Pierre, The Panty Raider

My dog can often be seen running around the house with a pair of panties, either mine or the kids', in his little mouth. Typical male, I know. If I am doing laundry I literally have to cover the top of the basket with a towel. What's the appeal? Having me chase him around yelling my fool head off? Does he actually ENJOY chewing the crotches of dirty undies or toes of stinky socks? Nasty. My dog is demented but I know most dogs do this. I am glad I am not a dog. I can think of 349 better things to chew on than dirty panties. Wouldn't you rather munch on a rawhide chew, a Milk Bone, some kibble? But no, instead you favor to savor my dirty, sweaty socks, dirty undies from anyone in the house, or even your own turds. Connoisseur of fine taste you are not. But then I am perplexed when you stalk me like Kirstie Allie at a cheese and chocolate buffet whenever there's meat on the table. THAT makes sense--slow-roasted turkey, a nice pork roast, even steak. But you are the same 9 pound little guy who thinks rabbit turds on the lawn are Milk Duds from Heaven. I must remember your eating habits when you try to lick my mouth when I pick you up. Otherwise it's like I'M licking my dirty undies....Ooogh..I think I just threw up a little in my mouth..

Not Even With Duct Tape and a Tarp

My new bikini came from Victoria's Secret today. You know what her secret is? Airbrushing. Those teeny, tiny Brazilian whores might appear to have big juggs but I guarantee you one thing. Even that Marissa chick, who graces the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue this year, has C-cup maximum. I have ridiculously large boobs. I shouldn't complain, I know it was MY choice not God's. But they ARE big.

This top is sassy and cute. It is a D-cup, the largest cup size they even make the style in. My fun bags peek precariously from the top, like a Spandex shelf holding a pair of jiggling Jello molds, hoping they don't spill over the edge. And if I so much as bend over to apply SPF 30 to my kids, the girls will come out to party, so to speak. Family friendly this suit is not. Sigh. I will venture out to a store way out in Schaumburg to find a store that specializes in.....gasp!....double D swimwear. As in Double DANG, Double Dongers, Dangerous Doorknockers, Definitely Distorted, etc. I only hope they offer more options than the Pamela Anderson string bikini in white see-through mesh. Again, not very family vacation friendly.

I never thought of the ramifications of my boob size in everyday life when we bought them. Buying bras at Target, bathing suits in sassy Juniors' styles, wearing my old leotards to teach ballet class. All of these are things that pose a problem. I need extra support like a truss-style bridge. I need to wear two sports bras minimum to the gym. Most of my pretty pre-boob job leotards now look like I have an ass in my shirt. All the bras in the pretty fun prints and colors only go up to a C-cup. When you shop for my cup size, you get 2 1/2 inch wide straps and the alluring color choices of white, tan, or black. Ooh. Hold me back from my unsexy self.

Some of you girls with small boobies might be thinking, "Bitch! YOU signed up for this shit! Shut your black and blue pie-hole, which is banged up from taking kickboxing with only one sports bra. And DON'T wear that new bikini to the family pool unless you cover that shit up with a tarp and duct tape." I'm on it. I'm off to Bass Pro Shop to see if I can fashion two tents into a top....

We Teachers Are Rock Stars

This is a nice photo of all our Danceforce teachers (missing a couple) this past weekend. To say we exert our blood, sweat, and tears to make our show look good is an understatement. The dancers work hard but we create the fine moves they have to execute to earn some applause or some flowers from Mom and Dad.

It's not easy to find a song with clean lyrics (no "f" or "n" words, please). Have you listened to the radio lately? Most of the crap on there has at least 5 words bleeped out of it. If your song doesn't even make sense because you swear so damn much, get a thesaurus and learn a better way to express yourself.

After a song is chosen, you have to figure out how exactly you want the dancers to move to it. And just because it's "trendy", doesn't mean you want your 9 year-old shaking her little ass like Fergie in the "Hey Mama" video. You will have the whiners who don't like ballet or say they can't dance hip hop but they'll suck it up. If they know they get three minutes on stage it's amazing how fast they'll learn and perform. Little show-offs. You have to love that.

Then there's the matter of capability. For those of you who don't know what a pirouette is, asking a group of 35 dancers to all perform a double can be daunting if they refuse to ever step foot into a ballet class. (Read: don't whine at me when you don't get the solo or placed front and center.) Or on the other hand, if all they are used to is ballet, having them krump might be asking a lot. Asking ME to krump would be a lot, these kids just need a little coaxing. They are fearless, I swear. I am very fearful. Fearful of looking like a middle-aged ass who doesn't know when to call it quits. I think the humor in seeing me try is enough to keep people's mouths shut.

Bravo to all the teachers who worked damn hard to pull "Unplugged" together. It was emotional and outstanding as usual. I expect nothing less from our kick-ass staff. If you live in Bolingbrook and didn't come see the show, shame on you. It was a good time. Your loss. See if I come to any of YOUR home parties this season.... I'm sort of kidding but I won't be buying any candles or Pampered Chef from you....

Proud Mama

Here are two dancers from my ballet piece entitled "Vagabond Dolls". I LOVE this one. It was the first time I got to choreograph within my true style (BALLET, hello?!) and feel really awesome about how it turned out. I work with 4th and 5th graders in the Junior Company at the park district but I'd say only a handful of the nearly forty of them really give two craps about ballet. That's okay, they'll realize the need for it as they get older and dance more. This was amazing because all the girls in the piece were genuinely excited to perform this. That is such an awesome feeling as a teacher and choreographer, let me tell you. From the wind-ups on their backs to the props that they used onstage, this piece was really my favorite, and only a wee little bit because it's my "baby". I so hope we can take this to competition this summer in Vegas. I know this isn't a really funny post, by the way, but I've been sorta' preoccupied with dance so give me a break. I'll get back on the funny train soon....

Bite Me, Cupid

I will be a bitter hag tomorrow. Oh I will wear red, pass out goodie bags to Isabella's kindergarten AND my youth ballet classes, and make a kick-ass Valentine's Day craft but I will be faking my lovey-dovey holiday spirit. Fuck Valentine's Day this year. Picture me hugging a bottle of Cuervo, a mostly eaten heart-shaped box of Russell Stover chocolates laying by my feet, and my glaring middle finger up for all to see. Attractive, huh? Throw in some long chin hairs and a cigarette hanging from my mouth and I'm the ultimate Valentine.

Sultan is in Tampa Bay, Florida right now. This is the second year in a row he has been gone for Valentine's Day. I wish I could say I don't give a shit about this day, that it's merely a Hallmark holiday. I care and I am pissed off. I am lonely, bitter, and wish my honey was home to spend it with me. The only kisses I will be getting will slobbery ones from my dog. And he licks his asshole and eats rabbit shit. Are you jealous of me yet?

I passed by the sexy red and hot pink lingerie and felt sad. I guess I'll buy some Friday when it's 75% off. Sultan MIGHT be home Sunday. I am just lonely and annoyed right now.( Sorry, honey.) This has been the Week from Hell with our illness quarantine and planning for Valentine's Day. I just finished stuffing 785 treat bags and taping candy to Valentines. I alternated that activity with yelling at my kids to be quiet because they were making my headache massively worse. I had to also argue the finer points of why they should finish their dinner. Sophie pulled the old camouflage dinner maneuver in which she shuffled her rice and sausage around to make it look like she had eaten some. I told her nice try, I invented the Sausage Smuggling Maneuver. That was probably the wrong way to phrase it for a 7 year-old because if she repeats that in school I might get a call from DCFS. Ooops.

I saw some dude today in the checkout lane. He was buying chocolate (mostly the classy Snickers variety), a huge bag of tealight candles, presumably to lead a trail to the bedroom for his girlfriend, and two King-Size bags of Doritos. I felt like saying, "Listen, buddy, your love muffin will have NO trouble finding the bedroom when your dragon breath is wafting from your mouth with nacho cheesy goodness. Eeww. Yeah, I'd recommend TWO packs of that Eclipse gum." But Stinky Breath Boy will clearly be enjoying some romance tomorrow. Bastard.

Even if I get flowers, which had better come sometime tomorrow, it doesn't replace the warm, loving embrace of someone you really care about. Holy shit, I AM a Hallmark card.. Seriously, it sucks if you have someone but have to be apart, that's all. If you are single and don't know any better, good for you. Go get wasted at happy hour and make out with a random stranger who is just as desperado as you. Make each other happy. But if I see you shopping for His and Hers Valentine's Day shirts next year and I'm all by my lonesome, I will slap you with the wad of Hallmark cards in my cart. I hope you get a paper cut on your eyeballs, too. Happy Hearts Day!!!!

Reunited and It Feels So Good

This is a photo of my awesome friend, Lisa, and I from when we were probably about 17 years-old. We are backstage preparing to dance the ballet, the Nutcracker. Yes, I am wearing Depends Undergarments. Lisa and I always joked about people who wore them and then the joke materialized into a dare. I wore them onstage underneath my nanny costume. We made each other laugh so hard that I think I actually tinkled enough to soil my adult diapers.

We were members of a semi-professional ballet company. We spent countless hours in the dance studio taking classes and attending rehearsals. I grew my wicked sense of sarcastic humor during that time in my life. I even had a parent complain about my sense of humor that got me in trouble with the company's director. Never found out who it was but probably someone who is uber-Christian and wears Easy Spirit loafers. I fucking HATE loafers. I even hate that word. LOAFERS. But I am off track now...

It has been a significant number of years since most of us dancers were together in our leotards in ballet class. Many of us have lost touch, a few are still living the dream of ballerina. (No, I do not consider myself one of them. I do enjoy a supple, Spandex leotard and tights, have actually performed onstage in the past few years, and have taught a few munchkins the fine art of a plie or tendu but I am a far cry from ballerina. Real ballerinas don't buy big titties like mine.)

Lisa and I are still great friends. She was my roommate in college and I was in her wedding. Our kids are the same age and we love to reminisce about the good ol' days of ballet. We have decided to try to gather all of our old bunheads together for a reunion. (If this is the first you are hearing of this and used to wear a leotard with me and know who Mr. Estner is and what his green jazz pants were all about, you're invited.) To say I am stoked is a slight under estimation of my emotions.

We have tried to be sleuth detectives in locating former friends but damn, it's tough! People move overseas, get married, parents pass away, they still are bitter I was the funny bitch and they weren't... You know, the usual reasons to avoid being found for a reunion. If you happen to know anyone who danced in the Grand Rapids Ballet Company or even Summerfest (now we're going back in time--WAY back), tell them August 9th will be Leotard Central in Grand Rapids. Just kidding, it's Spandex-optional. You know I'll be wearing mine, just slightly larger for my chesticles I didn't have at age 17. I think I will be purchasing some new Depends for the occasion.

Do Not Call List

If you happen to have a child who is adept at dialing phone numbers, do not give her your cell phone number. Especially when she is home sick and Daddy is watching her. Sophie was diagnosed with strep throat on Monday, thus staying home from school Tuesday. Yay. She already stayed home last Thursday and had a snow day Friday. This much together time is wearing a little thin, thinner than Donald Trump's scalp.

My husband was home on a call with a customer in his office. Sophie was sufficiently supplied with antibiotics, Motrin, snacks, and fluids. I even made her own little bed out of the couch, with sheets, blankies, and pillows. She was set. Isabella likes going to the gym almost as much as I do so she and I were off to spin class. I brought my cell phone into class "just in case", which in my book means vomiting or blood coming from your eyeballs.

After starting my third exercise in core class (that's abs for those of you who don't ever aspire to have a six-pack, aside from the one in your fridge), I heard the telltale beep of my phone that indicated I had a message......... or six. All from Sophie. Of course I freaked, gathered my mat and exercise ball, and ran out of class. Then I listened to the first message....
"MMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! Whyyyyyyyy aren't you answering your phoooooone?! I don't feeeeeeeeeel gooooood! Please come home nooooooooowwwwww!"
Messsage two: "Mmmmmoooommmyyy!! Why aren't you answering your phone??!! I fell really bad and Daddy won't help me!! Come home NOW!"
Messages three, four, and five: "Mommyyyyyyyyyy!! I feel really, really sick! WHY aren't you answering your phone?! You need to pick up your phone and come home right nooooooooooowwww!!!"
Message six, in a serious tone at last: "Mommy, I am really mad at you. Why aren't you home yet? You need to come home right now."
I phoned her immediately. I admit I only listened to the first one and assumed she was projectile vomiting, the house was burning down, Daddy was having a heart attack, and there was bleeding from the eyeballs. I spoke to her briefly, assured her I would be home as quickly as I could. After dragging Isabella from her social hour at the daycare, I received ANOTHER call from my daughter on her presumed deathbed.
"Mom, why aren't you here yet?"
"Uh, Sophie, I talked to you 3 minutes ago. It takes at least 7 minutes to get home. Chill."

Upon entering my house, I witnessed Sophie glued to the TV, watching Hannah Montana, dressed in her sparkly summery shirt, hair down and sassy, perfume on, and toenails painted--with polka dots. Sick my ass.

"Sophie, what was so bad that you had to call me, sobbing, six times?!"

"Oh, I'm fine. I just didn't feel good, Daddy was too busy to talk to me, and I was bored."

Time for Mommy to change her cell phone number.