I made a deal with myself to keep writing on this blog because my brain is always reeling with stuff, usually shallow meaningless stuff, but I wanted to keep writing. But unfortunately my life the last couple weeks have prevented me from having the time and inspiration to write at all. But I've wanted to bitch, and I have A LOT to my friends and I can only imagine they are sick of hearing the same BS day in and day out. So why not use this medium to bitch about my problems. Yay!
I am leaving on "vacation" tomorrow for over 3 weeks. 24 days to be exact. 24 long days. Why am I calling it a "vacation" with quotes? Because... I get to fly across the country to a different state with tropical weather and sandy beaches and blue waters. Sounds fabulous, right? Sounds like a real vacation. But there's a "catch". I'm flying across the country to the state with tropical weather, sandy beaches and blue waters to spend time with my in-laws. My in-laws are decent people. I like them probably because they do live across the country. But they are, after all, my in-laws. And, I'm taking my kids. And as every stay at home mom knows there is no such thing as a vacation with kids because all it means that there is no vacation--we are just doing the same damn things we are now just in a different place. Someone who works for Intel doesn't bring their clean suit with them on vacation so they can assemble microchips do they? No, they don't. Stay at home moms have to do our jobs everywhere, all the time, on vacation or not. Grrr...
Anyway, because of this "vacation" I've spent the last 2-3 weeks stressing on what to bring for me and my kids for 23 freakin' days. 23 days! Because my husband doesn't give a shit about what to bring for them. Packing for him is a few t-shirts, a couple of shorts, boxers and socks and he's good. He doesn't understand what I go through everyday keeping these kids happy and clean and clothed in semi-clean clothes. And here's the kicker my lovely mother-in-law believes we should bring the bare minimum. She suggested I don't bring make-up or jewelry. She suggested I leave all my "fancy" soaps and lotions at home because I won't need them on "vacation". Doesn't she know I need that stuff?? Earrings makes me happy. Smelling like honeysuckle, gala apples and stephanotis makes me happy. Covering up the massive string of acne brought on by this stress with my make-up WILL MAKE ME HAPPY! Does she want me to be a miserable bitch the whole time? Because I will. If I can't have my earrings, lotion and make-up I will be a miserable bitch. Add that to the fact that I'll already be miserable having to deal with my sweat hog devil spawn children and my husband who remakable turns into a child himself whenever his mother is around. Why can't I have these little things that make me happy? Geez...
*Deep breath*
After three days of doing laundry without stopping, attending 2 birthday parties in 2 days, saying goodbye to my sweet puppies as we dropped them off at the kennel, and trying and failing miserably to make responsible lists so I don't forget anything, I'm left sitting here the night before we leave feeling exhausted and unmotivated to do anything but bitch to you all who choose to read this and feel sorry for me. Because I know you do, right? You feel sorry because I'm going to miss my favorite television shows the next few weeks. You feel sorry that my plane is landing in the city of happy-happy-joy-joy and I don't get do enjoy any of it (do you know how expensive Disney World or Universal Studios is? Daaaamn!!). You feel sorry that I have to spend 23 days on "vacation" with my uber-perfect mother-in-law who thinks jewelry, make-up and scented lotions are of the devil and shouldn't be brought onto any plane going anywhere.
The good thing? My father-in-law likes to drink beer. Lots of it. And he, or my MIL for that matter, don't look down on me at all if I choose to drink too. My brother-in-law makes a mean mojito and my husband--believe it or not--makes the best margaritas north of the border. Can you feel where I'm going here? Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. My "vacation" is really 23 days of child care and I could spend most of it intoxicated.
Now, to make my night so much better I'm going to watch this video (for the 100th time) and get happy and remember there are beautiful things in life. Beautiful, tattooed, guitar playing things that were put on this earth to make me happy. Oh yes. (Even the still of the video makes my heart skip a beat!)
BTW, the hotness really starts at about 2:07 in. Just for those of you who like to get down to business quickly. ;)
I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have occured. I claim no ownership to my bad English skills. I blame my junior year English teacher who felt it necessary to give me a D only because she didn't like me, forcing me into Remedial English my senior year at which that teacher ask me "Why are you in this class?" And quickly promoted me to College Prep, then to AP. Ha! Take that teacher of which I don't care to remember your name!
I also claim no ownership of the show The Voice. That is owned by NBC. I also claim no ownership of Adam Levine, although I wish with every pore of my body I did own him and those guitar playing hands were mine.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
While You Wait
I've been trying to write a post--but life has decided to butt in and not let me do anything I want to do like nap all day, drink coffee, and take more naps. We went away for the weekend which produced so many dirty clothes, and such a mess in a house we were even in that I've had to focus on that. And the laundry monster residing at the top of my stairs has quadrupled in size preventing me even entering my own bedroom. She's a total bitch, a mean, angry selfish bitch.
Anyway, over the weekend, while diddling with my new iPad I was reading Twitter and saw Jesse Carmichael from Maroon 5 tweeted about this app and told everyone that we'd be happier if we used it--or something to that effect. I'm not one to jump at something just because someone said I should but since I have this new iPad and I'm new the this whole app thing, I thought I'd at least check it out. And my God! I am so glad I did. It's called Younicorn and it is such mindless silly fun, especially when you're up very late trying to get two devil children to sleep, and your exhaustion has completely taken over your brain you can't think straight any more and suddenly unicorn horns are the funniest things you've ever seen in your life.
If you go to the website, I guarentee you my pictures aren't as cool. But these are the most appropriate (read: only one's that I can share that don't show my husbands crotch or other unflattering body parts of mine) to share.
Oh no, monster kitty is going to eat me!!!
You thought I wasn't magical. And yes, I am happy to see you!
I told you, the devil children will rule the world some day.
Try it out. It's fun! And Jesse was right, I am happier after I used it! Now back to taking more inappropriate pictures because really... that's where the real fun is!
Anyway, over the weekend, while diddling with my new iPad I was reading Twitter and saw Jesse Carmichael from Maroon 5 tweeted about this app and told everyone that we'd be happier if we used it--or something to that effect. I'm not one to jump at something just because someone said I should but since I have this new iPad and I'm new the this whole app thing, I thought I'd at least check it out. And my God! I am so glad I did. It's called Younicorn and it is such mindless silly fun, especially when you're up very late trying to get two devil children to sleep, and your exhaustion has completely taken over your brain you can't think straight any more and suddenly unicorn horns are the funniest things you've ever seen in your life.
If you go to the website, I guarentee you my pictures aren't as cool. But these are the most appropriate (read: only one's that I can share that don't show my husbands crotch or other unflattering body parts of mine) to share.
Oh no, monster kitty is going to eat me!!!
You thought I wasn't magical. And yes, I am happy to see you!
I told you, the devil children will rule the world some day.
Try it out. It's fun! And Jesse was right, I am happier after I used it! Now back to taking more inappropriate pictures because really... that's where the real fun is!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Good Support Is Always Needed
You thought this was going to be about bras, didn't you? Ok, so lets talk bras for a few moments. Yes. It's important to have a good supportive bra. And if you find one that's cute too--even better! But we all know--ok, maybe not all of you but all of us larger breasted women know that finding a cute bra that is supportive is near impossible. Either it's supportive and you look like Madonna circa 1991:
or it's cute and everyone is suddenly calling you Sloppy Tits.
Like I said, finding a cute supportive bra is near impossible to find.
Disclaimer: Madonna can rock the cone boobies anytime she wants. As a matter of fact, she's the only one who should ever rock them. As for the second photo, that's courtesy of the show Jerseylicious. I didn't want to put the girls face on it to save her, well, face. But if you watch the show, you know who it is. That girl's boobs are always sloppy. And for the record, I love this girl, she brings the drama to the show like no one else.
But that's enough about bras. This post was not supposed to be about bras, cones or sloppy tits. It's about the kind of support every girl (whether you wear a bra or not) needs. I'm talking about the support of other women who support your craziness, your bad habits, your good habits, and who will sit and listen to you for hours if you need to complain about your spouse or kids or the fact that you've had the same hangnail for three days and it hurts too much to cut it off.
Right now, I have three of those kinds of women in my life. I have a lot of good female friends whom I've maintained friendships with throughout the years but these women have been there for me through thick, thin, fat, skinny, crazy and utterly depressed. And I'd like to tell you about them.
First there is Erin. I met Erin, believe it or not, playing World of Warcraft. I used to be a casual/hardcore (read: hardcore but only casually, 3 days a week) raider back in the day and so was Erin. I can't tell you exactly how we became friendly but I imagine it was because one of us made a snarky comment about someone else. Imagine my joy that I found someone as cynical and annoyed as I am! Then, lo and behold I discovered Erin was as big of a whore as I was too. She had her own celebrity crushes and our friendship flourish as we talked about hot guys. Then we talked about our spouses, then my kids, then everything else. Erin is my "rational" friend. She's my PhD friend too. She's working on her PhD right now so I always say she has it, because I know some day soon she will. I know I can count on Erin if I ever need rational insight on raising my kids (her masters is in psychology--I imagine she felt like she hit the jackpot meeting me), or my husband or anything else I might be having issues with at the moment. We'd talk about that, then conversation will always--and I mean always--turn to hot guys. It's the glue that keeps us together. She's my whore and I'm sure if you ask her, she's pretty proud of her whore status.
Then there is Michelle. Gosh, I love this woman! I also met Michelle playing World of Warcraft. But unlike Erin who lives in Southern California, Michelle lives here in Oregon very close to me. And she married to a techy guy... like me. And she has two kids...exactly the same age as mine. And she gets overwelmed with her stay-at-home status... just like me. Everytime we meet up she is wearing an outfit... identical to mine. If I didn't know better, I'd say God made Michelle, forgot to throw away the mold then made me. We are so much alike it's scary. But for some reason, I used to think Michelle was a little too straight-laced for me. My humor is really off-color and sometimes raunchy. There was no way this sweet woman could ever share the same humor as me too. It all changed the night we decided to go to the movies and she said to me "I kind of want to see 'The Hangover.'" I said, "Really? Me too!" and we saw it on a whim. She laughed just as much as I did and I knew I found a kindred spirit. Now, two years later we have pretty much seen every raunchy comedy released along with every girly movie released and I can always count on her to take me away for one night--for just a few hours--and make me forget that my children are actually spawns of the devil.
Last and certainly not least is Marcy. I met Marcy when I was 10 years old and she tried to steal my boyfriend. Or I tried to steal hers... it's all a little hazy. But I distinctly remember sitting on a blue beanbag with him in the middle and me and Marcy flanking him. Sounds weird right? Ok, it is weird. But despite that, the boy moved away later that year and Marcy and I became best friends. And remember in the 5th or 6th grade when you said to your best friend "You're going to be my best friend forever!" Well, with Marcy and I it stuck. We have been best friends FOR-EV-ER. Since those years of sharing boyfriends in the 5th and 6th grade I moved, she moved and we have never lived in the same city again. Our friendship continued with letters through Jr. High and High School. Then phone calls after. Then right after my 21st birthday I drove to her house and saw her for the first time in 10 years. Since then we've been closer then we ever were. Why is all this relavent? Because it is. Because like I said, we've been best friend FOR-EV-ER. Twenty six years after the bean bag incident Marcy and I still talk on the phone daily--several times a day. She knows every detail about my life, I know every detail about hers. She's been there as I cried into the phone because I wanted to run away from my life and give it all up. I was there when she cried into the phone for the same reason. We've talked each other into loosening the death grip on the knife we were clutching because we were going to murder our husbands (it's a metaphor, ya'all, I've never literally held the knife ready to kill. I would be more clean about it. Stabbing someone is messy and I don't want to clean that shit up too.) We've also spent hours upon hours on the phone giggling about the stupidest stuff to the point neither of us could breathe. Marcy is my best friend. She's my family.
Obviously, I love my friends. I don't tell them enough how much I love them--and I tell them all the time. I truly hope other women out there have friends as good as mine. At least one. I'm lucky enough to have three.
I'm going to sign off this post before I get anymore sappy. I think I need to go to iTunes and purchase "That's What Friends Are For" or some other sappy friend song and cry myself a river. Or go to bed and have another shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal dream. Come to think of it, iTunes has enough of my money, I can never have enough Jake Gyllenhaal dreams. If you don't think so, go watch "Love & Other Drugs" and I promise you'll change your mind. That man looks damn good naked.
or it's cute and everyone is suddenly calling you Sloppy Tits.
Like I said, finding a cute supportive bra is near impossible to find.
Disclaimer: Madonna can rock the cone boobies anytime she wants. As a matter of fact, she's the only one who should ever rock them. As for the second photo, that's courtesy of the show Jerseylicious. I didn't want to put the girls face on it to save her, well, face. But if you watch the show, you know who it is. That girl's boobs are always sloppy. And for the record, I love this girl, she brings the drama to the show like no one else.
But that's enough about bras. This post was not supposed to be about bras, cones or sloppy tits. It's about the kind of support every girl (whether you wear a bra or not) needs. I'm talking about the support of other women who support your craziness, your bad habits, your good habits, and who will sit and listen to you for hours if you need to complain about your spouse or kids or the fact that you've had the same hangnail for three days and it hurts too much to cut it off.
Right now, I have three of those kinds of women in my life. I have a lot of good female friends whom I've maintained friendships with throughout the years but these women have been there for me through thick, thin, fat, skinny, crazy and utterly depressed. And I'd like to tell you about them.
First there is Erin. I met Erin, believe it or not, playing World of Warcraft. I used to be a casual/hardcore (read: hardcore but only casually, 3 days a week) raider back in the day and so was Erin. I can't tell you exactly how we became friendly but I imagine it was because one of us made a snarky comment about someone else. Imagine my joy that I found someone as cynical and annoyed as I am! Then, lo and behold I discovered Erin was as big of a whore as I was too. She had her own celebrity crushes and our friendship flourish as we talked about hot guys. Then we talked about our spouses, then my kids, then everything else. Erin is my "rational" friend. She's my PhD friend too. She's working on her PhD right now so I always say she has it, because I know some day soon she will. I know I can count on Erin if I ever need rational insight on raising my kids (her masters is in psychology--I imagine she felt like she hit the jackpot meeting me), or my husband or anything else I might be having issues with at the moment. We'd talk about that, then conversation will always--and I mean always--turn to hot guys. It's the glue that keeps us together. She's my whore and I'm sure if you ask her, she's pretty proud of her whore status.
Then there is Michelle. Gosh, I love this woman! I also met Michelle playing World of Warcraft. But unlike Erin who lives in Southern California, Michelle lives here in Oregon very close to me. And she married to a techy guy... like me. And she has two kids...exactly the same age as mine. And she gets overwelmed with her stay-at-home status... just like me. Everytime we meet up she is wearing an outfit... identical to mine. If I didn't know better, I'd say God made Michelle, forgot to throw away the mold then made me. We are so much alike it's scary. But for some reason, I used to think Michelle was a little too straight-laced for me. My humor is really off-color and sometimes raunchy. There was no way this sweet woman could ever share the same humor as me too. It all changed the night we decided to go to the movies and she said to me "I kind of want to see 'The Hangover.'" I said, "Really? Me too!" and we saw it on a whim. She laughed just as much as I did and I knew I found a kindred spirit. Now, two years later we have pretty much seen every raunchy comedy released along with every girly movie released and I can always count on her to take me away for one night--for just a few hours--and make me forget that my children are actually spawns of the devil.
Last and certainly not least is Marcy. I met Marcy when I was 10 years old and she tried to steal my boyfriend. Or I tried to steal hers... it's all a little hazy. But I distinctly remember sitting on a blue beanbag with him in the middle and me and Marcy flanking him. Sounds weird right? Ok, it is weird. But despite that, the boy moved away later that year and Marcy and I became best friends. And remember in the 5th or 6th grade when you said to your best friend "You're going to be my best friend forever!" Well, with Marcy and I it stuck. We have been best friends FOR-EV-ER. Since those years of sharing boyfriends in the 5th and 6th grade I moved, she moved and we have never lived in the same city again. Our friendship continued with letters through Jr. High and High School. Then phone calls after. Then right after my 21st birthday I drove to her house and saw her for the first time in 10 years. Since then we've been closer then we ever were. Why is all this relavent? Because it is. Because like I said, we've been best friend FOR-EV-ER. Twenty six years after the bean bag incident Marcy and I still talk on the phone daily--several times a day. She knows every detail about my life, I know every detail about hers. She's been there as I cried into the phone because I wanted to run away from my life and give it all up. I was there when she cried into the phone for the same reason. We've talked each other into loosening the death grip on the knife we were clutching because we were going to murder our husbands (it's a metaphor, ya'all, I've never literally held the knife ready to kill. I would be more clean about it. Stabbing someone is messy and I don't want to clean that shit up too.) We've also spent hours upon hours on the phone giggling about the stupidest stuff to the point neither of us could breathe. Marcy is my best friend. She's my family.
Obviously, I love my friends. I don't tell them enough how much I love them--and I tell them all the time. I truly hope other women out there have friends as good as mine. At least one. I'm lucky enough to have three.
I'm going to sign off this post before I get anymore sappy. I think I need to go to iTunes and purchase "That's What Friends Are For" or some other sappy friend song and cry myself a river. Or go to bed and have another shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal dream. Come to think of it, iTunes has enough of my money, I can never have enough Jake Gyllenhaal dreams. If you don't think so, go watch "Love & Other Drugs" and I promise you'll change your mind. That man looks damn good naked.
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