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Saturday, April 20, 2013

So, Your Eggo is Preggo

This post isn't just for the preggos out there. If you're a woman, knocked up or not, there is much you can learn from/relate to here. (If you're one of those women who had the "perfect" pregnancy with no complaints, you can still learn from it. Also, I hate you.)

If you're a man, particularly one with a pregnant woman in your life, I beg of you, please read this. There is much you can learn from it. 

I will try to keep this brief because a pregnant woman's attention span, much like her waistline and sanity, goes out the fucking window. Also, I have a shit-ton of laundry to do. 

Here goes. 

You know that book What to Expect When You're Expecting? The one that every first time mom races to the store to get? Yeah, this one:

Well, they recently updated it because, well, I don't know who the hell that lady in the rocker is, but I'm pretty sure she's never had sex. This is the revised one:

Meh, it's a little better because I can be convinced that this was not an immaculate conception, but it's still way off. The woman SHOULD look like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Some sort of combination of these would be ideal, but that would only solve the cover problem. As for the information inside, it's pretty much as inaccurate as the pregnant virgin in the rocker.

If you bought this book, use it for kindling, to prop up the leg of a table, or to bitch slap the next stranger who touches your belly and tells you that you look like you'll pop at any moment even though you're only 3 months along. Other than that, the book is pretty fucking useless. I'm about to tell you everything you need to know about what it's like to be pregnant.

I would like to start with a disclaimer here: I have three children. I'm lucky that I got pregnant easily and that I was only pregnant three times and never miscarried. I'm lucky that they were all born healthy. Most importantly, I know that these things are true and that many women, unfortunately, cannot say the same.

That being said, I would like to talk about the reality of pregnancy. It. Fucking. Blows. People like to say it's a "miracle," "blessing," "gift from God," blah, blah, blah. Sure, it's scientifically pretty goddamn amazing, and I can't imagine my life without my children, but for most women, though many won't admit it, pregnancy is the worst. thing. ever.

Oh, the italicized sections below include my notes, advice, and basic orders for the non-preggos, both male and female. It's like Cliff's Notes, Lucy style. Also, just to make it easier, I will refer to any couple having a baby as "mother and father" or "husband and wife" though I obviously know there are several other options for these terms. I'm just tired and lazy, and SO FUCKING TIRED, so I'm gonna use those.

So, let's start at the beginning because, well, duh. 

If you managed to follow the directions on the pregnancy test while not urinating all over yourself and the bathroom floor, you found out that you're pregnant. You're either really happy or so, so NOT happy. Let's go with happy for the sake of this post, k? K.

Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations! Your first thought: "Cheeseburgers." Your next thought: "Holy fuck, I'm pregnant. I have to tell someone!" Then you tell someone. Sometimes it's the first person you see, sometimes it's your husband, sometimes it's a parent or a sibling. Bottom line, someone has to know that you're pregnant because you're so friggin' delusionally happy, and you're convinced that you need to say it out loud to another human being for it to be true. Keep this in mind: NO ONE WILL CARE ABOUT YOUR PREGNANCY AS MUCH AS YOU DO. I like to think that most fathers care a lot, but statistically, men don't form any kind of emotional attachment with their children until after they're born. It can even take weeks, sometimes months after that. The same is true for many women. It's just how shit goes down sometimes, and that's ok. So, if you think you're gonna get all kinds of attention throughout your entire pregnancy, think again. NO ONE GIVES A SHIT. People have been having babies for, I don't know, THOUSANDS OF YEARS. You are NOT the first woman to carry a baby, so while you kind of need to get over it, it's nearly impossible to do so because of everything else you will read below. I just wanted to give you fair warning so that you won't be so upset when people want to talk about something other than your baby bump. Sorry. It's just how it is.

As you read this, keep in mind that the ONLY thing that helps a woman get through the 10 months of pregnancy she has to endure is the knowledge that there will be, quite literally, a baby at the end of the tunnel. Yes, I said TEN months. That shit lasts 40 weeks, each week with its own set of horrors. Let's talk about those now, shall we? 

First of all, if you were taking any kind of medication before your pregnancy, for physical or emotional issues, you're pretty much screwed. Migraines? Sorry, try turning off the lights and TV. Debilitating allergies? Hey, here's a Neti Pot and a tissue. Mood stabilizers? Welcome to Crazy Town. Population: YOU. There is little to nothing you can do to ease the minor aches and pains of everyday life, let alone the awful ones, without the threat of an endless list of birth defects. So, suck it up, Buttercup. You're in it for the long haul.

If you know someone who is pregnant, your part is easy: Be nice. She's likely miserable and insane. Let her be miserable and insane.

You're also probably vomiting or at least nauseated all goddamn day. I don't know why they call it morning sickness because that shit starts the second you wake up and lasts into the night. If you're not generally a natural barfer, then you might even shove your own fucking fingers down your throat for just 10 minutes of relief. If you're lucky, sleep helps alleviate it, but so many pregnant women suffer from insomnia, that that obviously doesn't help. (Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations!)

Try going to work or taking care of your other kids when you're barfing every half hour. It's awesome. Think about the worst stomach flu you've ever had. Now have it for 3 months straight, sometimes longer. It's impossible to imagine, right? Women have to block this shit out of their memories in order to procreate more than once. Every smell is nauseating, even smells you normally love. Gravy, sautéed onions, perfume, books, coffee. OMG, coffee. My favorite smell ever was enough to make me hurl in Target once. I ACTUALLY VOMITED IN TARGET FROM THE SMELL OF COFFEE. 

When you're finally ready to taste food, you want the weirdest fucking things. Like tuna. You've been barfing non stop and the first time you think you want to eat something, it's tuna? AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO EAT TUNA. Friggin' shoot me.

Let's move on. So, a couple months go by, and you're either still barfing or you're ready to eat whatever crazy-ass thing your body is telling you it wants. Meanwhile, you pee every 15 minutes or so and you're either constipated or already pooping for two. Don't WILL wet yourself. Oh, and don't forget the gas. The constant. Fucking. Gas. It just comes out wherever and whenever the hell it wants to come out. Seriously, you could put your husband to shame. (Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations!)

You've reached the point when your regular clothes no longer fit, but you're not quite ready for maternity clothes. So, your choices are your PMS sweatpants/pajamas or maternity clothes that you're swimming in. You don't want to waste money on things you may only wear for a couple weeks, so you usually just go with what you have. Either way, you're a hot fucking mess. If it's your first baby, you either feel insecure about your puffy belly and try, quite unsuccessfully, to suck it in, or you to stick it out as far as you can so that people will *hopefully* be able to tell that you're pregnant with an actual baby, not a food baby.

I cannot stress this enough. I feel like everyone should know this by now, especially if you watch Seinfeld, but never, EVER ask a woman if she is pregnant unless you are 100% sure. It's better just not to ask at all. Unless she is pushing that thing out AT THAT MOMENT, just don't fucking ask.

Ok, so let's talk about the really fun stuff. By the 4th or 5th month, you're (even more) exhausted and starving because the little parasite in your uterus is quite literally sucking every ounce of every single thing that you are. You're too big to sleep on your back or your belly, so you're stuck on your side. This is fine if you're already a side sleeper, but otherwise, good luck with that.

I challenge a man to sleep this way every night for 40 weeks with a ball of growing size and weight under his shirt, pulling at his back and hips, and eventually literally kicking (KICKING!) his insides. You'd be uber cranky bitches everyday too, guys. Just sayin'. 

You'll start to feel the baby move around in there. If you're new to this, you either think every single slightly unusual thing happening in your body is the baby moving, or you won't notice it at all. Once you DO figure out what's going on, you're like, "What. the fuck." Then you feel it all the time. And it keeps you up at night. You start to worry when you don't feel it. Which also keeps you up at night. You may as well get used to the worry and sleeplessness because that shit gets sooooo much worse after the baby is born. You don't even KNOW. (Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations!)

Once it's pretty obvious that you're pregnant (although this often happens WAAAAAY earlier than that), people tell you what you should and should not be eating. They ask you how much you've gained. They offer unsolicited baby advice. They talk non-stop about their own pregnancies. They tell you what a blessing it is to be pregnant and that you should feel lucky.

SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. Unless you are her doctor who is concerned for a specific health reason, don't you dare tell her what she can and cannot eat. If she wants 3 orders of fries, just shut up, smile, and pass the damn ketchup. Don't even THINK about asking her how much she's gained or how much she weighs. IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS. Would you ask a non-pregnant person that question? No? Why not? BECAUSE IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS. I don't care how you are related to or know the preggo. DON'T. ASK. No one gets a pass on this. If she wants to volunteer the information, then fine. Otherwise, SHUT UP. She's self-conscious enough. Leave her the hell alone to suffer through it as best she can. You care and want to help? Ask her what she needs or wants. Don't offer her a fucking apple and a walk around the block. If she says she wants ice cream, get her a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Sundae and don't make a face. And she doesn't want to hear about baby gates, outlet covers, and drop-side cribs unless she asks you about them. She knows your pregnancy probably sucked too, and while misery loves company, YOU are no longer miserable. She currently IS. So shut up about your pregnancy from 15 years ago unless you have an absolute 100% scientifically proven cure for nausea that won't give the baby 9 heads. And of course she knows she's lucky to be pregnant. It's just hard to remember that when you feel like a enormous, gaseous planet that may somehow affect the actual orbit of the Solar System.  

Phew. Ok. End rant.

Where was I? Oh, right, the miseries...I mean joys...of pregnancy. Have we talked about what's happening in your nether region yet? No? Well, let's! Your vajajay and surrounding areas are probably super sensitive. I'm obviously not a doctor, but I'm just guessing this has something to do with all the extra blood flow happening below the belt. So, it's common for a preggo to be super horny and want crazy, constant, awesome sex. (I'm not sure if it's better to be this way or the opposite. I suppose that's a personal opinion, depending on how you feel about sex with your husband in general.) There are a few different ways this could pan out: 1.) You actually have crazy, constant, awesome sex. 2.) You have awkward, mildy satisfying sex that basically gets the job done. 3.) You attempt sex and realize there is just no way you can physically manage it without wanting to die. 4.) You are completely disgusted with your body and therefore will not even attempt it. 5.) Your husband is completely disgusted with your body and therefore will not even attempt it. (Fuck you, husband.) 

And no, guys, you will not poke the baby in the head with your dick. Don't flatter yourself. If she wants to have sex, but you feel weird about it for whatever reason, at least have a conversation with her. Straight up rejection is just NOT cool. 

(Yay, you're pregnant, congratulations!)

By the time you're in your 8th month (or much sooner if you're me), you can't see your feet or bend over without turning blue. Painting your toenails, tying your shoes, or dare I say it, shaving your bikini line are pretty much impossible tasks that leave you sweating and gasping for air if you attempt them. So, there you are, quite literally pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen, with a bush to rival that of a 70's porn star. So. Hot. Sure, you could go to the salon for a professional waxing, but because of all the blood flow and sensitively down there, the pain of a bikini wax during pregnancy is the equivalent of 30 minutes of bamboo fingernail torture. 

So, there's that. (Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations!)

Well, now you're almost at the end. It's been a long road of nausea, constipation, incontinence, diarrhea, exhaustion, incapacitating backaches, blinding headaches, confusion, butter fingers, too much or not enough sex, mood swings, insatiable hunger, and insensitive assholes EVERYWHERE. The baby is trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team in there, kicking your ribs, stomping on your bladder, and basically destroying you from the inside out. (Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations!)

Oh, and if you're lucky like me, you'll enjoy a huge needle of Rhogam in your ass cheek that insurance won't cover even though you and/or your baby could die without it or some shit. If you're REALLY lucky, you'll get gestational diabetes. Good times!

Don't forget, you still have to either push that meatloaf-sized baby out of a hole the size of a carrot or get sliced up and have it removed for you. Awesome.

So, to all of you current preggos out there: Yay, you're pregnant! Congratulations! (And sorry!) You can complain to me anytime about any friggin' thing you want. No judgment here. Pinky swear. Oh, and those of you knocked up with multiples should get a goddamn trophy of solid gold. Or chocolate. Totally up to you. Just let me know and I'll make it happen. 

To all of you former preggos: Your time has passed. Let her have hers. You know what it's like. So shut up unless she asks you for help. Knock it off with the judging, and for the love of all that is holy, she doesn't need to hear that you only gained 12 pounds with your pregnancy. She has every right to cunt punt you if you mention it.

To all of you who were never pregnant and are never planning to be (with the exception of pediatric doctors, nurses, therapists, etc.): Shut the fuck up about everything ever because you have no idea what the hell you're talking about. This goes for after the baby is born too. No one wants advice about children from someone who does not have them or work with them in a professional capacity. FACT. 

Phew. I think that about sums it up. You know, they really should have consulted us real world ladies for that book revision. That shit'd sold out in minutes and would be way more useful than the one with Virgin Mary Soccer Mom on the cover. Just sayin'. 

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

Apparently, we are shooting an episode for an 80's family sit-com...

RJ: "It's the Millellium Falcon."

Russ: "You mean MilleNNium Falcon."

RJ: "That's what I said."

[Russ and Lucy laugh briefly.]

Russ: "Say 'mill'."

RJ: "Mill."

Russ: "Enn."

RJ: "Enn."

Russ: "Ium."

RJ: "Ium."

Russ: "Millennium."

RJ: "Millellium."

[Russ and Lucy laugh again as they hug and kiss RJ.]

Theme music, fade out. 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

I Have More Issues Than a Pregnant Nun

A few days ago, while perusing Facebook, I glanced at the blue names of some folks who liked a post. The text was in Arabic, Russian, or some other language I don't know at all. I blinked, looked again, and it was in English. 

What. The fuck. 

I brushed it off as a Facebook glitch or a side effect of pure exhaustion. Then, it happened again this morning. There is obviously only one conclusion to draw here: I have a large, aggressive tumor that is attacking my brain and I am going to die. You know, 'cause that's the natural thought progression of a normal person. 

Man, I have issues. Now we can add brain cancer to the list. Seriously, though. What's wrong with me? On second thought, don't answer that. 

Carry on. Nothing to see here. 

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Don't Be Afraid to Ask for Help

You know how I recently decided to get my ass in gear and lose those few winter pounds I gained? Well, I've been going to the gym and pretty much eating better, but nothing's really happening. I feel like I know what I'm supposed to be doing, and I'm doing it, but nothing. is. happening. People say cut the calories, cut the carbs, watch the salt, stay away from fat, a calorie is a calorie no matter where it comes from, blahbitty, blah, blah, blah. I say none of that shit is working for me and I don't actually know diddly about what I'm supposed to be doing. 

I know, I was surprised too. Lucy not know something? C'mon. 

Anyway, I think I'm good on the exercise angle, but I need help in the food area. I mean, I know the basics about what I'm supposed to eat and not eat, but I get sick of eating the same crap over and over again. I get tired of veggies prepared the same way all the damn time, so I fall off the wagon and make a run for the border. Mmmm Doritos Locos...

I digress. 

While tempting because of promises of fast results, I don't want to take a bunch of supplements or drink meal replacements every day to lose weight. I need a life change when it comes to FOOD. Real food that you eat EVERY DAY. I can't afford to spend additional money on pills and drinks, even though I've seen folks reach their goals that way. I just can't keep that up forever. The way I see it, I'm already spending money on food, but apparently, it's the wrong food. I decided that I need help. 

Enter Zehra Rizvi

Through Facebook, I discovered that a high school friend, Zehra, is a health coach. She's always posting pictures of healthy, delish food she's prepared for herself that takes usually less than 10 minutes. After the first 3 or so posts I saw, I was like, "Umm, I need more Zehra in my life." I emailed her, she emailed back, and bada bing, bada boom, I got myself a health coach. We had our first session yesterday, and I gotta tell ya...I'm a wee bit excited. I have what I call homework assignments for the next two weeks before our second session. We talk via Skype because she's all fancy and in Europe right now. Lucky bitch. Kidding! Sort of. 

My work starts today. I call it "work" because I feel like I have a duty to myself and my body to treat it better. It's going to be tricky at first, but hopefully it will become easier and more automatic over time. I have a list of things to buy at the grocery store, most of it being fresh vegetables. Now, normally, I'd be all, "Goddamn it, enough with the fucking vegetables already." BUT, she has a bunch of recipes on her website to help me mix it up a little. I'm also going to make some hummus in my fancy schmancy NutriBullet and ratatouille in my crock pot. Maybe I'll even watch Ratatouille while I make it. Yes, I think I will. 

The change starts TODAY. I had my lemon water and used Stevia in my coffee instead of Splenda. Baby steps, people. Let's just hope I'm not heading to Taco Bell in my pajamas at 10 pm. It's been known to happen. Oh, who am I kidding? I make my husband go for me. 

Wish me luck!

Friday, January 18, 2013

"I'm on a Boat!"

"In my flippy-floppies!" Not really. But I'm gonna be, and so can you!

I'm giving away TWO FREE TICKETS to the Atlantic City Boat Show that runs February 6-10. 


Yup. Pinky swear. 

I got an email from a nice lady who asked me if I wanted to give away some tickets to the show on my blog. At first I was all, "Wait, is this more spam?" Then after some research and emails back and forth, I figured out it's totally legit. I'm gonna get a fancy schmancy media pass and two of you lucky folks get FREE TICKETS to the show. We can totally take our picture together if you find me while we're there. That'd be rad. For me, anyway. 

I know you're thinking, "I'm broke. I can't afford floaties for my kids let alone a friggin' boat. Why would I want to go to a boat show?" Well, as it turns out, they have ALL kinds of fun stuff for you and the kiddies to do, aside from buying a boat. Details are at the bottom of this post in the handy-dandy, most informative press release, but you can read more here too: AC Boat Show. It's not mentioned in the press release, but there is a Meet and Greet with Patrick Star. My kids are gonna lose. their. minds.

Oh, and kids under 15 are f-r-e-e: FREE. 

So, how do you win tickets? Well, that part is completely up to me, so let's do something fun, shall we? In order to be considered for tickets, you have to answer a question. If you're right, I'll put your name in a hat and let my kids pick the winner. We do things old school around here. Don't hate. Here's the question. It's super easy and indirectly related to Atlantic City. You ready? Here goes: 

In Monopoly, what's the prize for winning 2nd place in a beauty contest? 

Email me your answer by noon (12:00 pm EST) tomorrow (January 19) at No, I won't add you to a list to get a bunch of crappy emails every week, and I won't be giving your email address to any third party or some shit. Promise. Be sure to include your name so I know what the hell to write on the little piece of paper for the hat. If I pick your name, I'll announce it on my blog and email you back to get some more info from you. I won't be asking for your Social Security Number or first born. It's cool. 

Good luck!!

Oh, and here are some bits and pieces from the press release: 

The jaw-dropping Swampmaster Gator Show: Visitors with a wild side can watch as the   amazing expert alligator handler Jeff Quattrocchi catches an 8 ft., 200 lb. alligator at the thrilling, fun and educational Swampmaster Gator Show. Those brave enough to hold a baby gator can have their photo taken!  

Special Appearance by Captain Dave Marciano from National Geographic’s Wicked Tuna: Visitors can meet Captain Dave Marciano from National Geographic’s Wicked Tuna, who is Captain and owner of Hard Merchandise, a fishing boat that is the embodiment of the bluefin fishing industry in Gloucester, Massachusetts. 

Kids’ Create-a-Boat and Paddleboat Pool: Kids can take the helm at the show, with   opportunities to splash around the Paddleboat Pool; and build a nautical masterpiece— a one- of-a-kind vessel using pieces of wood, a little glue, and a lot of imagination at the Kids’ Create-a- Boat.

Go Fast! Miss GEICO and the P1 28SS Panther Race Boat: Visitors can catch a glimpse of these speedsters while they take a break from setting records and winning championships. The P1 Panther Race Boat is 28 ft. long and reaches speeds of 70 mph while on the water. Miss GEICO is a neon green catamaran missile powered by twin turbine engines that has splashed onto the racing scene and proceeded to demolish record after record and awe those unfortunate enough to race against her.

Enter to Win Big: One lucky show-goer will go home a boat owner by winning a 2013 Sea Hunt   202 Triton Boat powered by Yamaha F115XA outboard engine including a Load Rite Roller Trailer (valued at $41,000!). This prize is compliments of NJ Outboards of Bayville, NJ. Visitors can   enter at space C3 or in the Lobby of the show.

Become a better boater. Hands-on Boating Instruction and On-the-Water Experiences:
Those looking to build their skills in the offseason can do so with hundreds of hours of daily, free seminars, on-the-water learning activities, and advanced courses for experienced boaters. Visit the Show website for a complete schedule of educational offerings.

Fred’s Shed Interactive Learning Center: Visitors will watch, learn and do at Fred’s Shed, where certified marine technicians with more than 50 years of experience provide practical advice for maintaining boats and motors. Free daily demonstrations, discussions, and hands-on clinics make Fred’s Shed a great boating resource, covering topics like keeping your boat “ship shape,” installing electronics and maintaining gas engines.

Welcome to the Water Center: Beginner boaters can stop by the Welcome to the Water Center for straightforward answers to their boating questions and advice on finding a boat that best fits   their lifestyle and budget. Daily seminars include boat operation, boat financing, flotation devices, boating knots, navigational rules. The Boating on a Budget section will showcase   boats available for less than $250 per month.

Improve skills at the helm – Power Boat Docking Challenge: Visitors ages 16 and up can test their navigational skills in this exciting remote-controlled boat docking experience. Novice and experienced boaters alike will use a full size boat helm, racing against the clock while steering their craft down a 20 ft. “lake.”

Discover Saltwater Fishing Series: Visitors can catch the latest fishing tips and techniques from expert anglers at the Discover Saltwater Fishing Series, produced by the Recreational Fishing Alliance (RFA).

Premier Boating Workshops: Early risers are rewarded with three-hour interactive workshops offered by the Annapolis School of Seamanship on Friday-Sunday mornings before the show opens. The workshop fee (TBD) includes two tickets to the e show, take-away instructional items, a $25 gift certificate for classes at the Annapolis School of Seamanship, and the three-hour workshop. Topics include diesel fuel systems, docking, electronic navigation and marine corrosion.

Daily Boating Education Sessions, Hands-on Demos: Top local professionals from the Annapolis School of Seamanship will host informative and entertaining daily sessions that provide tips on modern navigation, handling onboard emergencies, getting a captain’s license, sailing and choosing the right boat.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

People Really Piss Me Off

So, the baby and I were in Shoprite the other day. (I call her "the baby," but she's almost 3.) Anyway, we were in the checkout line, and she started to get antsy. I shopped as fast as I could, distracted her with toys, and, yes, bribed her with promises of M & M's, but she was still about to lose it by the time we were ready to pay. She really just wanted to get out and walk, but it's a pain in my ass to bag groceries while trying to corral her. So, she started trying to stand up in the cart. We had one of those little race car carts. It's really just a regular cart, and the kid still sits in the seat by the handle, but they added some plastic, a design, and a couple steering wheels...

Voilà. Race car. Anyway, so she tried to stand up and I sternly told her to, "Sit." She slowly started to sit, but apparently it wasn't fast enough because not a second later, the cashier looked at her and yelled, "Sit!" 

Wait. What? 

Did that just happen? Did she really just yell at my daughter? 

I'm not even sure where to begin on this one. 

Now, I've seen this cashier before, and she is usually pretty nice, but there is something socially off about her, so I sort of let it go. I gave her one hell of a stink eye, though. I'm not gonna lie; I was hoping she would say something again so that I could rip her a new one. But I guess she decided my daughter was now behaving well enough that she didn't need to intervene. Whatever. 

Of course, the more I thought about it and replayed it in my head, the more pissed I got about the whole thing. How dare she? Not only did I have everything completely under control, but even if my daughter had been flailing her arms and legs around, throwing a total tantrum on the floor, when the hell is it ever someone else's right or responsibility to scold my child? Uh, that would be NEVER. Unless my kid is hurting you or your kid in some way, shut the hell up and move on. I'm guessing this woman doesn't even have any children. People without kids are almost always the first ones to point out what you're doing wrong. Well, guess what? I wasn't doing anything wrong. My 3-year was acting like a 3-year old. And I handled it. She wasn't knocking over shelves, cursing at strangers, screaming for candy, or trying to bite you. No need to call Super Nanny. She tested my limits by trying to stand up in the cart. I got this. So shut. the fuck. up.  

End rant. 

Phew. Glad I got that out. 

Monday, December 31, 2012

Dear 2013

Well, this is my last post for 2012 and possibly forever. It's been a pretty intense year. I thought 2011 was horrible, but I guess 2012 was like, "Screw that, I can be SO much worse."

Well played, 2012. Well played. Also, fuck you.

So, now I speak directly to 2013...

Dear 2013,

    While I look forward to meeting you with cautious optimism, there are some things I need to say before I toast your arrival. We're tired of it. All of it. We can't handle the drama, the senseless deaths, the ignorance, the storms, the violence, the hatred. We are SO done. I know I'll do my part and try my best not to screw it up in my little world, but I'll be watching you and the bigger picture. You and your promises of new beginnings and hope. Pfft. We've heard it all before and we've been let down. Hard. But, I'm willing to give you a chance. Be the year that turns it all around. For everyone. We sure could use a change around here.

    So, I'll be waiting for you on my couch, with my husband by my side and my children safely tucked into bed. I'll be thinking of all those people in the world who would do anything to have just that; a simple night at home with the people they love the most. And I'll be thinking of how I can make the next twelve months even just the tiniest bit better for as many people as I can. Help me out, would ya'? I'd sure appreciate it. See you soon.

Cheers to you,


Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Does This Make Me Look Fat?

    Recently a friend posted on Facebook that as an anniversary gift to her husband, she was going to shed a few pounds. I believe her words were, "I'm giving him less of me." I thought it was awesome and I'm totally doing it too. I understand that some women, maybe even most women, would be all, "Girl, he should love you just the way you are, blah, blah, blah." And I only sort of agree with them. I mean, it's nice to be loved completely and unconditionally, but it's also nice not to have your husband look at you and wonder where the hell the woman he married went. It's nice not to feel insecure when you see your husband checking out the other women at the office Christmas party. I know my husband looks at other women. I have no problem with it. Sometimes I'll try to figure out which one he thinks is the hottest, just for shits and giggles. Sure, they're often thinner than me with huge tits and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Who cares? SHE'S HOT. How can you NOT look? It's normal, ladies. Relax. It doesn't mean he loves you any less. If you caught him with her in the bathroom at said party, then, sure, you can go ahead and freak out. I'll help you kill them both. That's an entirely different story. 

    I see nothing wrong with trying to look your best for your husband, boyfriend, significant other, etc. I think you should also do it for YOU, but if it's a motivator that your husband will be happy about it too, then even better. I'm not saying you should ever compromise who you are or try to be something that you're not. That's also an entirely different story and one that I'm not a fan of. I'm just saying that I don't see a problem with trying to make your spouse happy by making yourself look good. Sometimes it's as simple as taking a shower and getting out of your goddamn pajamas once in a while. 

    When I ask my husband if I look fat, if my hair looks bad, or if my outfit is terrible, I want the truth. Some women want to hear that they look fantastic no matter what they look like. Sorry, but I'd be pissed if my husband let me leave the house looking like an asshole. He'll never stand there and say, "Yeah, you look enormous. Take that off." But he will say something like, "Eh. You've looked better." Or "Maybe those jeans are working a little too hard." And I'm not even a little offended because he's often right. I may disagree or not care, but at least he was honest. And I'm grateful for that. I don't need or want him to blow sunshine up my ass. That's not helpful to me. I also don't constantly ask him how I look. That's what mirrors are for. He's just my second opinion. Sure, I'm often insecure about my body, especially after having three children, but I try not to bother him about it too much. (Try.)

   So, I wish the best of luck to my friend in her efforts to give her husband less of herself, as I try to do the same. (I also cyber high-five her husband for marrying such an awesome woman.) I realize this may annoy or offend some women out there and I only sort of understand how. So, if you find this annoying, offensive, or otherwise wrong, I'd like to hear why. I don't think like most women, so this sort of thing often fascinates me. And while you're working on your hate mail, I'm going to throw away all of my Halloween candy. 

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Check Out The Plumage On That Guy

Can we talk about online dating for a minute? OK, so, I think it can be a pretty cool way to meet people, especially if you're a little shy or just don't have time or money to go out a lot. But what I don't get about some people who choose online dating is how they completely deceive you about their appearance. Let's be honest. The first thing that attracts you to someone is his or her physical appearance. We're human. We're animals. We are essentially here to mate and make more humans. Mother Nature is no fool. You think the male peacock would choose to look like that unless it helped him get laid? I'm guessing no. 

Now, I understand how you would want to use a more flattering picture of yourself for your online profile, but I don't understand why you would choose one that really looks nothing like you. What do you expect to happen? "Oh, hey, I know! I'll post a really good picture of myself from five years ago taken at an angle that happens to make me look hot. Then he'll write to me and ask me out. Then, when we go out, he'll be so dazzled by my personality that he won't even notice I look NOTHING like I do in that picture and that I'm actually not hot at all. Perfect!" 


Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that only good-looking people should date or post their pictures. That's just stupid. I'm saying that you should not misrepresent yourself. If you're blonde, post a picture of you with blonde hair. If you usually wear glasses, have them on in the picture. If you've put on a few pounds, post a recent photo. Who gives a shit?! That's what you look like. Own it. If you were in a bar, you'd want to catch someone's eye who likes how you actually look. The rules don't change because you're at your computer instead of a bar. I'm just sayin'. 

That doesn't just go for your physical appearance either. You should never, EVER lie about the things you enjoy doing just to get a date. You know the girl who is afraid of heights but tells the guy that she loves bungee jumping? Yeah, she's an idiot. That's just a recipe for disaster. My husband, a football coach, knew since the day he met me that I would rather blow a clown than watch a football game on TV. He would probably also rather blow a clown that go to karaoke with me. But it's cool because we were open about all of that from the beginning and we never misrepresented who we are. Who cares if you don't enjoy ALL the same things? I don't even think that's possible. 

Anyway, not to get all cheesy and lame, but if you find someone you like, don't compromise who you are so that he or she will like you back. It's a complete waste of time and emotion for everyone involved. I feel like this should be totally obvious logic, but apparently it's not because I hear stories from my frustrated friends about crap like this all the time. It's not that hard, people. Be you. If he or she doesn't like you for you, fuck 'em and move on. Well, don't ACTUALLY fuck 'em. I mean, I guess you could, but you know what I mean. Either way, protect yourself. 

This has been a public service announcement. 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Duking It Out

    The other day I got the PTA paperwork for my son's school. I filled it out, being sure to follow all the directions, and returned it immediately. Normally, I would attribute such anal retentiveness to my OCD, but this time it was different. For those of you who may be unaware, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: When it comes to the PTA, there's this intense, unspoken competition among stay-at-home moms, battling it out for positions. It's so weird. Even though we're all super busy with kids and part time jobs and whatnot, there HAS to be time for the PTA. For some parents, just volunteering here and there is enough. But for crazy moms like me, it's so not. Some folks just bring a bag of red and green M&M's to the holiday party and call it a day. But there is a large group of us who can't and won't settle for that shit. We have to PLAN the party. Make the snacks. Choose the activities, decorations, and paper products. Delegate jobs to other moms and threaten their replacement if their duties are not fulfilled. Be in on all the action. Get the teacher's cell phone number! It's quite ridiculous, really, yet I'm a willing and committed participant. I live for this shit and I won't go down without a fight. I would be the best Room Mom ever. I could also kick most of the other moms' asses if need be. Just sayin'. 

"Who's running the bake sale? Say it!"
"You are."
"I can't hear you!"
"Yeah, that's what I thought, bitch." 

Friday, September 14, 2012


Or something. 

I wrote my first post a year ago today, so I thought that would make this my first anniversary, or blogiversary, or whatever cutesy word people use for this sort of thing. Not unlike my 100th post, I thought this one should be...special. Also not unlike my 100th post, I have no idea how to do that. 

I figured a lot of you don't bother scrolling back to read my older posts, so just for shits and giggles, I decided to choose my favorite one from each month and post them here. I'm sure you don't give a shit, but it's all I got today, so deal with it. (Some of the pictures are probably still friggin' missing, and I don't want to hear it. I'm working on it.) 

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

"I'm Going to Crunch You Into Little Tiny Pieces"

Yesterday I posted a short video on Facebook of the kids in the minivan. There was yelling, crying, laughing, kicking, etc. They sang the words "best day ever" over and over again, and Luke told Caroline he was "going to crunch her into little tiny pieces" a few times, which made her cry. (RJ was pretty quiet in the back, which is unusual.) Then there was more laughing, singing, yelling, and crying.

It was only one minute long, and it was enough to make most people want to rip their hair out and/or drink heavily.

This. Is. My. Life.

Don't get me wrong, I love my life and I'm super lucky to have what I have. But sometimes Mama just needs a goddamn break. And I love that other moms get it. I was dropping RJ off at school yesterday and the aid noticed that I didn't have the other two kids with me. She asked me where they were and I told her my mom was watching them because I had an appointment at the dentist. She laughed and said, "Enjoy your little break! Isn't it sad that even a trip to the dentist is like a mini-vacation?"

Yep. She gets it.

That half hour I spent at the dentist was the equivalent of a day at the spa in my world. Hell, peeing without interruption is like friggin' Christmas vacation. People still tell me I'll miss this when they're older, yadda, yadda, yadda. Yeah, we'll see.

I remember when I first left teaching to be a stay-at-home mom. I wasn't due until November, so I got to enjoy most of my pregnancy over the summer without having to work. I was essentially a housewife. My OCD was in full force and 100% satisfied. The house was always clean, the laundry was done, the bills were paid, etc. I had no one to take care of during the day except the lil peanut in my belly. And it was glorious. Now? Now I have three kids needing my constant, undivided attention as they alternate between states of euphoria and devastation. (I'm lucky if I have time to brush my teeth, let alone clean the house.) Everything in their little minds is either the best or the absolute worst thing in the world. There is rarely an in-between. Seriously, what is that about? They'll be laughing and singing one minute, and literally screaming and crying the next. Then back to the laughing again. It's like a bad movie scene in a mental institution. Or a cartoon. Or both. Holy crap, that's it. I run the Bikini Bottom Insane Asylum.

Jesus. I just summed up my life in those seven words. And now I need a shot.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Kindergarten Blues

Today is my eldest son's first day of kindergarten. And I'm a friggin' mess. He's fine, but I'm a disaster. Yesterday I freaked out for a minute because I thought I got the dates confused and that he missed his first day of school. Not only did he not miss his first day of kindergarten, but my meltdown occurred around 10 am, and he is in the afternoon program, which doesn't start until 12:30. I freaked out anyway. Because I'm insane. Everything is fine now. Except that I have to take him to school in like four hours. He's been to preschool for two years now, but there's something different about kindergarten. It's bittersweet. It's awful and wonderful all at the same time. I'm so proud and happy that he's growing up the way he's supposed to, but I want to freeze him just the way he is. Last night I made sure his little bag was packed with all the supplies the teacher requested and I labeled everything with his name. 

I may or may not have cried a little. 

Shut up.  

My husband likes to bust my balls by saying things like, "He'll be off to college before you know it." Ass. This coming from a man who is planning to come home for lunch today so that he can be here to see his 5-year old off to kindergarten. Don't let him fool you. He is mush when it comes to our kids. Mush, I tell you. 

They're probably going to have to pry my son out of my arms when I drop him off today. I'm totally going to be THAT mom. I'm sure his teacher is wonderful and that he's going to have a fantastic day full of songs, crayons, and snacks. I'm also sure that tomorrow will be much easier for me and that I will likely look forward to when they're all in school and I can get a break. And maybe pee alone. 

But today is a different story. I'll have to take my other two kids out for the afternoon to distract myself and make the time go faster. You can't tell when someone's crying if she's wearing sunglasses, right? 


Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Blog About The Blogologue About The Blog

Or something.

In case you missed any of my 5,649,427 tweets about it, one of my posts, Meet Tori, was featured in the Bogologues show this month in New York. Yup. That definitely happened. I swear. I was there and I saw the whole thing. I even have photographic evidence.

Here I am with one of my therapists in the cab on the way to the show. I was slightly giddy.

The giddiness was growing as I posed outside the theater. I wanted a picture, but felt like an asshole just standing there next to the trash cans. I did it anyway, 'cause, well, why not?

The giddiness increased at an alarming rate after I found my name in the program.

I was like a 12-year old girl at a One Direction concert when we made it to our seats. An eruption of giddiness. Once the show started, we could NOT stop laughing. I don't know much about stage performances, but from where I was sitting, this one was seamless. The actors were amazing and absolutely hilarious. I think I laughed for an hour straight. They performed blog posts, Craigslist ads, tweets, Facebook posts, and Texts From Last Night. And I was honored to be a part of it. Let's not even discuss the level of giddiness that ensued when "A Little Lucidity" popped up on the backdrop screen as they began to act out my blog post. EEEK!

A good time was definitely had by all. A friend was even proposed to during the show. "Yes!"

Then she changed her mind. D'oh!

I got to meet the actors after the show and snapped a picture with some of them. Giddiness was still in full force.

Front left to right: Wendy Joy (played me)  Alli Gold, me, Jen Jamula (played Tori)
My friends were troopers as they put up with me and my crap all night. (My brother was there too, but he took the picture.) 

Aaaaand there he is!

The good times continued through the wee hours of the morning with drinks, meats and cheeses, and bar bocce. I vaguely recall some Twizzlers too. And lots of walking. Oy, the walking. So glad I had the foresight to bring a bag big enough to hold my heels. I swapped those bad boys out for flip-flops at about midnight. Aaaah. I'm still a little giddy from it all, and if that's my 15 minutes of fame, I'm totally cool with it. And I promise, I'll stop talking about it. Eventually. 

A HUGE thank you to the folks at Lively Productions for including me in their show. Blogologues will be back on October 25 with an election/Halloween-themed show, followed by a health and fitness one starting January 17. I'm hoping to make it back up there for at least one of them. They. Are. Hilarious. Clickety-click to find them on twitter and Facebook. Cheers!