I have never been the sort of woman who felt like "housewife" or "homemaker" was an appropriate title for me. It is chauvinistic and degrading. Plus I am neither of those things. True, I am a wife and mother. I'd like to think I am pretty decent in those roles. My kids just both scored perfect report cards (Toot! Toot!...I am tooting my own sassy horn here. Bite me if you think I'm bragging. I am.). They are involved in plenty of activities which require my transportation skills to get them to and fro. I manage to clothe, them, feed them, and bathe them (or at least stand outside the shower for about 10 minutes so I assume SOME cleaning is going on it there). I try to instill decent values. I go by the "do as I say, not as I do" virtue. I curse in fluent profanity the way some artists work with oil pants or clay. I am a master. (Stolen from "A Christmas Story"..) My kids know enough not to say "mother fuck" or "son of a bitch old lady drivers" when they get to school. At least I assume this by a lack of phone calls from their principal.
A housewife is a woman who tends to the house. I will tend to my children, my husband, and my pets. I can't make any promises to my house. Or the plants, because I have an amazing knack for killing every green thing that is planted in a pot within 2 miles of me. There are certain housely (not a word but bear with me here..) duties I will suck it up and do because otherwise my surroundings would look like even more of a shit bomb just went off.
I enjoy vacuuming because there is instant gratification involved with little work. I can remain upright and not suffer scrubbing anything on my knees. I do not mind doing laundry. I detest putting laundry away, however. Is that weird? Seriously, I will let 4 feet of my husband's clean laundry sit for weeks. I fucking loathe putting it away. I think I am certifiably allergic to it in fact. I don't mind sweeping. The dustpan part kind of sucks but not as much as putting undies and socks away.
Dusting is retarded and inane. Whether you use Pledge and a rag, a feather duster, the Swiffer, or stick a broom handle up your cat's ass, dusting blows monkey schween. You are simply shifting those God damn dust particles around. Then guess what? They settle right the fuck back down WHERE YOU JUST DUSTED!!!!! Screw dusting.
To me mopping seems archaic. Like if I got out a mop I would need a pretty dress. a coordinating apron, pumps, perfect red lipstick, and a birth certificate from 1940. I will get out my Swiffer Wet Jet when I see visible salt and dirt from winter boots or shit skids from my dog Pierre who has become a turd connoisseur. He is very cute and you might say it's sick and wrong but if you were a dog, trust me, you would eat your own shit. I guess it's like scratching your balls or picking your nose. Not really socially acceptable but lots of people do it.
Bathrooms can wait. I will clean the toilet and sink in the main bathroom everyone uses. Thank God for that spray that makes you high as a kite but magically dissolves all the soap scum and mildew from your glass shower doors and tiles. I do not care that it is terrible for the environment. It makes my life easy. I am all about my selfish conveniences. What's more important here?
My stove top is the bane of my existence. I try to wipe up after cooking, another skill I don't enjoy much. But the tiniest speck of sauce or grease will turn my ceramic burner grates into a shellac fortress of molasses. It never comes off. And it looks like shit. So there's ANOTHER reason I try to avoid cooking. Because my burners now look like Pierre shit all over them. (He's crafty when it comes to a piece of deli turkey but he can't jump THAT high.)
I try to get a decent meal on the table when we are all home together. If I invite you to my home I will most likely apologize for the state of mess. Don't you DARE attempt to open my laundry room door if we're having a party. This is my Stash and Dash Zone. You will be pelted with toys headed to Goodwill, my Spot Bot carpet cleaner, clean and dirty laundry, and probably an array of pet food, guinea pig hay, and rawhide chew toys. Hey, at least I make an attempt to pull it together.
No matter how hard I try or how many drunken New Year's Eve resolutions I make, I will always have piles and piles of school papers I can never seem to sort or toss. I will have laundry mountains. Pretty soon I will need repelling gear to locate clean matching socks in that fucking pile. There will always be 27 pairs of shoes in my front hallway. There will be cat vomit I have not cleaned because my 2 kitties are nervous, bulimic felines. There might be errant Christmas decorations still hanging around. I do not have a cleaning schedule. I do not meticulously plan my vacuuming days, washing the sheets days, dusting days, or mopping days. I do the "Holy Fucking Shit My Parents Are Coming Today, Quick Clean Up All Visible Dog Turds" cleaning regimen. It works for me. Just don't you dare call me a fucking housewife. I will beat you with my Swiffer.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Been There, Done That
Having regrets in life is a shitty thing. Because no matter how much you beg and pray and plead to go back and give that mother fucker who teased you in high school a zinger comment which will stop him dead in his tracks, it ain't gonna happen. So get the hell over it.
I look back at what I've done in my life and smile. I have done some pretty crazy shit. Much of it I will never even post on this blog. Not because I plan on running for public office someday, just because it's none of your damn business because a lot of you just couldn't handle it. See me in this picture? I dyed my hair platinum blonde. I lived with a drag queen for a bit. I wore really tight, super short skirts as often as I could. I smoked Camel Light cigarettes. I drank vodka and soda with lemon. I went out clubbing and dancing with really, really wild and interesting people of all walks of life, sometimes till 7 in the morning. Sometimes I even went to work after staying up that late. Some days I called in sick. I had a fucking blast.
Some of you have known me for some time. A lot of you have only known me as Molly Ghahtani---mom, wife, ballet teacher, workout junkie. Those friends find it really hard to imagine my crazy-ass life before I became the suburbanite diva I am now. But there are many of you who knew me before I became who I am now, when I was Club Kid Molly. You think it's insane that I own a mini van, have had two daughters that I have managed to do a pretty damn good job raising (with help from my loving hubby..) without leaving them at the mall, do not have a meth lab in my basement, and live 30 miles outside of a large city. There might be even more of you who knew me in grade school as the goody two shoes kiss-ass who got really good grades and was quite shy. (Yes, I swear to you there was a period in my life I was painfully shy.) A handful of you I have been blessed to know through it all. It's good to have friends from all the parts of your life.
I do not regret things in my life. If I had the opportunity to do some things over, I suppose I'd do it differently. But I don't wallow in regret. It is fucking pointless. Because every crazy, fucked-up thing I have ever done had chiseled me into the person I am today. The trash-talking, profanity-addicted, ballet-teaching, big-boobed (well, not in THIS photo), sarcastic as shit, really funny mom and wife that I am. I love that I am a fun mom. I swear in front of my kids. I also read with them, do crafts with them, bake cookies with them, tickle them, help them with homework, discipline them, and take them to their 175 activities they are involved in a piece. I tease them and make jokes. I am rarely serious. I make equal fun of myself. If you can't laugh at yourself you are one of my favorite terms---a douche rag. Don't take yourself so fucking seriously!!!! Christ! Life is way too fucking short. People are like, "Oh, I could never post those embarrassing pictures of myself from 1989 on FACEBOOK! Look at my hair!" Hello, ass clown, it was 1989. Your hair was SUPPOSED to look like you were electrocuted. Duh?! Unless someone snapped a picture from that crazy spring break when you had sex with that donkey, get the hell over yourself. I am also a pretty cool wife. I can hang with the guys. I can let him do his own thing without having a spaz-ass hissy fit if he wants to watch some spring break video of drunk girls in bikinis while he plays poker with his buddies. He has a dick, he likes boobies, I get it. As long as the real life boobies he likes are mine it's all good. (I can see some of you cringing at me saying this. Jesus Lord... I also LOVE that I am so honest. Being a prude does not suit me. I don't give a shit if you don't want me to know you prefer it doggie style with your hubby but don't judge me because I like to talk about stuff. No, I will not tell you what I prefer...)
So all I'm saying is be whoever the hell you are. Savor the good shit, get over the bad shit. It's a terrible cliche but time flies by so fast, take a good look or you just might miss it. And do you really wanna' look back and say, "God damn, Molly was RIGHT on! Why didn't I wear that feather boa? Why didn't I tell him I loved him? Why didn't I pierce my nipples? Why didn't I stand up for myself? Why didn't I post that picture of me and that donkey?!" Like Nike says, Just do IT!!!
You Are NOT a Celebrity
I got to witness a real-life pig in action last night. He is a dirty shit bag. Drew Peterson. It fucking makes me nauseated to see him out in public, galavanting around as if he is just a normal man, a rule-abiding citizen of the city I live in. But he is not. I firmly believe he murdered his last two wives. Stacey Peterson went missing in October of 2007. She was never found. He claims she left for another man, even though that meant she would have left two very young children behind. Bull fucking shit. I know some of Stacey's friends. She was fearful of him, he couldn't control her, he killed her. It makes me so fucking angry that this dirty fuck is so arrogant. He parades around town like a local celebrity. He has repeatedly gone on the Today show to proclaim his innocence. His third wife's body was exhumed and it was proven she was murdered. HELLO?!!!!!! See a God damn pattern here? We were out last night at a bar where he usually hangs out. True to rumor, he showed up wtih his new, 22 year-old fiance. She looks all of 16. Is this girl a total idiot??! I do not get it. The most infuriating part of the evening was seeing all the people who were feeding this asshole's ego. They were seeking him out, shaking his hand, high-fiving him, hugging him, patting him on the back. FOR WHAT?!!! I don't know who I wanted to fucking throttle more, Drew Peterson or the gaggle of fucktards who were adoring him. If Stacey Peterson or Kathleen Savio was your sister or your aunt or your daughter, would you have such reverence and awe for this man? Really? Think about it. I was seething. And when Senor Serial Killer came out from his little booth at the bar to peruse the hot bitches on the dance floor, he sought out his admirers. He was chatting it up, acting like the mack daddy of the joint. All I can hope is that this douche bag gets what he deserves some day. A person so God damn arrogant cannot be expected to NOT fuck it up again. We'll all be waiting. There's a nice hot seat waiting for you in Hell, Drew Peterson. Fuck you.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Not in MY House!!
I don't know exactly how I end up flipping through the radio stations and repeatedly fall upon John Tesh's "Intelligence for Your Life" show. His nasal voice and enthusiastic, Amway-promoting, "I've-never-even-said-the-word-crap" persona sucks. Sucks like Aretha Franklin's inaugural mega bow hat sucked. But alas, at 6:30 pm, I heard a new tidbit which had me cackling out loud with laughter.
John Tesh regularly promotes certain products which he is obviously gettin' a cut from. A topic he thought was important for us listeners who have nowhere to turn (alright I guess I could have turned him off..) was about making meals fun for your kids. He mentioned a breakfast product called, are you sitting down?..... BATTER BLASTER. It shoots pancake batter from an aerosol can onto your griddle. Because a ladle just isn't violent enough. I need to propel my batter from a nitrous-injected can before it cooks up into a tasty pancake. Now immediately you know what I was thinking. Batter Blaster was obviously John Tesh's stage name from his pre-Christian holy roller, hardcore porn days. Because he obviously has blasted his batter in a few places. Like Connie Seleca's poonani.
I swear to God I am not making this up. I could not spontaneously come up with shit so fucking funny. The video clip shows a 1950's mom who is burned out from the super tedious chore of making pancake batter. Shit! Cracking eggs AND dumping milk and flour in a bowl is so God damn hard. Makes me wanna slit my wrists!!! Fast forward to the future and there is a girl all ofl about 8 years-old jumping up and down, shaking this can of batter vigorously in slooooooowwwwww moooooootion. Then Mom grabs that can and simply "shakes, points, blasts, and cooks"!!! Shake, point, and blast??? Creamy batter is meant to be BLASTED, you know. It astounds me that John Tesh, who really seems like a spiritual, wholesome sort of douche rag, does not see the utter irony in this fucking product!!! Seriously?!! The website goes on to say, "No more splattering ingredients!.. It's organic, easy, and FUN!" Yeah, cuz' you are fucking wanking a can of batter with your family, you God damned perverts!!!! The catchy jingle is the best..." Make breakfast better faster!!! It's Batter Blaster!" The slow-motion hand-washing as Mom strokes the nozzle under the faucet. Is this even about breakfast anymore? You just have to check this shit out for yourself. And please watch the video demo. You will order a box just to show to your friends. I did...
http://www.batterblaster.com
John Tesh regularly promotes certain products which he is obviously gettin' a cut from. A topic he thought was important for us listeners who have nowhere to turn (alright I guess I could have turned him off..) was about making meals fun for your kids. He mentioned a breakfast product called, are you sitting down?..... BATTER BLASTER. It shoots pancake batter from an aerosol can onto your griddle. Because a ladle just isn't violent enough. I need to propel my batter from a nitrous-injected can before it cooks up into a tasty pancake. Now immediately you know what I was thinking. Batter Blaster was obviously John Tesh's stage name from his pre-Christian holy roller, hardcore porn days. Because he obviously has blasted his batter in a few places. Like Connie Seleca's poonani.
I swear to God I am not making this up. I could not spontaneously come up with shit so fucking funny. The video clip shows a 1950's mom who is burned out from the super tedious chore of making pancake batter. Shit! Cracking eggs AND dumping milk and flour in a bowl is so God damn hard. Makes me wanna slit my wrists!!! Fast forward to the future and there is a girl all ofl about 8 years-old jumping up and down, shaking this can of batter vigorously in slooooooowwwwww moooooootion. Then Mom grabs that can and simply "shakes, points, blasts, and cooks"!!! Shake, point, and blast??? Creamy batter is meant to be BLASTED, you know. It astounds me that John Tesh, who really seems like a spiritual, wholesome sort of douche rag, does not see the utter irony in this fucking product!!! Seriously?!! The website goes on to say, "No more splattering ingredients!.. It's organic, easy, and FUN!" Yeah, cuz' you are fucking wanking a can of batter with your family, you God damned perverts!!!! The catchy jingle is the best..." Make breakfast better faster!!! It's Batter Blaster!" The slow-motion hand-washing as Mom strokes the nozzle under the faucet. Is this even about breakfast anymore? You just have to check this shit out for yourself. And please watch the video demo. You will order a box just to show to your friends. I did...
http://www.batterblaster.com
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Girls Next Whore
I think that E! has managed to pipe crack smoke or meth or something through our TVs to get us to not change the channel when The Girls Next Door comes on. The three girlfriends, Holly, Bridget, and Kendra, are, hmmm, not the sharpest tools in the fucking shed? I mean not to be blunt but if you look up "white trash" on Wikipedia you will find a picture of Kendra will her shirt pulled up, showing her baseball-shaped titties. If you have ever watched the show (shut up, I know you have..) you know she has a fetish for exposing her tits and ass. And for laughing like a raging jack-ass. Bridget is really sweet, bless her heart, but she just has one of those personalities you know you could fuck with. Like tell her some outrageous lie like I have a dick and am really a plumber named Hank and she would believe me. She babies her dog, Wednesday, and I am pretty sure her mom dropped her on her head as a baby. Holly is blonde ambition personified. Her hair is so white it's almost translucent. She was so desperate to marry Hef it was sad. Like when you see Tara Reid so wasted that she doesn't know her boob has come out to party with her. Poor Holly, I think the only reason she referred to Hef as "Puffin" was because that was the noise she heard once a week when he had to use his penis pump to bulk up his teeny peeny.
We wasted 2 hours of our lives last week when we decided to watch the movie "Housebunny". It had a fun premise, a Playboy bunny leaves the mansion and becomes a housemother of a local college sorority. TOTALLY believable. Plus it starred Anna Faris, comedienne diva of slapstick humor a la Scary Movie genre. Stupid funny entertains my simple mind sometimes. I will warn you now. Do NOT watch this movie. It is not funny, even the bits that are supposed to be over-the-top are plain fucking dumb. Can I sue the director to get those lost two hours of my life back? I would have rather gotten a colonoscopy with Tobasco, let's put it that way.
Now Hef caught wind of Holly secretly dating illusionist, Criss Angel. The real illusion is how the hell she faked a relationship with a grandfatherly old man who wears silk bathrobes for clothing. And then had to share his shriveled love sausage with two other women? Really now. So Hef did a girlfriend re-vamp. Bye-bye, Holly, Kendra, and Bridget. He has ushered in a set of 18 year-old twins along with another blonde playmate. Three more girlfriends to share that Playboy sugar daddy love. If they attempt to make a show involving these new hoochies, I kinda think I'll pass. As painfully stupid as it was to watch Kendra try to convince Roberto Cavalli that Olive Garden is better than any restaurant in Italy, Girls Next Door entertained me. Those new bitches may have moved into my three favorite bimbos' boudoirs but my heart is still with my Girls. Kendra, you had me at "Yo! Yo!".....
We wasted 2 hours of our lives last week when we decided to watch the movie "Housebunny". It had a fun premise, a Playboy bunny leaves the mansion and becomes a housemother of a local college sorority. TOTALLY believable. Plus it starred Anna Faris, comedienne diva of slapstick humor a la Scary Movie genre. Stupid funny entertains my simple mind sometimes. I will warn you now. Do NOT watch this movie. It is not funny, even the bits that are supposed to be over-the-top are plain fucking dumb. Can I sue the director to get those lost two hours of my life back? I would have rather gotten a colonoscopy with Tobasco, let's put it that way.
Now Hef caught wind of Holly secretly dating illusionist, Criss Angel. The real illusion is how the hell she faked a relationship with a grandfatherly old man who wears silk bathrobes for clothing. And then had to share his shriveled love sausage with two other women? Really now. So Hef did a girlfriend re-vamp. Bye-bye, Holly, Kendra, and Bridget. He has ushered in a set of 18 year-old twins along with another blonde playmate. Three more girlfriends to share that Playboy sugar daddy love. If they attempt to make a show involving these new hoochies, I kinda think I'll pass. As painfully stupid as it was to watch Kendra try to convince Roberto Cavalli that Olive Garden is better than any restaurant in Italy, Girls Next Door entertained me. Those new bitches may have moved into my three favorite bimbos' boudoirs but my heart is still with my Girls. Kendra, you had me at "Yo! Yo!".....
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Fuck Winter
I was duped into thinking winter could not possibly have been as bad as 2007/2008. Last year was brutally cold and we had more snow than I've ever seen in my 13 years living in Illinois. I grew up in Southwest Michigan. I know snow. It is only mid-January and we have already had three school cancellations due to wintry weather. Winter can suck my out-of-shape, hasn't-seen-the-sun-in 5 months ass.
My hands are cracked and chapped. My lips are split and I can't find my lip balm. I feel so bad for my little dog because at only 9 pounds, I fear his tiny paws will freeze outside. I will not yell at him if he choose to piss on my floor. I don't really want to even shower tomorrow. My bathroom is colder than a witch's tit. I regret not buying my husband a towel warmer for Christmas. I am wearing two robes and two pairs of socks right now. It is fucking COOOOOOOLLLLLLDDDD.
I have lived in the mid-West my whole life. I am used to the changing seasons. You would think I would have this whole winter thing down by now. Make no mistake, I am so NOT down with winter. We took the kids to Hawaii last year for spring break. It was such perfect weather I felt like I was hallucinating. It rained once for about 10 minutes. It was 82 degrees every single day. When we left Chicago there was a winter storm warning and they got a foot of snow. My girls were crying at the Kauai airport because they did not want to leave. It makes me wonder why I put myself through this sheer hell year after year.
When I was a child I loved winter. Grand Rapids always got a shitload of snow. It seemed like there was never less than a foot on the ground. We had a small hill on the side of our house and the park less than a block away had a kick-ass sledding hill AND a frozen-over tennis court for ice skating. My brother and I spent countless hours outside. We would stay out in the freezing cold until mom had to threaten us to come in. It was often nighttime before we'd succumb to mom's warnings. What kid doesn't love playing in the snow? A runny nose, a little snow in the boots, soaking wet gloves--none of these things seems to bother kids in the least.
As an adult I have long since lost my need to frolic in the powder. I never was into skiing or winter sports growing up. If I was forced to take a wintry vacation to some ski resort town I would be the pain-in-the-ass guest who would sit in the hot tub, hit the spa for massages, and view the mountains from the toasty warm confines INSIDE. With a big, fat Irish coffee in my hands. This cold weather makes me angry. It makes me depressed because doing anything requires more clothing, more energy, more time. In fact, I have less energy. We are sitting here with another snow day. There wasn't any more snow, it's just the coldest fucking day I can remember. I think the wind chill is -40 degrees. We are all still in jammies and robes and fleece socks. I unfortunately have to run out for a doctor appointment later. Do you think I can wear my fleece robe out of the house? Since everyone will be bundled like God damn Eskimos anyways, who would even notice?
We have a spring break trip planned for early April. We will be going to Orlando to do the Disney thing with the kids. I know it will be a fantastic trip. My parents are coming and it will make the trip really special. Trouble is on a day such as today, it is hard to visualize that in my future. This weather is fucking with my head. It is freezing my senses. I cannot even comprehend what it would be like to wear shorts or a swimsuit. I want to close my eyes and wake up on a beach. Please, God? Fine, be that way...
Fuck winter. You useless, depressing, making my PMS even worse than it usually is season. I hate you.
My hands are cracked and chapped. My lips are split and I can't find my lip balm. I feel so bad for my little dog because at only 9 pounds, I fear his tiny paws will freeze outside. I will not yell at him if he choose to piss on my floor. I don't really want to even shower tomorrow. My bathroom is colder than a witch's tit. I regret not buying my husband a towel warmer for Christmas. I am wearing two robes and two pairs of socks right now. It is fucking COOOOOOOLLLLLLDDDD.
I have lived in the mid-West my whole life. I am used to the changing seasons. You would think I would have this whole winter thing down by now. Make no mistake, I am so NOT down with winter. We took the kids to Hawaii last year for spring break. It was such perfect weather I felt like I was hallucinating. It rained once for about 10 minutes. It was 82 degrees every single day. When we left Chicago there was a winter storm warning and they got a foot of snow. My girls were crying at the Kauai airport because they did not want to leave. It makes me wonder why I put myself through this sheer hell year after year.
When I was a child I loved winter. Grand Rapids always got a shitload of snow. It seemed like there was never less than a foot on the ground. We had a small hill on the side of our house and the park less than a block away had a kick-ass sledding hill AND a frozen-over tennis court for ice skating. My brother and I spent countless hours outside. We would stay out in the freezing cold until mom had to threaten us to come in. It was often nighttime before we'd succumb to mom's warnings. What kid doesn't love playing in the snow? A runny nose, a little snow in the boots, soaking wet gloves--none of these things seems to bother kids in the least.
As an adult I have long since lost my need to frolic in the powder. I never was into skiing or winter sports growing up. If I was forced to take a wintry vacation to some ski resort town I would be the pain-in-the-ass guest who would sit in the hot tub, hit the spa for massages, and view the mountains from the toasty warm confines INSIDE. With a big, fat Irish coffee in my hands. This cold weather makes me angry. It makes me depressed because doing anything requires more clothing, more energy, more time. In fact, I have less energy. We are sitting here with another snow day. There wasn't any more snow, it's just the coldest fucking day I can remember. I think the wind chill is -40 degrees. We are all still in jammies and robes and fleece socks. I unfortunately have to run out for a doctor appointment later. Do you think I can wear my fleece robe out of the house? Since everyone will be bundled like God damn Eskimos anyways, who would even notice?
We have a spring break trip planned for early April. We will be going to Orlando to do the Disney thing with the kids. I know it will be a fantastic trip. My parents are coming and it will make the trip really special. Trouble is on a day such as today, it is hard to visualize that in my future. This weather is fucking with my head. It is freezing my senses. I cannot even comprehend what it would be like to wear shorts or a swimsuit. I want to close my eyes and wake up on a beach. Please, God? Fine, be that way...
Fuck winter. You useless, depressing, making my PMS even worse than it usually is season. I hate you.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
What I Know About Me
On Facebook there has been a little information application going around that basically has you fill out 25 random things about yourself. I think that's an interesting concept so here goes...
1.) I like to eat healthy but I despise preparing food for myself. In fact the exact same ingredients I would choose to put in, say a salad for example, will taste a million times better if someone else makes it for me. I enjoy fruits and vegetables and fish of all sorts. But I will gladly spend $10 on a salad before I come home to assemble it myself. Better yet, I'll have my mom make one. Her salads rock.
2.) Don't ask me to drive for any extended length of time with you. I am an extremely sleepy driver. This happens whether it is 12:30 at night or 10 o'clock AM. I don't know if it's the melodic hum of the tires or the comfort (warmth or coolness, depending on season) that makes me want to snooze. The only thing that makes me alert? Bet you guessed coffee. Wrong. Snacking keeps me alert. I opt for king-size boxes of chewy movie candy. Dots and Jujy Fruits are my personal candies of choice. I figure if I have to choose between snarfing 1000 calories of pure sugar or smashing into the back of a semi and dying, I'll take the Jujy Fruits.
3.) I am terribly nostalgic. This comes as no surprise to most of my family members, especially the Seymour side. Holidays make me nostalgic, seeing my kids pass certain milestones makes me nostalgic, pfefferneuse cookies make me nostalgic. With this personality trait comes the propensity for spontaneous crying jags. I cry when I am nostalgic but I also cry at Pampers commercials, Animal Planet, and sometimes even Survivor. I cried over the blind dude on American Idol tonight.
4.) I am one moody bitch. I've been this way since I was a wee one in cloth diapers. I can turn on a dime. Funny thing is I often know I am being a raging twat but somehow it makes me MORE angry so I cannot snap out of it. Instead it drives me deeper into Bitch-Ass Molly Mode. It's not pretty. Ask my dad about Mother's Day brunch a few years ago.
5.) I am addicted to delicious-smelling body butters. Don't give me that shitty, watery lotion from Jergen's. Might as well be goat jiz. I need thick, emollient, fragrant body butter that has the consistency of Pillsbury frosting. I was so blessed as to actually find a tub one year scented like buttercream frosting. I didn't know if I should slather it on my thighs or lick my forearms like cupcakes. Try it, you'll never go back to Vaseline Intensive CRAP.
6.) I think Facebook is a wonderful thing. I do not think I am too old for it. I have found friends who I've missed for a long time. People have found me that never spoke jack shit to me in high school but want to be my Facebook friends. Fucking ironic but I suppose when you are fat and bald your high school football charm has long since worn off. I think I just might be addicted. Check my profile...
7.) I collect books. I really enjoy reading but I could never possibly keep up with all the books on my shelves. If I read a book by an author I like I tend to buy several by them. I am in two book clubs. I hardly finish the books we are supposed to read because I am usually reading at least two other books at the same time. Guess it's better than being addicted to porno mags.
8.) On that note, I fucking HATE porn. I think it is stupid, vulgar and pointless. It makes me feel insecure to see these perfect (okay, so they're airbrushed) 20-year-old bodies with ginormous titties, no stretch marks, and perfect tight little asses. I know men see no problem with this, well many of them. I guess guys are visual. It is not realistic, boys, because you will never, EVER get pussy that hot in your life. Seeing male porn is fucking retarded to me. It does NOTHING for me. Just venting. Porn makes me pissy.
9.) I think Paris is a wonderful, beautiful, and romantic city. It is my favorite place in the world thus far. I've only been twice but it was the gateway to my passion to travel. Seeing the Eiffel Tower twinkling at night on my 35th birthday was one of the best memories of my life.
10.) I think plastic surgery is totally acceptable. I think if you want to better yourself, not drastically alter your appearance, you have every right. Because when you feel great about yourself you are a hell of a lot easier to be around. If you have the means and the will, go for it. And don't judge those who do it. Unless you end up with labia lips like Lisa Rinna, no one will laugh at you or think you're a freak. I've partaken in some surgery and I doubt it will end here. Who wants to look old and flabby before your time?
11.) I think my mom is an amazing woman. She is the first person I call with any news, good or bad. She is the most selfless person I know. She has given so much of herself to be a good mother to me. She is an outrageously awesome grandma. She is crafty and detail-oriented. She has a great laugh. I wish I had her patience, organizational skills, capacity to sew, and calm, mothering nature. I can try but I will never be close to Dianne. Period.
12.) My dad is one of the funniest fucking people I know. He will say anything at any time in front of anyone. He is a great joke teller. He is socially charming and wonderful in a crowd. He is more popular than me at parties with my friends. I am grateful I gained my dad's sense of humor. He is also a great grandpa and a great friend. I love that my dad feels safe to confide in me. He is brutally honest but can be tender and insightful when I need him to be. I will never run out of stories about how my dad has made me laugh.
13.) I used to love going out to dance clubs. Who am I kidding? I STILL love it. Sultan and I met when we were in the height of our clubbing days. I love getting dressed up, I love getting attention. I think I am a bit of an attention whore as a matter of fact. Sometimes it frustrates me to run out of energy or hours of babysitter time and ruin my good vibe at a dance club. I know it's part of growing up. But I never want to act like the lame, dorky mom who uses her status as child-bearer to be just that....LAME.
14.) I enjoy vulgar humor. Physical humor--farting, belching, bodily functions--are all things that make me snort out loud. Check out Andy Samberg's "Jizz In My Pants" or his bit with Justin Timberlake and Beyonce in leotards. I enjoy the belching part in the movie Elf. I love the old "Oops, I Crapped My Pants" Saturday Night Live skit. I am not juvenile, it's funny as shit. If you don't think so you are too fucking uptight.
15.) I hate thong underwear. It's an old rant but I have spent my whole life trying to get my underwear OUT of my ass. When I try to wear ass-floss it makes my pants then ride up my crack. Who wants to see that?! That's not sexy. It's itchy. I have invested in several pairs of sexy boyshorts which I think are just as hot. Screw thongs.
16.) I really, really want to be able to dance hip hop. But my confidence blows. I think I'm a great ballet teacher. I just never learned hip hop when I was young. My feelings of awkwardness outweigh my desire to learn to dance like a superfly bee-otch. That sucks.
17.) I am in awe of women who can handle more than three children. It astounds me. There was a time I thought we would want three, even four children. But I was not blessed with much patience. At least I can recognize that. I believe I would be a lousy mother to any more kids. Does that sound terrible? I think I'm a decent, on some days even great, mother.
18.) I love sushi. I used to be the chicken teriyaki chick at the Japanese restaurant. I couldn't use chopsticks. Now I love that shit. Chopsticks, fish eggs, wasabi, sake, the whole bit. If I had to choose a last meal on this earth it would be sushi.
19.) I have a giant head. It does not fit in women's sized hats. The brims of an extra-large hat pinch me a leave a ring around my skull like a noose. If it not knit, it don't fit. Thank God for hoods.
20.) Lately I have been wondering how many more years I will want to teach dance. I enjoy it but the attention level and disrespect of students has been making me crazy. I have had nightmares about it. I think even 5 year-olds should have a basic knowledge of what is acceptable behavior. Trouble is their parents don't. I am starting to feel really burnt out. When the frustrations outweigh the enjoyment isn't it time for a change?
21.) I would do anything for my children. I sometimes yell and curse but I love them with all my heart. I would kill someone should any harm come to them. I see myself and Sultan in them. It is amazing to be a parent. I am so proud of my girls.
22.) I have asked myself lately, what really and truly makes you happy? The one thing I enjoy more than anything else in this world? Making people laugh. I think I am pretty damn good at it. I love hearing people laugh when I am telling a story. I love it when I hear people think my blog is funny as hell. I don't know how I could make this into a job or something that fulfills my soul. But it would be damn awesome if I could.
23.) I would piss myself if I could come up with some way to get my writing, what I have already done or what I have yet in my giant melon-like skull, published. I want this to be my future somehow. I don't know how or when but I see it as my destiny. (No, I am not smoking weed right now.)
24.) I loved sleepovers as a kid. I had lots of sleepovers with my cousin, Heather. We were such great friends growing up. I miss her. See, there's my nostalgia kicking in again! I hate it when my kids have them because they are whiney brats for two days but I know why they love them.
25.) I miss Grand Rapids lately. Every time I visit I remember things about my childhood. I know thinking about moving back is not realistic with Sultan's job. I know so many people who live there. It makes me sad I cannot see them all during the few visits we make each year. I sometimes bitched about it as being small town growing up but now I see its charm. I am one nostalgic bitch.
There, now you know 25 random maybe who-gives-a-shit things about me. Enlightened?
1.) I like to eat healthy but I despise preparing food for myself. In fact the exact same ingredients I would choose to put in, say a salad for example, will taste a million times better if someone else makes it for me. I enjoy fruits and vegetables and fish of all sorts. But I will gladly spend $10 on a salad before I come home to assemble it myself. Better yet, I'll have my mom make one. Her salads rock.
2.) Don't ask me to drive for any extended length of time with you. I am an extremely sleepy driver. This happens whether it is 12:30 at night or 10 o'clock AM. I don't know if it's the melodic hum of the tires or the comfort (warmth or coolness, depending on season) that makes me want to snooze. The only thing that makes me alert? Bet you guessed coffee. Wrong. Snacking keeps me alert. I opt for king-size boxes of chewy movie candy. Dots and Jujy Fruits are my personal candies of choice. I figure if I have to choose between snarfing 1000 calories of pure sugar or smashing into the back of a semi and dying, I'll take the Jujy Fruits.
3.) I am terribly nostalgic. This comes as no surprise to most of my family members, especially the Seymour side. Holidays make me nostalgic, seeing my kids pass certain milestones makes me nostalgic, pfefferneuse cookies make me nostalgic. With this personality trait comes the propensity for spontaneous crying jags. I cry when I am nostalgic but I also cry at Pampers commercials, Animal Planet, and sometimes even Survivor. I cried over the blind dude on American Idol tonight.
4.) I am one moody bitch. I've been this way since I was a wee one in cloth diapers. I can turn on a dime. Funny thing is I often know I am being a raging twat but somehow it makes me MORE angry so I cannot snap out of it. Instead it drives me deeper into Bitch-Ass Molly Mode. It's not pretty. Ask my dad about Mother's Day brunch a few years ago.
5.) I am addicted to delicious-smelling body butters. Don't give me that shitty, watery lotion from Jergen's. Might as well be goat jiz. I need thick, emollient, fragrant body butter that has the consistency of Pillsbury frosting. I was so blessed as to actually find a tub one year scented like buttercream frosting. I didn't know if I should slather it on my thighs or lick my forearms like cupcakes. Try it, you'll never go back to Vaseline Intensive CRAP.
6.) I think Facebook is a wonderful thing. I do not think I am too old for it. I have found friends who I've missed for a long time. People have found me that never spoke jack shit to me in high school but want to be my Facebook friends. Fucking ironic but I suppose when you are fat and bald your high school football charm has long since worn off. I think I just might be addicted. Check my profile...
7.) I collect books. I really enjoy reading but I could never possibly keep up with all the books on my shelves. If I read a book by an author I like I tend to buy several by them. I am in two book clubs. I hardly finish the books we are supposed to read because I am usually reading at least two other books at the same time. Guess it's better than being addicted to porno mags.
8.) On that note, I fucking HATE porn. I think it is stupid, vulgar and pointless. It makes me feel insecure to see these perfect (okay, so they're airbrushed) 20-year-old bodies with ginormous titties, no stretch marks, and perfect tight little asses. I know men see no problem with this, well many of them. I guess guys are visual. It is not realistic, boys, because you will never, EVER get pussy that hot in your life. Seeing male porn is fucking retarded to me. It does NOTHING for me. Just venting. Porn makes me pissy.
9.) I think Paris is a wonderful, beautiful, and romantic city. It is my favorite place in the world thus far. I've only been twice but it was the gateway to my passion to travel. Seeing the Eiffel Tower twinkling at night on my 35th birthday was one of the best memories of my life.
10.) I think plastic surgery is totally acceptable. I think if you want to better yourself, not drastically alter your appearance, you have every right. Because when you feel great about yourself you are a hell of a lot easier to be around. If you have the means and the will, go for it. And don't judge those who do it. Unless you end up with labia lips like Lisa Rinna, no one will laugh at you or think you're a freak. I've partaken in some surgery and I doubt it will end here. Who wants to look old and flabby before your time?
11.) I think my mom is an amazing woman. She is the first person I call with any news, good or bad. She is the most selfless person I know. She has given so much of herself to be a good mother to me. She is an outrageously awesome grandma. She is crafty and detail-oriented. She has a great laugh. I wish I had her patience, organizational skills, capacity to sew, and calm, mothering nature. I can try but I will never be close to Dianne. Period.
12.) My dad is one of the funniest fucking people I know. He will say anything at any time in front of anyone. He is a great joke teller. He is socially charming and wonderful in a crowd. He is more popular than me at parties with my friends. I am grateful I gained my dad's sense of humor. He is also a great grandpa and a great friend. I love that my dad feels safe to confide in me. He is brutally honest but can be tender and insightful when I need him to be. I will never run out of stories about how my dad has made me laugh.
13.) I used to love going out to dance clubs. Who am I kidding? I STILL love it. Sultan and I met when we were in the height of our clubbing days. I love getting dressed up, I love getting attention. I think I am a bit of an attention whore as a matter of fact. Sometimes it frustrates me to run out of energy or hours of babysitter time and ruin my good vibe at a dance club. I know it's part of growing up. But I never want to act like the lame, dorky mom who uses her status as child-bearer to be just that....LAME.
14.) I enjoy vulgar humor. Physical humor--farting, belching, bodily functions--are all things that make me snort out loud. Check out Andy Samberg's "Jizz In My Pants" or his bit with Justin Timberlake and Beyonce in leotards. I enjoy the belching part in the movie Elf. I love the old "Oops, I Crapped My Pants" Saturday Night Live skit. I am not juvenile, it's funny as shit. If you don't think so you are too fucking uptight.
15.) I hate thong underwear. It's an old rant but I have spent my whole life trying to get my underwear OUT of my ass. When I try to wear ass-floss it makes my pants then ride up my crack. Who wants to see that?! That's not sexy. It's itchy. I have invested in several pairs of sexy boyshorts which I think are just as hot. Screw thongs.
16.) I really, really want to be able to dance hip hop. But my confidence blows. I think I'm a great ballet teacher. I just never learned hip hop when I was young. My feelings of awkwardness outweigh my desire to learn to dance like a superfly bee-otch. That sucks.
17.) I am in awe of women who can handle more than three children. It astounds me. There was a time I thought we would want three, even four children. But I was not blessed with much patience. At least I can recognize that. I believe I would be a lousy mother to any more kids. Does that sound terrible? I think I'm a decent, on some days even great, mother.
18.) I love sushi. I used to be the chicken teriyaki chick at the Japanese restaurant. I couldn't use chopsticks. Now I love that shit. Chopsticks, fish eggs, wasabi, sake, the whole bit. If I had to choose a last meal on this earth it would be sushi.
19.) I have a giant head. It does not fit in women's sized hats. The brims of an extra-large hat pinch me a leave a ring around my skull like a noose. If it not knit, it don't fit. Thank God for hoods.
20.) Lately I have been wondering how many more years I will want to teach dance. I enjoy it but the attention level and disrespect of students has been making me crazy. I have had nightmares about it. I think even 5 year-olds should have a basic knowledge of what is acceptable behavior. Trouble is their parents don't. I am starting to feel really burnt out. When the frustrations outweigh the enjoyment isn't it time for a change?
21.) I would do anything for my children. I sometimes yell and curse but I love them with all my heart. I would kill someone should any harm come to them. I see myself and Sultan in them. It is amazing to be a parent. I am so proud of my girls.
22.) I have asked myself lately, what really and truly makes you happy? The one thing I enjoy more than anything else in this world? Making people laugh. I think I am pretty damn good at it. I love hearing people laugh when I am telling a story. I love it when I hear people think my blog is funny as hell. I don't know how I could make this into a job or something that fulfills my soul. But it would be damn awesome if I could.
23.) I would piss myself if I could come up with some way to get my writing, what I have already done or what I have yet in my giant melon-like skull, published. I want this to be my future somehow. I don't know how or when but I see it as my destiny. (No, I am not smoking weed right now.)
24.) I loved sleepovers as a kid. I had lots of sleepovers with my cousin, Heather. We were such great friends growing up. I miss her. See, there's my nostalgia kicking in again! I hate it when my kids have them because they are whiney brats for two days but I know why they love them.
25.) I miss Grand Rapids lately. Every time I visit I remember things about my childhood. I know thinking about moving back is not realistic with Sultan's job. I know so many people who live there. It makes me sad I cannot see them all during the few visits we make each year. I sometimes bitched about it as being small town growing up but now I see its charm. I am one nostalgic bitch.
There, now you know 25 random maybe who-gives-a-shit things about me. Enlightened?
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Meat In Your Mouth
I am in awe over the radio ad for the new sandwich from Wendy's called The Baconator. I personally can't imagine in good conscience, eating a sandwich with two burgers, two slices of cheese, mayonnaise, and SIX strips of bacon. In one sandwich. And who orders JUST the sandwich? If you're gonna go for it, you know you'll get the Biggie Fries, too. But maybe you'll get the diet Coke because you wouldn't want to go TOO crazy. The irony in the ad is that the spritely young lady talking about the meat muffin makes it sound totally normal and healthy. In this day when such an enormous portion of the U.S. population is obese, is it really something to cheer over to get a sandwich with 6 strips of bacon??
I am not a huge fan of meat consumption in general. I grew up eating pork chops and beef pot roast and fried chicken. Anytime I ate beef I preferred to douse it in plenty of ketchup. I don't really care for the texture or color of beef or lamb. Too bloody. I was a vegetarian for about 10 years starting when I was 15. I had a friend in high school who didn't eat meat so it seemed like a great idea.I eat chicken and fresh fish primarily now. I hate ground beef. That's right, call me un-American, I do not enjoy hamburgers. You can see where my disdain for a meatloaf on a bun such as The Baconator comes from.
I bitch about fat issues a lot, I know. I don't know if it was from so many years of having to wear pale pink tights and a leotard or what. I have never, ever perceived myself as skinny. Even when I WAS skinny. Looking back I can clearly see I was demented. I hate feeling fat. I hate seeing any semblance of a double chin in photos. I think it's sort of a genetic thing. Every time I add 5 pounds to myself, three of them end up under my chin. I hate when my arms look fat in pictures. I have learned how to strategically place them so they look thin and muscular. I have crossed my arms in front of my stomach since I was 13 due to my insecurity about not having a flat, chub-roll-free tummy. I no longer weigh myself because it seriously pisses me off. I stand backwards on the scale at the doctor. I prefer to go by how my clothes fit, not that number I will always deem too high for my liking.
I suppose I've got some issues, some with food and some with weight. Everyone's got their hang-ups. These happen to be mine. I don't think they require therapy or medication, I think they might even be pretty common. I will not begrudge you if you love steak. But I won't be ordering a triple stack burger or a 12-pack of sliders from White Castle or especially The Baconator. I will stick with a grilled chicken sandwich or salad, hold the fries. If you invite me to your home and are serving beef, I will politely sample your entree. Just don't expect me to come back for seconds. I accept that I will never be a size 4 but I will also continue to ask that the nurse simply write my weight on my chart rather than announce it to me. But can I implore you, chipper Wendy's announcer girl, could you please quit sounding so damn jovial over your artery-clogging monstrosity? It's a heart attack on a bun. And there are some pretty dumb-ass people in America who just might be convinced there are essential vitamins in 6 strips of hickory-smoked bacon.
I am not a huge fan of meat consumption in general. I grew up eating pork chops and beef pot roast and fried chicken. Anytime I ate beef I preferred to douse it in plenty of ketchup. I don't really care for the texture or color of beef or lamb. Too bloody. I was a vegetarian for about 10 years starting when I was 15. I had a friend in high school who didn't eat meat so it seemed like a great idea.I eat chicken and fresh fish primarily now. I hate ground beef. That's right, call me un-American, I do not enjoy hamburgers. You can see where my disdain for a meatloaf on a bun such as The Baconator comes from.
I bitch about fat issues a lot, I know. I don't know if it was from so many years of having to wear pale pink tights and a leotard or what. I have never, ever perceived myself as skinny. Even when I WAS skinny. Looking back I can clearly see I was demented. I hate feeling fat. I hate seeing any semblance of a double chin in photos. I think it's sort of a genetic thing. Every time I add 5 pounds to myself, three of them end up under my chin. I hate when my arms look fat in pictures. I have learned how to strategically place them so they look thin and muscular. I have crossed my arms in front of my stomach since I was 13 due to my insecurity about not having a flat, chub-roll-free tummy. I no longer weigh myself because it seriously pisses me off. I stand backwards on the scale at the doctor. I prefer to go by how my clothes fit, not that number I will always deem too high for my liking.
I suppose I've got some issues, some with food and some with weight. Everyone's got their hang-ups. These happen to be mine. I don't think they require therapy or medication, I think they might even be pretty common. I will not begrudge you if you love steak. But I won't be ordering a triple stack burger or a 12-pack of sliders from White Castle or especially The Baconator. I will stick with a grilled chicken sandwich or salad, hold the fries. If you invite me to your home and are serving beef, I will politely sample your entree. Just don't expect me to come back for seconds. I accept that I will never be a size 4 but I will also continue to ask that the nurse simply write my weight on my chart rather than announce it to me. But can I implore you, chipper Wendy's announcer girl, could you please quit sounding so damn jovial over your artery-clogging monstrosity? It's a heart attack on a bun. And there are some pretty dumb-ass people in America who just might be convinced there are essential vitamins in 6 strips of hickory-smoked bacon.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Men and Their Toys
What is it about guys and their toys? Any gadget, car, electronic paraphenalia, boobie mag, grill accessory, or new joke---they just gots' ta' have it!!! I waited in our pick-up line at school today for the girls. Two cars ahead of me a police officer was in a Viper, yes a COP. He was eagerly having the principal, an extremely tall man, sit in the driver's seat. Because nothing is better than one man showing off his cool shit to another man. It's like playing the "I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours" game. Mothers were getting out of their cars to flirt shamelessly with Officer Studly. Then the elementary school band came out with their teacher. The police officer puffed his chest out a little further and popped his hood. A reporter from a local newspaper busted out her camera and notepad. Officer Hot Shit turned his lights on. I am surprised the principal did not rent a giant spotlight and the Village People for this little show. The gym teacher, another guy, came out and they all were just giddy with their manliness. I am surprised they did not start butting chests.
I am married to the ultimate gadget junkie. If it comes out next Tuesday he will find a way to get it at midnight Monday night, sometimes sooner. He is sort of known for that. And Lord help us when a new or upgraded version of his toy comes out.
Sultan: "Honey, would you like a digital camera?"
Me: "Yes, I would totally love one!!"
Sultan: "Okay, here's my old one I just bought myself a newer version!"
And I am supposed to pee my pants with joy over the hand-me-downs? A similar conversation came to pass when the new IPhone came out. Don't get me wrong, I love my (slightly used) digital camera and IPhone. They just weren't mine first.
Sultan used to have a Mustang. He got the engine all souped-up so it was extremely LOUD. The louder it sounds the bigger man you must be, right? It was so loud I could hear him two streets away as he drove from home for work. I cringed knowing the entire neighborhood could hear his Man Mobile daily. The guys on the street were probably jealous they were driving sensible sedans and not a Mustang. I wasn't allowed to drive his Penis on Wheels because I "couldn't handle it" without him in the car with me. Oh I didn't WANT to handle it. Ironically the only time I ever got to drive it was when I backed it out of the garage to pass it on to its new owner. I thought my days of loud cars were long gone. Wrong..
We visited the Volo Car Museum in Volo Illinois on the premise of a "fun family adventure". My internal red flags should have popped up but they failed me. We wandered around the museum, looking at cars from every era, all conveniently for sale with many zeroes on the price tags. We took silly pictures with the car from the Flintstones movie, The Dukes of Hazzard, Kit from Knight Rider, and a slew of other vintage automobiles. My honey had unknowingly done his homework behind my back. Tsk, tsk. He had to search with the help of a museum employee/sales hound through a few closed-to-the-public garages for his treasure. At last, with the obnoxious roar of three other cars to clear space for it, out came the red beauty. As soon as I laid eyes on it, even before I saw the punch-drunk look on Sultan's face, I heard that engine roar and thought to myself, "That's his car.." I have to admit, it IS a pretty little car. It is a cherry red 1967 Camaro convertible with white racing stripes. I am neither a gadget whore nor a car fan but it does make me smile when I take a ride in it. And that's just what we did. We all hopped in and cruised around the parking lot, even out onto the swerving country roads. I quickly figured out why my man, hell ANY man for that matter, likes to be seen in a sweet ride. Because everyone stares at you when you drive by. It is the ultimate attention-getter. We left with no car in possession but dreams in his head of That Car. I know it was merely a matter of time. A short while later, Sultan bought his little beauty. His buddies went back up to Volo with him and videotaped nearly the entire ride home. We are talking first time through the toll booths, pulling out from the parking lot, first time driving down our street and into the driveway. I guess it's a guy thing. It was like when we brought Sophie home from the hospital. There was that much awe and reverence over this car.
My hubby is currently playing XBox Live with his friend. They have Britney Spears-looking headsets on (oh yes they are...) and are talking smack/sharing tips over this headset. They are playing a pretty damn barbaric game, Gears of War. Once again, I don't get it. Grunting, swearing, screaming. If it wasn't for the blood and ridiculous weapons it sounds like they're trying to take a shit with each other. My husband just sliced some zombie soldier or alien or enemy asswad in half with a giant chainsaw/gun thing. A lightbulb went off in my head because he has a REAL-LIFE-SIZED one of these in his theater room downstairs. Resting next to his meticulous shelf of video game and Star Wars collectible shit. Let's just call it what it really is here..... ACTION FIGURES. There, I said it. My grown husband has a slew of action figures. I don't think he sits and plays with them but who knows? Another mystery in the world of males. In the words of Beyonce, that booty-shakin', mocha songstress, "But you're just a boy."
I am married to the ultimate gadget junkie. If it comes out next Tuesday he will find a way to get it at midnight Monday night, sometimes sooner. He is sort of known for that. And Lord help us when a new or upgraded version of his toy comes out.
Sultan: "Honey, would you like a digital camera?"
Me: "Yes, I would totally love one!!"
Sultan: "Okay, here's my old one I just bought myself a newer version!"
And I am supposed to pee my pants with joy over the hand-me-downs? A similar conversation came to pass when the new IPhone came out. Don't get me wrong, I love my (slightly used) digital camera and IPhone. They just weren't mine first.
Sultan used to have a Mustang. He got the engine all souped-up so it was extremely LOUD. The louder it sounds the bigger man you must be, right? It was so loud I could hear him two streets away as he drove from home for work. I cringed knowing the entire neighborhood could hear his Man Mobile daily. The guys on the street were probably jealous they were driving sensible sedans and not a Mustang. I wasn't allowed to drive his Penis on Wheels because I "couldn't handle it" without him in the car with me. Oh I didn't WANT to handle it. Ironically the only time I ever got to drive it was when I backed it out of the garage to pass it on to its new owner. I thought my days of loud cars were long gone. Wrong..
We visited the Volo Car Museum in Volo Illinois on the premise of a "fun family adventure". My internal red flags should have popped up but they failed me. We wandered around the museum, looking at cars from every era, all conveniently for sale with many zeroes on the price tags. We took silly pictures with the car from the Flintstones movie, The Dukes of Hazzard, Kit from Knight Rider, and a slew of other vintage automobiles. My honey had unknowingly done his homework behind my back. Tsk, tsk. He had to search with the help of a museum employee/sales hound through a few closed-to-the-public garages for his treasure. At last, with the obnoxious roar of three other cars to clear space for it, out came the red beauty. As soon as I laid eyes on it, even before I saw the punch-drunk look on Sultan's face, I heard that engine roar and thought to myself, "That's his car.." I have to admit, it IS a pretty little car. It is a cherry red 1967 Camaro convertible with white racing stripes. I am neither a gadget whore nor a car fan but it does make me smile when I take a ride in it. And that's just what we did. We all hopped in and cruised around the parking lot, even out onto the swerving country roads. I quickly figured out why my man, hell ANY man for that matter, likes to be seen in a sweet ride. Because everyone stares at you when you drive by. It is the ultimate attention-getter. We left with no car in possession but dreams in his head of That Car. I know it was merely a matter of time. A short while later, Sultan bought his little beauty. His buddies went back up to Volo with him and videotaped nearly the entire ride home. We are talking first time through the toll booths, pulling out from the parking lot, first time driving down our street and into the driveway. I guess it's a guy thing. It was like when we brought Sophie home from the hospital. There was that much awe and reverence over this car.
My hubby is currently playing XBox Live with his friend. They have Britney Spears-looking headsets on (oh yes they are...) and are talking smack/sharing tips over this headset. They are playing a pretty damn barbaric game, Gears of War. Once again, I don't get it. Grunting, swearing, screaming. If it wasn't for the blood and ridiculous weapons it sounds like they're trying to take a shit with each other. My husband just sliced some zombie soldier or alien or enemy asswad in half with a giant chainsaw/gun thing. A lightbulb went off in my head because he has a REAL-LIFE-SIZED one of these in his theater room downstairs. Resting next to his meticulous shelf of video game and Star Wars collectible shit. Let's just call it what it really is here..... ACTION FIGURES. There, I said it. My grown husband has a slew of action figures. I don't think he sits and plays with them but who knows? Another mystery in the world of males. In the words of Beyonce, that booty-shakin', mocha songstress, "But you're just a boy."
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wedded Bliss
If you tell me you absolutely never fight with your spouse, here's what I think....
You are a big, fat liar.
You are trying to appear like your family should be on the cover of Good Housekeeping.
You are drunk.
You are stoned.
Your spouse lives in another state and you see him once a month for some family time/booty call.
Your spouse is in jail.
You are retarded.
Your spouse is in a coma.
I fight with my spouse on occasion but it's usually for some dumb-ass shit. It's a blow-up scene, some yelling, a few "whatevers!!", walking off in a huff, then after an hour or two one of us says we're sorry and it's all good in the Ghahtani hood. There have been periods when we fought more often and the periods between "Up yours!!! and "I'm really sorry" were considerably longer. We are in a "happy place" right now. I'm good with that. Because despite what you would think if you hear me screaming at my kids in the morning to get their damn backpacks on and zip up their frickin' coats, I really prefer a peaceful house.
Why is the divorce rate in America so damn high? I think people get married and expect that diamond ring or that $50,000 big day to transform their relationship into something it never was going to be in the first place. The biggest problem I see with the Big Wedding Money Suck Job? The lavish honeymoon. You are high on life. You just had the most beautiful, special dress on your body you will ever wear. You had fancy food, a big cake, magical music, and all the friends and family you care about to watch you vow your life and love to anther person. You will never feel more beautiful or skinny. Then you fly off to fantasy La La Land to celebrate this union with nothing to do but drink alcohol, screw, and stare into each others' eyes. Then you return from 10 days in Honeymoon Heaven jet-lagged, dehydrated, and broke as shit. Welcome to reality, bee-otch.
I think we need a honeymoon revamp. I say we encourage a more rugged, no frills honeymoon. Rather than say, the Grand Hyatt in Maui, how about the Best Western in Aurora! Or better yet, let's make that lovely perfectly happy couple do some grunt work. A really tough job to help them bond, like a team. Building a house for Habitat for Humanity? Working changing bed pans in a nursing home for a week? Cleaning animal cages at the Anti-Cruelty Society? How about sleeping in a tent at a Walmart parking lot to hand out donuts and hot chocolate to weary shoppers on Black Friday? Think of the honeymoon as an adventure not unlike The Amazing Race. That show kicks relationships' asses, well if a relationship could have an ass.. It'll make or break you. I think if we keep it basic and not so glamorized, things might stand the test of time a little longer. Maybe.
I know there are no absolutes. I know couples who have eloped in Vegas and have been married many years. I have friends who HAVE done the big Hawaiian fantasy trip and are still together. I know couples who have gotten raging food poisoning on their tropical getaway and spent the whole trip lying in the bathroom, sharing the shitter with their sweetie. It depends on the couple. I think it is so much damn pressure to expect to live life on that high when you return to reality. Marriage is really tough, it's not easy, and it definitely isn't ever as pretty as your size 4 skinny ass in that Vera Wang dress at the country club. Do I make it sound like marriage is not worth it? It can be. Just don't expect your Peruvian maitre'd to hand you a Mai Tai before you throw your hubby's poo poo undies into your laundry.
You are a big, fat liar.
You are trying to appear like your family should be on the cover of Good Housekeeping.
You are drunk.
You are stoned.
Your spouse lives in another state and you see him once a month for some family time/booty call.
Your spouse is in jail.
You are retarded.
Your spouse is in a coma.
I fight with my spouse on occasion but it's usually for some dumb-ass shit. It's a blow-up scene, some yelling, a few "whatevers!!", walking off in a huff, then after an hour or two one of us says we're sorry and it's all good in the Ghahtani hood. There have been periods when we fought more often and the periods between "Up yours!!! and "I'm really sorry" were considerably longer. We are in a "happy place" right now. I'm good with that. Because despite what you would think if you hear me screaming at my kids in the morning to get their damn backpacks on and zip up their frickin' coats, I really prefer a peaceful house.
Why is the divorce rate in America so damn high? I think people get married and expect that diamond ring or that $50,000 big day to transform their relationship into something it never was going to be in the first place. The biggest problem I see with the Big Wedding Money Suck Job? The lavish honeymoon. You are high on life. You just had the most beautiful, special dress on your body you will ever wear. You had fancy food, a big cake, magical music, and all the friends and family you care about to watch you vow your life and love to anther person. You will never feel more beautiful or skinny. Then you fly off to fantasy La La Land to celebrate this union with nothing to do but drink alcohol, screw, and stare into each others' eyes. Then you return from 10 days in Honeymoon Heaven jet-lagged, dehydrated, and broke as shit. Welcome to reality, bee-otch.
I think we need a honeymoon revamp. I say we encourage a more rugged, no frills honeymoon. Rather than say, the Grand Hyatt in Maui, how about the Best Western in Aurora! Or better yet, let's make that lovely perfectly happy couple do some grunt work. A really tough job to help them bond, like a team. Building a house for Habitat for Humanity? Working changing bed pans in a nursing home for a week? Cleaning animal cages at the Anti-Cruelty Society? How about sleeping in a tent at a Walmart parking lot to hand out donuts and hot chocolate to weary shoppers on Black Friday? Think of the honeymoon as an adventure not unlike The Amazing Race. That show kicks relationships' asses, well if a relationship could have an ass.. It'll make or break you. I think if we keep it basic and not so glamorized, things might stand the test of time a little longer. Maybe.
I know there are no absolutes. I know couples who have eloped in Vegas and have been married many years. I have friends who HAVE done the big Hawaiian fantasy trip and are still together. I know couples who have gotten raging food poisoning on their tropical getaway and spent the whole trip lying in the bathroom, sharing the shitter with their sweetie. It depends on the couple. I think it is so much damn pressure to expect to live life on that high when you return to reality. Marriage is really tough, it's not easy, and it definitely isn't ever as pretty as your size 4 skinny ass in that Vera Wang dress at the country club. Do I make it sound like marriage is not worth it? It can be. Just don't expect your Peruvian maitre'd to hand you a Mai Tai before you throw your hubby's poo poo undies into your laundry.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Mushy
My mind is becoming soft. It has been years since I have sat down to watch morning TV. You know, those bullshit shows that rot your mind yet you can't turn them off. I recall when I had Sophie as a baby and we lived in Chicago. I stayed at home but had not yet been bitten by the workout bug post-partum. I watched Oprah and the View. I chatted on the phone with my mommy group friends ABOUT those shows. I am sitting on my couch, blanket draped over my shoulders, watching the View. I can't stand the hosts and their idiotic banter. Joy Behar's hair looks like orange, bouncy Froot Loops. Whoopi Goldberg is trying to use some sort of Brooklyn schtick accent to sound super-Jewish. Barbara is pumping up her interview with Patrick Swayze (airing Wednesday on ABC...). It is pointless drivel but am I turning it off. Hell to the no!!!!
I am all out of sorts. I am not able to work out (a topic which I am still debating whether or not to blog about..). I don't need to shop since Christmas is all said and done. I am sick of reading books. I don't have any more new magazines. I am trying not to snack because then my ass will become as mushy as my mind. I can't bend over or pick up anything heavy so I can't even put away Christmas stuff. Anyone wanna come help me? Fuck!!! What do I do??? Well, I turn the TV on, that's what I do. I love Food TV Network, TLC, MTV, E! Entertainment TV, HBO, FX, HGTV, Comedy Central, and Animal Planet. I also have an obscene addiction to my Facebook. I check my profile like it's a full-time job.
How do you know when you have been watching far too much television? When you can recite commercials by heart. Willie Mays has tried to sell me Orange Glo and Oxy Clean. I am getting my old gold jewelry together so I can send it in to Cash For Gold. I think I might shit better if I listen to Jamie Lee Curtis and her Activia yogurt ads. Do you want me to sing the Manwich jingle?? It's damn catchy! I can tell you more about erectile dysfunction, bladder control problem, osteoporosis, diabetes, and arthritis medications than a pharmaceutical company. I am wanting to adopt 57 animals thanks to Sarah Maclachlan's heart-wrenching ASPCA ads with her "Angel" song. Damn her and her soulful lyrics!!! I didn't know milk products came from California cows until recently.I even stole the idea for the Mastercard moment commercial with the Kleenex box and paper lunch sack before Sultan's big gift opening. Gee whiz, those Avon ads make it almost seem cool to sell that shit, too! I'm a sucker. A lazy, TV-addicted sucker.
I just switched the channel. Paula Dean is hypnotizing me with a stick of butter. Her sassy Southern accent is so damn charming, don't ya' think? She bats those false eyelashes at you, drops balls of doughy goodness into her built-in countertop deep fryer. Hhhmm, do I need to invest in one of those? That fried calzone looks a hell of a lot more scrumptious than that baked one. Just changed the channel again. Oooh! Keeping up With the Kardashians!!! And it's a MARATHON!! After mere minutes of watching this nonsense I realized a few things. Bruce Jenner is into plastic surgery like I'm into Facebook. His eyelids are so tight I don't think he can blink. All the girls on the show have names starting with "K". Kim, Klohe, and Kourtney all wear this think, Egyptian-esque black eyeliner. They all need to be tossed into a pool because when that crap melts off their face, they might lose their contract to be on E!. That family is a wealthy train wreck of drama. But it's like Us Magazine, it's hard to not at least peek at it.
Hhhmm, not what to do. I made my phone calls. Put my bills in the mail. Write some thank you notes. Grocery shopping is done. I am going to get off my duff and walk away from the TV. That's right, Molly, just WALK AWAY. ..Ohh, it sooo hard!! What might be on TLC next? Little People, Big World? Jon and Kate Plus 8? What about Talk Soup on E!? I think Giada De Laurentis might make some delicious and erotically charged past dish on Food Network!! (If you have seen the cinematography and way she shows her jugs in every shot you know what I mean.) Deep breath. More coffee. Remote in hand, button is OFF. Okay Molly, take a little time to enjoy the VIEW...
I am all out of sorts. I am not able to work out (a topic which I am still debating whether or not to blog about..). I don't need to shop since Christmas is all said and done. I am sick of reading books. I don't have any more new magazines. I am trying not to snack because then my ass will become as mushy as my mind. I can't bend over or pick up anything heavy so I can't even put away Christmas stuff. Anyone wanna come help me? Fuck!!! What do I do??? Well, I turn the TV on, that's what I do. I love Food TV Network, TLC, MTV, E! Entertainment TV, HBO, FX, HGTV, Comedy Central, and Animal Planet. I also have an obscene addiction to my Facebook. I check my profile like it's a full-time job.
How do you know when you have been watching far too much television? When you can recite commercials by heart. Willie Mays has tried to sell me Orange Glo and Oxy Clean. I am getting my old gold jewelry together so I can send it in to Cash For Gold. I think I might shit better if I listen to Jamie Lee Curtis and her Activia yogurt ads. Do you want me to sing the Manwich jingle?? It's damn catchy! I can tell you more about erectile dysfunction, bladder control problem, osteoporosis, diabetes, and arthritis medications than a pharmaceutical company. I am wanting to adopt 57 animals thanks to Sarah Maclachlan's heart-wrenching ASPCA ads with her "Angel" song. Damn her and her soulful lyrics!!! I didn't know milk products came from California cows until recently.I even stole the idea for the Mastercard moment commercial with the Kleenex box and paper lunch sack before Sultan's big gift opening. Gee whiz, those Avon ads make it almost seem cool to sell that shit, too! I'm a sucker. A lazy, TV-addicted sucker.
I just switched the channel. Paula Dean is hypnotizing me with a stick of butter. Her sassy Southern accent is so damn charming, don't ya' think? She bats those false eyelashes at you, drops balls of doughy goodness into her built-in countertop deep fryer. Hhhmm, do I need to invest in one of those? That fried calzone looks a hell of a lot more scrumptious than that baked one. Just changed the channel again. Oooh! Keeping up With the Kardashians!!! And it's a MARATHON!! After mere minutes of watching this nonsense I realized a few things. Bruce Jenner is into plastic surgery like I'm into Facebook. His eyelids are so tight I don't think he can blink. All the girls on the show have names starting with "K". Kim, Klohe, and Kourtney all wear this think, Egyptian-esque black eyeliner. They all need to be tossed into a pool because when that crap melts off their face, they might lose their contract to be on E!. That family is a wealthy train wreck of drama. But it's like Us Magazine, it's hard to not at least peek at it.
Hhhmm, not what to do. I made my phone calls. Put my bills in the mail. Write some thank you notes. Grocery shopping is done. I am going to get off my duff and walk away from the TV. That's right, Molly, just WALK AWAY. ..Ohh, it sooo hard!! What might be on TLC next? Little People, Big World? Jon and Kate Plus 8? What about Talk Soup on E!? I think Giada De Laurentis might make some delicious and erotically charged past dish on Food Network!! (If you have seen the cinematography and way she shows her jugs in every shot you know what I mean.) Deep breath. More coffee. Remote in hand, button is OFF. Okay Molly, take a little time to enjoy the VIEW...
Friday, January 2, 2009
Is It Time To Go Back to School Yet?!
I am presently arguing with my 8 year-old about why she needs to finish her dinner. She claims she is "so full I'm gonna puke!!". I think she's full of shit. See, in about 10 minutes our babysitter will be here. I tend to buy yummy snacks for our sitters---popcorn, chips and salsa, pull 'n' peel licorice, Pringles, soda. You get the picture. She know that those yummy snacks will be accessible as soon as we head out the door. I am so fucking OVER struggling over finishing meals. Screw it, eat a God damn bag of Jolly Ranchers, a whole can of Pringles, and 3 cans of Fresca. I am over giving a shit. Why is everything a fucking argument in my house!!!!????? I know, "Gee, Molly, you haven't even hit the teenage years. Just wait!" Yeah, I wait in eager anticipation like I await a full-body wax after growing my shit out for a full year.
Two weeks (plus one day thanks to a freak ice storm which made school get cancelled) is a really, really long time for kids to have completely unstructured days. I am so ready for school to be back in session I wish it started 3 days ago. Every morning the bickering gets just a little bit worse. It's like having a giant boil zit on your forehead. It starts as a painful underground spot that throbs but no you can't quite detect it's there yet. By the next day there is a little red mound that REALLY hurts. By day three it is bulbous and shiny and throbbing like when Tom and Jerry hit each other on the head with a large mallet. This is what I liken my two daughters' behavior to over the past few days.
Screaming..
Poking...
Hitting..
Tattling..
Yelling...
Arguing...
Sassing....
Talking back...
Having the last word...
Bitching..
Whining....
Calling me a liar, the worst mom ever, super mean, etc..
Wanna do a kid swap?
School will resume Monday. The girls have not only been staying up like they're rockstars (they're not, despite Sophie's current status in Guitar Hero..) but they have been sleeping in like them, too. I admit, maybe staying out with us on New Year's Eve till 2:30 was a bit excessive. Don't worry, it was at our friends' HOME not at Coyote Ugly downtown. We're not shitty parents. Just mean, lying ones. They slept in the next day till 11:40. Whoops. Now I need to sleep train them as if they were babies, getting them back on schedule. Easier said than done. With earlier bedtimes comes more whining, negotiating, bitching, moaning, and tears. This mom gig does NOT pay enough.
I am going to pack their damn lunches now and set those backpacks by the front door. They might not be ready to hit the books again but I sure as hell am!! Do you think I could just drop them off now with a sleeping bag and a couple of extra blankets?
Two weeks (plus one day thanks to a freak ice storm which made school get cancelled) is a really, really long time for kids to have completely unstructured days. I am so ready for school to be back in session I wish it started 3 days ago. Every morning the bickering gets just a little bit worse. It's like having a giant boil zit on your forehead. It starts as a painful underground spot that throbs but no you can't quite detect it's there yet. By the next day there is a little red mound that REALLY hurts. By day three it is bulbous and shiny and throbbing like when Tom and Jerry hit each other on the head with a large mallet. This is what I liken my two daughters' behavior to over the past few days.
Screaming..
Poking...
Hitting..
Tattling..
Yelling...
Arguing...
Sassing....
Talking back...
Having the last word...
Bitching..
Whining....
Calling me a liar, the worst mom ever, super mean, etc..
Wanna do a kid swap?
School will resume Monday. The girls have not only been staying up like they're rockstars (they're not, despite Sophie's current status in Guitar Hero..) but they have been sleeping in like them, too. I admit, maybe staying out with us on New Year's Eve till 2:30 was a bit excessive. Don't worry, it was at our friends' HOME not at Coyote Ugly downtown. We're not shitty parents. Just mean, lying ones. They slept in the next day till 11:40. Whoops. Now I need to sleep train them as if they were babies, getting them back on schedule. Easier said than done. With earlier bedtimes comes more whining, negotiating, bitching, moaning, and tears. This mom gig does NOT pay enough.
I am going to pack their damn lunches now and set those backpacks by the front door. They might not be ready to hit the books again but I sure as hell am!! Do you think I could just drop them off now with a sleeping bag and a couple of extra blankets?
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