.  Throw your arms around him.  Make out.  If your children complain just say, "shhhh, we're kissing."  They can turn away.  PS, they really don't mind.  They love to see their parents in love.  It gives them a sense of security.  Keep a tidy home.  Now I refuse to listen to the excuse that you do not have enough time to clean.  We all know that there is plenty of hours in the day to keep up with the little things, at the very least.  Remember that your man is out there working so hard so that you can be home with your babies.  If you really want to, you will find the time to take care of him the way he deserves to be. 

Now a word about intimacy.  That is not all your man thinks about.  But it is how he knows and feels that you love him.  Do not be that kind of wife that withholds intimacy when you are mad at him.  That is just cruel.  A man needs to be rewarded daily, or at least a few times a week.  And so do you.  It is one of the most enjoyable things about marriage.  At least that is what I think.  And your husband does not care if your body looks like a super model's.  He love, love, loves you.  He thinks you are the most beautiful creature that he has ever laid eyes on.  To him, he won the jackpot!  Do not be insecure with yourselves.  You are amazing!  You are his woman.

And please, I do beg you, do not ever fall in to that ugly trap.  The one where a bunch of ladies get together and all start badmouthing men.  And don't ever complain to your mother about your husband, either.  You will forgive and forget but your mother will always remember.  And she might not ever forgive.  You would make your husband pay big if you found out that he was complaining to all of his friends about you.  Or worse, complaining to his mother about you.  It's a double standard ladies.  And you know it.  Refrain from that hen pecking practice.  Give your man the respect he deserves. 

This is my humble advice.  My idea of what makes a man feel fulfilled and loved by you.  The man who endlessly loves you back and adores you.  Worships the ground you walk on.  You inspire him.  You make him want to be better in every way.  You may take it or leave it.  It is your choice.

Now don't worry ladies.  Tomorrow's post will be an address to the men.  I will make sure they know exactly what a woman wants.  Well, according to me.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

I Dont Even Know What To Call This One...Random & Scattered?

I have no idea who reads my random musings and who doesn't. Unless I hear from you, I will never know that you stopped by. But I can see from where around the world the views are coming from and I am intrigued by who might be reading me from Canada, France and Indonesia. And an Arab nation. But I am positive whom ever is visiting me from there is using me as the poster child for how their women should not be. And I'm pretty sure I can guess what the consequences would be for me as a woman in your country mentioning my hot new jeans and sexy brown leatha jacket in a public forum. I would find myself in a lot of trouble for sure. But I would fight back. I am well skilled in the art of Tae Bo and Copoeira. And I talk back, too, but in a respectful moxie sort of way, which would drive you type of men crazy. I'm impressed that you get the Internet though. Your country is coming around quite nicely. Who knew? Do you even have hot jeans and sexy leatha there? I'm so curious now.

I heard this from Dollface last week and I heard it again last night so I will give it the attention it deserves, because it is pretty "darn" funny. Darn is a Mormon word, by the way. We use it in place of damn. Because we don't cuss. Or we try not to. We shouldn't. I do apologize if you catch me saying hell but sometimes there is no other word to describe something so awful. Everyone has their moments of weakness...

So Dollface came home and told me that one of her friends wondered why I do not look like the other Mormon moms. (This is for all my non-Mormon friends out there, so listen well.) She told me that her friend asked how old I was. I am 35 and not embarrassed to say it. I mean 36! Her friend seemed perplexed and so Dollface asked what was wrong. It turns out that this girl thought that I should be wearing a very modest homemade dress, fashioning ridiculously long hair (but beautifully thick and shiny. What products do you use?) with rounded high bangs, perhaps still be a teenager, and running around with a clique of other women who look just like me. Oh, now I get it. Her friend thought I should be a polygamist. Sweet. People still really do associate us with them. I really thought we put that rumor to rest in hell (oops!) a long time ago but some of you are still being taught by your parents, grandparents, forefathers, that we are the same. We are not. I assure you. I promise that I would run away if Mr. Smith came home and told me he was picking up a new wife. On the other hand, I might say OK if I was the one that got to choose her. I would make sure she didn't hold a candle to me. Someone like Bea Arthur or Sandra Bernhard. Either one would be acceptable and give me the giggles. Perhaps he would appreciate two new wives? I would stick around for about a day or so just so I knew it was official and then I would runny run run right out of there, all the while laughing to myself saying, "you're the one who wanted a second wife! And a third!". Kind of like I do when I choose a new employee at his law firm. That is our deal. If he is going to work a never ending amount of hours, then I get to choose the people he will be spending more time with than his wife. Don't get me wrong. Everyone who works at our office is attractive. To someone. That's not true. My sister works part time there and she is gorgeous. I trust her and know that she would never leave her J MEAT husband. You will have to ask someone else why we call him that. Anyway, I know my husband's type. I, on the other hand, have never had a type. I don't believe in them. I never preferred one look or another. I hate when men say they only like blondes, or redheads, tall women, short women... It is very limiting and hard to live up to. Especially if you like someone who prefers "exotic" women and you look like me. I hated that one the most. I can't even try to look exotic. I guess some people are more prejudiced. Maybe I was just more open minded. I think you can fall in love with any type if there is just the right chemistry. We all know what we are attracted to, but when I was dating... I say that in a lot of my posts, don't I? I'm sorry. I just always draw on my past experiences. And I suppose I learned a lot by dating. I hope that doesn't bother you too much. I think you should never box yourself in to something. Be open to everything! When I open myself up to things I would not normally do, read, listen to, watch... I find I live a much more enriching life.

I am enjoying life right now. I'm trying different things that might have scared me to try a few years ago. Things I have always wanted to do. I am thankful for my past experiences that have given me the confidence to just try and see! The worst thing that can happen is that I fail. But failing just gives me the knowledge of how to do it better next time. Not next time. This time. Just because it didn't work out the first time, doesn't mean that it is impossible. Haven't you ever heard the story of Milton S. Hershey? If not, you will have to google it. It's one of my favorite stories. Another reason why I love Chicago and Philadelphia so much!

By the way, I told Dollface that if we were polygamists, she would be married by now and wearing those modest dresses, fashioning that funny but shiny hair and having babies. Not going to public high school. She just said "EWE!".

Just so we are clear now, Mormon's (we prefer to be referred to as LDS) are not polygamists. Now, make sure you teach your children that correct principle, please. I thank, thank, thank you!

MY FACEBOOK PET PEEVES

I can't help myself. I have to post again today. I have to laugh as I am receiving all my favorite facebook pet peeves all in one day. Well, minus one, but that is because it is really just from one individual who hasn't snubbed me in a while. It's been at least a few days. You know who you are.

I really hope people will still talk to me after this. It's a mixed bag. I suspect some will give me the cold shoulder for a few days but can't stay mad at me because they know how much I love them, and others will present me with a standing ovation. I'm not sure who is who but here it goes...

Facebook Pet Peeve #1- Poking. What the bejellybeans? And how declasse. (I apologize that I can't figure out how to put the accent aigu on.) Anyway I would give anything to see what the guy looks like that came up with that brilliant idea. The one that makes me feel violated. I would bet a million dollars that it was a man who looks a little, I mean a lot like Gary Busey or Steve Buscemi. Now, please. I beg you. Beg, beg, beg you. Don't feel ashamed if you are one of the many who have sent me one. And I wish I could offer an apology for not returning the favor. Just refrain from doing it again. I forgive you. Let's move on...

Facebook Pet Peeve #2- Invites to play with all you gamers in your fun Mafia Wars, Family Feud, and my personal favorite, Farm whatever. I have never been and can never see myself playing video games. I take that back. If you invite me over for a nostalgic game of Ms. PacMan I will scream in delight and be right over! Other than that, I am completely disinterested and advise you to stop wasting your time away in idleness. I'm just kidding. Go ahead with your silly little games. You're cute. But irritating, as you fill my wall up with your game updates. Are you really winning actual money at Family Feud? I'm confused. Next!

Facebook Pet Peeve #3- All your lovely gifts. It is very kind of you to send me hearts and flowers but I prefer a kind "hello" or "how are you?" in actual words. I don't really get it. I'm somewhat new to facebook so if I am seeming ignorant to the all the ins and outs, I humbly apologize. Anyway, I feel uncomfortable accepting them because I would feel obligated to send you one back and it would go against my grain to do so. I would just feel silly. Do you understand that it's not you, it's me? I will accept that I am the one with the issue. I can live with it. I do love real flowers, though! Dahlias are my favorite!

Last, but not least, my worst pet peeve of facebook is not getting a response back. It is impolite, hurts my feelings, and makes me not want to talk to you anymore. It makes me want to say Good Day! for the last time.

I love you all and hope you will still love me tomorrow. I hope you don't go to bed mad at me, but I don't believe in that silly advice that everyone gives about not going to bed mad at your loved ones. There is nothing wrong with going to bed upset. You will have more colorful dreams and besides, everything looks better in the morning!

My Michael Jackson Jacket & Our New Eddition

I have been working on a new writing project and have been sitting in front of a computer all day and night for the last week. My legs have been experiencing a weakness and a strange numbness and my back is achy from fighting the urge to hunch forward and possibly ruin my already less than perfect posture. And the deep cuts upon my delicate wrist that were caused by a loose cannon punch bowl stings like hell as they glide across my keyboard. So yesterday what a welcome reprieve and relief it was when my BFF had a day off. I needed a day off. Mr. Smith had given me a shopping spree for my birthday but I hadn't found the time yet to go. I have been needing, well, wanting, a new pair of hot jeans, so a trip to the mall was what I desired to do.

The craziness all began when I went to pick up my friend. As I pulled up she was trying to close her garage, but something that I couldn't see was distracting her. I got out of my car to see what it was and noticed a rather plump dog not wanting to leave her garage. So I distracted the poor pup while she closed up. Now, I am not a huge fan of random animals, especially after my episode in Utah with Satan's curs, but I have a compassionate heart and felt a sense of worry for this little puppy, who's owner, I assume by the size of the pup's belly, is perhaps a bit overindulgent. We decide not to call the pound and instead, took him to my house to play with my own obnoxious pup, Cosmo Kramer, who's name is very fitting to his personality. I love Seinfeld. So, lost pooch gets to play in my backyard for the day while we run off to the mall. I would make a flyer later and try to track down the owner.

The day at the mall went better than expected and I found three hot new pairs of jeans, a few T's and a jacket, which my friend hated and told me it looked like a Michael Jackson jacket. What did she say??? She did not just call this jacket, which I LOVED a MJ jacket!! Yuck, yuck, yucky! Everyone knows I hate MJ. I even hate the fact he gets a mention in my blog. I did not think it looked like Michael even a little, so my stubborn little self purchased the jacket with a satisfying rebellious smirk and off to lunch we went.

My children came home one by one and each took their turn falling in love with our new little puppy friend. Great. I had to break the news to them that we had to make a flyer and try to find it's owner. So we did. I sent my two youngest off to take care of that while I made dinner, the whole while wondering if my sexy new brown leather jacket really was reminiscent of one of my least favorite people in the world. No. I say no.

Well, my night went on as the kids were playing with Chubby Taco. Sweet. Now he has a name. One that he responds to. Pretty clever, though. He is a very husky Chihuahua, and when I say husky, I am being very kind. I found it very odd and suspicious that a Chihuahua could look like that. Aren't they supposed to be skinny dogs? Chubby's pencil thin legs can barely hold up his elephantine body and he pants like he is about to have a heart attack. Anyway, night time came. Dogs are not allowed in my house. Call PETA if you wish but I'm not scared of them. Animals have been living outside for centuries and are still maintaining their high birth rates. But when the sun went down last night, Chubby Taco began to yap. Perfect. Chubby must be an indoor dog. Too bad. You are lucky you have a place to stay for the night. He was relentless and could not be silenced. It made me so crazy that Mr. Smith contemplated making a new flyer. One for the coyotes in the nearby desert. I thought about it but decided that it sounded a little to cruel for my liking. So I called my BFF and took Chubby to Uncle Ed's for the night. We thought he would make a good night nanny, and he did.

Later that night, I tried on my new jacket, just to see if I resembled MJ. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me, but I think I did. Blast. I think she's right. I concede. I was wrong. I will have to return it tomorrow.

In the wee hours of the morning, I felt cold little hands on my face and looked up to see a tear stained sadface in my sleepyface asking where Chubby went. If I didn't ever see Chubby again, I would be thrilled. He is not even cute. He has a meanface. No trace of cute puppy dog eyes like Cosmo, which is the only reason why I still keep him. But my children fell in love with him so I went to retrieve him from the night nanny and everyone loves mom again. I can only hope Chubby Taco's owner will hear my silent pleas and notice my flyer. By the way, my kids never posted the flyers. I looked for them this morning. Not one. They are too clever. But the neighborhood is now plastered with them. I have received no calls yet and am starting to panic.

I think I deserve another day off, so I will be at the movies, by myself. Yes, by myself. I am confident enough to sit through a movie alone. It is very therapeutic. You should try it sometime. Most likely you will be the only one there, until just before the movie begins when a random singleman walks in and makes it awkward for you. Just endure it. He is almost always harmless.

If, by chance, I do end up with a new dog, he will have a very rude awakening as he will find himself with a new work out partner and a diet that consists of no table food. I'll have him in shape by the end of the month.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

"TOP SMART BLONDES"

One thing that makes me giggle a little when I hear it, is when someone says that they are good at multitasking. I especially giggle when I hear it during an interview. Of course I can keep a straight face, but that twinkle, I am sure, is blinding the poor unthinking person. And I kind of suspect that the right side of my mouth may turn up a little. But they don't know me well enough to understand what that might mean. So why does it make me giggle? Well, I think I might be a little smarter than the average blonde, because I figured out a long time ago that there really isn't any such thing as that silly, nonsensical word we use to describe ourselves when we want to impress people and make them think that we could be such an asset in their world, or business. When I was a young mother...Ewe! (Ewe, like yuck.) I sound like I'm speaking as an old mother, which, of course I am not. I just have older children but would like to believe that at thirty five, I mean six, I am still considered a young mother. Not that old mothers are yucky. I'm just not prepared to be one yet. What I meant to say was, when my children were little, I often found it difficult to keep up with everything. I remember speaking to someone, who will remain nameless because I suspect she is receiving word that I might not be using an actual pen and notebook to journal in. But this wise woman, who had my best interest at heart, counseled with me and suggested that I might want to find ways to multitask better. Being a lover of sound advice, I quickly got busy trying to hone my skilzzz in multitasking. After about a day or so, I realized how silly I was being! The very definition of multitasking explains it as "the concurrent or interleaved execution of two or more jobs by a single". When I read that I was perplexed, but relieved. Am I the only one who gets it? When you say you are multitasking, what you really mean is that you can not focus on one thing at a time. No one can multitask. I don't know why it is even in the dictionary as an actual word. It is physically impossible to do. You must and have to stop one thing you are doing to start another. How can you fold laundry while making dinner? You can't . You would have to physically put the item of clothing down to pick up the wooden spoon. Can you write a paper while you are cleaning the kitchen? No. Perhaps you can talk on the phone while dusting the furniture, but you would hardly be giving the friend or the coffee table your undivided attention. Even if you lie and tell me that you can do all these things at once, I would assume you take no pride in your work because you must be doing a sloppy job. And I now consider you dishonest. There is no way that you could be paying enough attention to detail. Your clothes might be folded, but I bet they are not turned right side out. Your paper might have gotten written but it is wet and smeared. And by the way, you forgot to spell check it. So when you tell me that you are a good multitasker, you will be blessing me with the giggles and laughs. Which I do thank you for. Perhaps if you truly would like to impress me, or your potential boss, you should say that you are a good organizer of your time and therefore can get a lot accomplished in an efficient manner, and can prioritize jobs based on importance and urgency, therefore making you the perfect asset in my/their world. See?? Doesn't that make much more sense and sound so much smarter? I am a clever little vixen, if I do say so myself! And should now go on your list of "Top Smart Blondes". Perhaps at the very tippy-top. Let me know if I made your list.

If you still choose to refer to yourself as a great multitasker, know that all that means to me is that you can chew gum while walking or that you have perfected the art of listening to music while you lay out by the pool. Meaningless activities that require very little attention to detail.

*Please refrain from giving me any criticism on my spelling of "blonde". I prefer the Olde English version. It is the more romantic version.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

The Other Woman

This morning as I was taking my son to school (that just so happens to be the same exact design as Cannon Jr. High, which is really bizarre for me. Especially because I get to pass my favorite "hang out" spot next to the art class every morning!) Anyway, the car right in front of me had those stickers that a lot of you like to sport on the back windows of your cars. The stickers resembling stick figures. This particular stickered up vehicle had a mother, father, two boys who I'm guessing were teenagers because they were taller than the two girls. It also had a baby, two dogs, a cat, a bird, and a fish along with the names of every one in the family. I could be way off, but perhaps that might be a bit too much information to put out there for everyone to see. Especially if you are trying to keep your family safe and protected. A serious thought came to my mind when I saw that sticker parade this morning. "How would an unstable person use that information against that family?". Think about it. If Lunatic Larry saw what I saw in front of me this morning, crazy Larry's wheels would start to turn and he would know that this mother, bless her heart (my thought, not Larry's), has her hands full. She might be a bit too busy to keep a watchful eye on everyone all the time. She probably leaves Tyler and Dustin to watch little Lilly, Hannah and baby Jane while she runs off to the store to escape the insanity for the afternoon. And you know boys. Tyler and Dustin are most likely mindlessly playing video games (blasted HALO!) and not paying any attention to the little ones, which leaves the girls and the baby vulnerable to stranger danger. Better yet, that car also had "My Child Made The Honor Roll at..." YAY! So now Loony Larry knows where Lilly and Hannah go to school! Fantastic! A busy mom is most likely late picking everyone up from school. Good thing Larry knows where their elementary school is! By the way, at the top of the family sticker parade read "The McCrazy Family". Lunatic Larry now has all the info he needs! Including your license plate number!

I am obviously not fan of those silly stickers. But if I was a little more tacky, my stickers would look something like this: A mother, a father, a Dollfaced teenage daughter holding a volleyball, a tween son rocking out on his guitar, smelling like AXE and checking out chicks, and a little girl with glasses that she doesn't really need but mom bought them for her and told her they were prescriptions. Maybe I would put my dog on there but he is quite obnoxious and I'm not sure how long I will keep him. And at the very end I would put the "other woman" in my life. But her face would resemble my husband's business logo. She is my arch nemesis. I want to hate her and I wish he would leave her but she has this financial hold on us. She keeps my husband from coming home at night. She causes him to stand his wife up on a date. He even takes her calls when they do happen to go out on a date. She beckons him to come to her on the weekends and he can't resist. She intoxicates him. She is his drug.

But don't feel too sorry for me because I would stick the "other man" on the window, too. A handsome, chiseled, orange haired architect with the initials HR. My HR. The only other man tempting enough to make me weak in the knees. I'm sorry Mr. Darcy! I used to think it would be a toss up between you two, but I am certain he is now the only other man I would ever run away with! At least you still have Lizzy.

I do apologize. I know you visit me for fun musings but I do have another side, you know. The passionate side. That is a side of me that is stronger than my silly side. But those writings are in another blog. My other new blog. An anonymous one out there amongst the millions of blogs. One that I can write away about my Mr. Roark and other things that might make you blush. But I will never give out that link. It is for my eyes only. Maybe I will have it published one day as the greatest love story ever. Anonymously.

Monday, September 20, 2010

John Mayer: A Real Man Or The Pied Piper?


When I really admire something or someone, I refer to it or them as "my" or "mine". They become very personal to me. I used to refer to Mr. John Mayer as "My Mr. Mayer" until recently when I heard what he had done to poor innocent little Jessica Simpson. (Your poor little innocent Jessica Simpson, not mine.) Even though she is not my most favorite girl in the whole world, she is a woman and still deserves to be treated with respect. I did not see or read for myself what that John had said about Jessie, but I heard about it from a very trusted source.

I am a lover of chivalry. I love, love, love it. I believe it is becoming a lost art and quality amongst our boys and men. I love when men open doors for women, give them their coats when they are cold, let them go first in line, pay them a compliment, kiss their hands (my favorite!)... Those are the things that melt me. In fact, when I was dating a guy and he showed a lack of chivalry, it was so disgraceful that I often took drastic measures to escape the awkward feeling inside of me. I remember a particular date to the movies. The guy relentlessly complained about how much the movie tickets were. So I graciously excused myself and called my dad from a payphone to come pick me up. I don't even think I bothered to tell my date. He was abandoned by me for giving an A+ performance in two of my biggest pet peeve plays. A lack of manners and cheapness. I hope I wasn't too harsh but perhaps he learned a valuable lesson that night, if his self-reflection skills were well honed, which I am guessing might not have been at the time. But he is married now so he must have improved enough. Aren't you enjoying all this insight into my psyche? I will admit I am a bit old fashioned. I'm not ashamed.

So this Johnny M. really made me mad. Piping mad. Mostly I am upset because I loved when he sang me Your Body Is a Wonderland or even better, Say What You Need To Say. The latter sang words I really love and believe in. He repeats that simple phrase nearly twenty times throughout the song. Mr. Smith hated that song. I loved it. I think you should always say what you need to say. I think people need to know how you feel about them. Now when I hear that song, I remember how unchivalrous John was towards Jessica and his words make me wonder why he felt like he had to say what he needed to say to the media about poor Jessica. (My heart begs me to still melt when I hear that song, but I won't let it.) I was so disappointed in John that I probably would have gotten on the "Hate John Bandwagon" too, if I didn't foresee what would have happened if I did. I can just picture an angry mob of women, sprinkled with a few "happy" men, pounding on Johnny's door, out for blood (but might settle for a public apology, if enough humility was displayed). All John would have to do is open his door, those brown highlighted locks would sway in the wind, he would flash that handsome and alluring gaze at us, and start singing with that heart melting voice of his and all the women and the handful of happy men would follow him trancedly like he was the Pied Piper as he lead us all off a cliff. I'm not falling for that one! I will chose to just dislike him from a distance.

I hope we are all doing enough to teach our boys how to be men. Real men. Men to be admired. The kind of man who fights for those who can't fight for themselves. The kind of men who are kind and generous. The kind who open doors for women, kiss their hands. Strong and brave men, but who can still admit when they are wrong and say "I'm sorry". Men who work hard and don't expect everything to be handed to them. Men who stand up for what they believe, who are not afraid to say what they need to say. Men who are protective of women and put them on a pedestal. A man who is willing to fight for something he wants and never gives up. I love that kind of man.

*Absolutely no traces or laces of sarcasm in this soliloquy. All from my heart.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

The Sunday Morning Comic

This morning my son (Mr. Wise Guy) came in to my room as my husband and I were getting ready for church. You must understand that my son is perhaps the wittiest kid I have ever known. He has the most clever comedic insight and his delivery is spot on. He is also a complete germaphobe which makes him even funnier to me. He grosses out at everything from seeing his sister in her underwear to watching his parents kiss. (I know, there is not a kid in the world who wants to see his sister in her unmentionables or witness any PDA from mom and dad. Yuck.) But those are the types of things he goes bananas over. Not good bananas. Bad bananas. Well, this morning when he came into our bedroom, my husband and I just so happened to both be fresh out of the shower and sporting matching towels. When Wise Guy entered the room he said in his deep and completely monotone voice, "Oh perfect. It's the twin towels. I hope they don't fall down". At that moment you know there was nothing I wanted to do more than to let my half of the twin towels fall down but all I could do was laugh as my husband beat me to the punch and Mr. Wise Guy ran out of the room dry heaving. Later I had to have a little talk with Mr. Wise Guy. I explained to him that it might not be appropriate to use 9-11 as story fodder for his jokes. Most people might not appreciate that sort of humor. The twinkle in my eye told him that I thought it/he was brilliant. He A+ mused me.

As a side note, Mr. Wise Guy has no problem walking out of the shower, down the hall, and to his bedroom, buck naked, but heaven forbid anyone else does the same. He's such a hypocrite.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Confessions Of An Oppressed Teenage Girl

I had a talk with my best friend's son last night. He was having the "grounded from my girlfriend blues" and I was overwhelmed with a deep sense of compassion for him. So I tried to make him feel better using the whole "my mom was way more strict than your mom" technique. I was hoping to at least get a laugh from him since my mom was sooo ridiculously...what's another word for strict? Oppressive, stern, rigid, square...let's just say perhaps a bit uptight. But remember the never ending pregnant belly? We should cut her some hormonal slack. ANYWAY, I began to tell this handsome, tall, red-haired young man how I was always on restriction. Always, always, always. Perhaps that is why I recall high school being so miserable. One time I left a wet towel on my brother's bed and I was grounded for the whole Spring Break. It's true. I wrote about it in my journal. My other journal. The one in my nightstand. When I reminded my mom about that recently, she cried. At least she shows some remorse, right? But the best was when she would call the school to tell (I mean yell) me that I was grounded for the week for not making my bed. Did she not understand that I had to wake up at four thirty in the morning to make sure I get enough curl, rat, and hairspray in my hair? How fun was that to get frequent phone calls at high school from your mother and watch in chagrin as the dean and his dean office ladies howl in laughter at the sound of your mother's yelling escapades? So fun. My dad played a role in my high school happenings, as well. It actually began in junior high, ninth grade, when I began "dating" A.S. You know, Mistake #1? I began noticing a white truck circling the school. "That looks like my dad's truck? Wasn't he supposed to be at work? That can't be dad. Yes it is." Sweet. "Now I can't make out over by the art class anymore." His circling habit continued through high school to ensure my sister and I were staying put. (Somehow I managed Mistake #3 without getting caught. Maybe Drafting was during his lunch hour.) He was also there to make sure we weren't strutting the halls of Valley High in to our short skirts and knee length boots, which, of course, we were. Those same short skirts and boots that my mom would throw away and we would skillfully rescue before they were lost forever.

Well, I think that my best friend's son left feeling better after my little inspirational message. I should have just told him to never mind his little girlfriend. It's not like he's going to marry her. His mother and I have already secretly arranged his marriage to Dollface so he is just wasting his time with this girl. But, I refrained.

**I am teasing about the title of this post. I, in no way, feel like I was an oppressed teenage girl. Well, I did at the time, but not anymore.

Friday, September 17, 2010

CUPID'S ARROW

A few simple words of advice to wives out there:

It might not be the best idea to engage in a conversation with your husband beginning with: "Honey, I met this guy on facebook today!". Especially if you are showing an extreme amount of elation about it. But I did, and I was blissfully beaming and ready to share my story with someone and he happened to come home that night. Oddly enough, he was a little less than B mused at how excited I was to tell him what happened. Now, Please don't get the impression that I go out seeking to meet other men online. I assure you I am not interested in meeting fun new strangers. I am an avid stranger danger advocate for adults as well as children. (Whoever you men are that I have never met and are asking to be my friend, you are wasting your time on me. I know I seem like I am a lot of fun, but you should use your energy trying to lasso up a real girl in a non-technological environment. Besides, I picture you being Kip looking for LaFawnda and I am definitely not your LaFawnda.) I love Napoleon Dynamite. And I actually have no problem with online dating. I hear it can be quite successful.

Getting back to my story, the reason why I was so happy to meet my new friend is because, you see, I am a matchmaker. You may not know that, but I believe it is one of my callings in life. My single friends know that I am ALWAYS looking out for them, even if they aren't looking. For the most part, I think my efforts are appreciated. I look for every and any opportunity to shoot Cupid's arrow. So, on this particular day, it all began when I made a comment on a friend's facebook, so did this "stranger", and that is how our friendship blossomed. My enlightened matchmaking mind once again came to life and I thought of a certain someone meeting this certain someone and living happily ever after. We will see as the story unfolds, but for now I can only hope that one of these days I will be successful in my efforts. So send all your single friends my way. I am a little light on the single men side so if you have any of those, they are at a prime high right now. I am told a good man is hard to find when you are over 35.

By the way, Mr. Smith knows how silly I am. When I finished telling him my story that night, he went to bed A mused.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

LESSON LEARNED...

In every experience in life, there is a lesson to be learned. Or at least that's what I think. So I look for them. Like the time I hid my husband's HALO 3 so he retaliated and hid my bras. All of them. Even the secret hidden ones. Even the sports ones. That was fun. Ingenious on his part. Humiliating for me. He also hid my wallet so I couldn't go buy more. Once I produced the video game, which I fought tooth and nail with myself to not give in, I was given one bra. I had to earn back the others. Guys, have you fallen in love with Mr. Smith yet? I am sure you are at least developing a deep admiration for him. Anyway, LESSON learned.

Last October my dishwasher broke. Mr. Fix It from the warranty company came and told me it was my fault for using too much soap. I assure you I only use half the soap. He made me mad. I decided that instead of replacing the dishwasher, it might be a fun LESSON to teach my kids how to wash the dishes by hand. It was during a time when I found them to be acting a little bit spoiled. So now speed up to today. The joke is one me. My kids are so busy and my best dishwasher is always at volleyball. Now I get to wash the dishes by hand. Needless to say, I called out Mr. Fix It again, hoping he would side with me this time. He wouldn't budge and left my house with the new name of Mr. Negative. Mr. Negative who couldn't be swayed by my charm and girlish ways. He made me mad again. When I get mad, sometimes I dig my heels in the sand and throw a little tantrum. I decided Mr. Negative was not going to get the best of me. I was doing just fine washing my dishes by hand. Over the past few weeks I have been asking myself "how silly am I?". I have finally decided to break down and go buy myself a dishwasher. I think I deserve it. LESSON learned.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

For Dollface, With Dollface. The Vegan's Story.

To those who have told me that they enjoy my vegan blog, too, thank you. I have been asked a lot lately "why vegan?". I actually have a story about that. A not so silly story. So if you visited me this morning hoping to find a laugh or two, and fear the thought of reading something heart-tugging, I warn you to jump off now.

I actually became a vegan for Dollface, with Dollface. Back in December of last year, she noticed a lump. I was not that concerned. I know lumps will sometimes come and go, I have had them myself. So we took the watch and see approach. By February, it was still there. I got nervous and scheduled her an appointment. Now her doctor had told me a few years back that because of both my husband and my history, our daughters were at high risk for breast cancer. She told me that she sees young teenage girls with breast cancer all the time, which was something I never thought could be possible. So when we went to see Dr. K. that morning, she instilled the fear of Hades in me. She wanted it removed immediately. She called a pediatric surgeon in my presence and explained the lump to the surgeon. Now I was really scared. I cried my eyes out that night. The next morning I picked myself up and got to work organizing my thoughts. I have been studying health and wellness for fifteen years. That has always been my true love. I have read countless stories on the miracles of healing through juicing, diet, oils, and other natural approaches. I decided to put it all in to practice. I put Dollface on a very strict vegan diet, juiced her carrot-apple juice three times a day, and ordered the seven oils for cancer which she applied three times a day. The vegan diet was the most challenging. I didn't want to enforce it upon my whole family, I had tried that before and made everyone miserable. (That is actually a really funny story. For later. ) Dollface was actually very supportive of my efforts for her. I will forever be grateful for her amazing attitude about the whole thing, but I wasn't about to leave her to do it alone. A vegan diet can be hard to stick to. So we did it together. We did go see the surgeon. Two. One wanted it removed, one thought it would be alright if we waited six weeks to see if it began to shrink. Well it took about two and a half months, but it did shrink. Then it disappeared after another month or two. Miracle? I think so. We will never know. Dollface has eased up on her diet. I continue to go strong. I realize it can be an annoying lifestyle for those around me. But, I am not an extremist. (Some might disagree, but I hold firm that I am not.) I am a vegan for health so of course I will cheat. If you see me out to dinner and I have a piece of fish or chicken on my plate, you will know it's my random cheat day. I am not a PETA vegan, either. Not that I would judge you if you were a PETA vegan. (However, I do put you in the category of CRAZY, so perhaps I do judge you after all.) I WOULD save a baby over a squirrel and not even feel guilty about it. And I will wear "leatha", because it's sexy. Maybe not fur because I think it's tacky.

So there you go! Maybe this story will make me less annoying when I come to dinner at your house or visit your restaurant.

While I am here, I want to thank my family and two of my closest friends (SS and MO) for letting me shed all those tears on your shoulders. I love you. And, although I don't really like to do this in public because these experiences are so sacred to me, I know the true source of this miracle was because of the power of prayer.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Not My Prince Charming...

When your children become teenagers, all of the sudden you are living through those years all over again. It is the most surreal experience. I have found myself spending sleepless nights in lengthy discussions with dollface lately. Everything she is going through right now are things that I have already experienced once upon a time. So when I tell her to listen carefully to me, it's because I have faced exactly what she is facing now, PLUS I have all these years of wisdom and thoughts on how I could have survived them better. I hope she pays close attention. I could save her from much heartache and regret. If I could go back and change things of the past, here is what I would do.

I think it really all started in the eighth grade with Mr. A.S. Mistake #1. Those of you who knew me way back when might agree, maybe not. Perhaps I was his Mistake #1. It's quite possible.

Mistake #2- Ninth Grade. (Involves Mr. S., as well.) That little tiff with a friend, who I recently reconnected with on facebook and wholeheartedly apologized to her for that embarrassing scene. We both agree he was not worth it. **Never ever fight over a boy in the ninth grade (or any grade!). Odds are he will not end up being your Prince Charming forever and ever.

Mistake #3- Ditching too many Drafting Classes. If I had taken more of an interest in that class, I might have become a famous architect, crossed paths with Mr. Roark, and made him fall madly in love with me. I honestly think it might have happened.

Mistakes #4-20 are much too personal to share at this time. I'll save them for another post when I am feeling extra vulnerable.

By the way, I wish a man would write a book for teenage girls explaining teenage boys. You would make millions! I would even ghostwrite it for you if you would just put your name on it! Just think of the good you would be doing for all mankind. Any willing philanthropists out there?

A Softer Shade Of Green and My Red Flag

I don't think I am extreme in any way. But I will admit I get on certain "kicks" that may SEEM extreme to some. I am regretting one of those "kicks" right now. The one when I went all green. Don't get me wrong, I love green, but I pick and choose the shades of green I will wear now. I have decided that a softer shade looks better on me. But at the time when I was trying to save the planet, I had made a rash decision to trade in my beautiful vehicle, one more beautiful than I had ever owned before, for, brace yourselves, a minivan. Now most of you look rather cute and sporty in your minivans. I rebel against mine, which is probably why she hates me back so much right now. When I say she hates me, I mean every bad thing she could do to me, she's doing it. If she could steal my husband, she would. In fact, maybe she is working on that. I did notice when I took Bells to school this morning that the GPS language had mysteriously changed to French- the language of love- the language my husband is fluent in. He was the last to drive the car.

Anyway, my mother has come to my rescue during my times of car trials. The other day she picked me up when I needed a ride. I don't know if your mothers have silly driving habits, but mine does. I actually feel like I am having panic attacks when I am in the passengers seat with her. She insists on taking the longest possible routes to the most simple of destinations. And, not only does she stay in the same lane the whole time, she drives so slow. Painfully slow. Back when I was dating, one huge red flag for me was if the guy drove slow. I thought if a guy was a slow driver, he was probably slow at a lot of other things. Not the guy for me. So if my mom had have been my date, it would have been her last. Thank goodness she is my mom and I will take her phone calls. Sorry to all the slow driving dates I had. All you had to do was speed up.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Miss United States And My "B" Grade

Over by my profile, it originally said: Ms. Stephanie United States. It looked really strange. I couldn't remove "United States". It had to stay. So I decided to take out the Stephanie and replace Miss for Ms. and that way, at least in this forum, I could be known as Miss United States! Every girl's dream!
. . . . . . . . . . . .

So, after I read Mr. Smith my new blog post tonight, I asked him what he thought. He said that he was bemused. What? "What does bemused mean?", I asked. He said "bemused, not amused". You see, I am quick, so I got the joke right away. What he meant was it "B" mused him, as apposed to "A" mused him (I got a B grade for those who are slow), to which I said "F muse U". THAT Amused him.

The Woes Of Facebook

So, I have gotten myself into a little trouble on facebook lately. I blame it on them not allowing me to write enough in the little status box. So I have to shorten what I really want to say, but then I can't put all the emotion necessary into my posts to not come across as "harsh, snobby and rude". (And I refuse to write in text talk like a teenager.) My husband tells me that perhaps I am using facebook wrong. I should just put a brief description in there, not try to pour my soul out for everyone to read. I ask, "How is that fun for me?". Then it came to me. I should blog instead. Not blog about my annoying vegan lifestyle. That's not fun. Informative, but not fun. Blog about what I am really thinking about! It can be like a journal. A funny journal. A journal that I can't wait to write in. So here it is! Now, if you choose to visit me often, I only have one rule. You can't take offense to anything I say. If something seems a bit off color, it really isn't. It's just you. You might be a bit too sensitive. You will just have to put on your happyface and laugh, or you will not be invited back. I have already spoken to my mom, who, by the way, wants me to get off facebook altogether because of a certain Larry King episode she recently watched. (Like he is the authority on morals.) I have given her a heads up that I might be telling funny stories about her in my journal. (I think she was just thrilled to know I was keeping a journal. I won't be telling her it's an online journal.) So I don't want any complaints that I am being disrespectful to my mother, OK? This blog definitely would be less funny without her! I hope you enjoy!