Monthly Archives: January 2008

once bitten, twice shy

i know i bitch a lot about my son, but when the princess was little she could wreak her fair share of havoc. like at daycare when she took her friend’s hair bow into the coat closet and cut it up into little pieces with her safety scissors.

princess was also the object of some unwanted attention in the form of being the designated bitee of one playmate named powell. powell was a bad biter and princess would come home almost weekly with a bite on her arm that had broken the skin. as you can imagine, i was terribly upset and spent quite a bit of time screaming discussing this with the center’s staff and demanding that they do something. then one day i got the following phone call at work.bite.jpg

me: hello?

daycare center: uhh, mrs. X? we’ve had a small situation here at the center.

me: (dear sweet effing lord what now?) yes…

DC: well, we’re not exactly sure how this happened but some of the kids were playing and things got a little rough and somehow… princess bit powell on the penis.

me: *crickets*

DC: hello? mrs. X?

me: what?! how did this happen? was he wearing pants?

DC: yes, it was over the pants.

me: (relieved and stifling giggles.) so is… *everything* ok?

DC: well, his father is coming up to check it out.

me: wait, so you haven’t even LOOKED to see if he’s ok?

DC: well, there are privacy issues here.

me: please help me to understand this. you have been changing this boy’s diaper since he was 3 months old but NOW you can’t check to see if his penis is bleeding?

DC: well, he’s older now.

me: he’s two.

DC: when his dad gets here he will check it out.

me: do i need to come down there?

DC: no. we’ve filled out an incident report. you can sign it when you come after work.

ok. i’m thinking, so my daughter finally retaliates after being mercilessly chomped on for months and the area she picks is his junk. nice job. after ascertaining from the center that powell was fine and the inspection by his father had yielded no evidence of any kind of teeth marks, i tried to piece together what happened.

me: so tell mommy EXACTLY what happened. i’m not angry.

princess: well, me and robert and powell were playing kitty cats…and we were all being kitty cats…

me: yes…

princess: and we were rolling around on the floor…and then someone sat on my head…and so i bit them.

me: thank you baby for telling mommy the truth. run along and play. (bwahahaha!)

THERE. you see, a PERFECTLY reasonable response to having someone plop their ass down on your head.

and we never had a problem with powell ever again.

all you did was wreck my bed (with apologies to rod stewart)

when i was growing up, sessie and i shared a room with two twin beds, complete with classic 1970s matching bates corded bedspreads in pepto bismol pink. i think every kid in america had these bedspreads growing up. they sold them through the sears catalog and they were available in a myriad of colors. bates.jpg

personally, i wasn’t so fond of them because they were kinda thin and scratchy and if you sat on the top of the bed for a while, you got the cord indentions all over the backs of your legs. but my mom loved them because they were indestructible and machine washable.

there was also someone else in the house that loved them. our freak-ass cat. we were always bringing home stray cats, which mom would sneak off to the ASPCA while we were at school, but for some reason, mom relented and let us keep this one, and we named her maggie, after the rod stewart song “maggie mae.”  maggie mae was kind of a crazy bitch and the song lyrics couldn’t have turned out to be more prophetic.

maggie had a bunch of issues, as most strays do, but there was one in particular that’s forever burned into my brain. when sessie and i were at school, maggie would go into our room and get up on our beds and drag her cat junk across the covers and leave kitty skid marks all over the bedspreads.

unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, because the bedspreads were pink, it was completely apparent what maggie had been up to, and sessie and i would scream and mom would come running and take them off and wash them. sessie and i just assumed that maggie had discovered that the ribbing on the spreads was an excellent source of kitty charmin or that it just made for a good butt scratching.

kudos to johnny over at 15 minute lunch, however, for solving this long-standing childhood mystery. it appears that all maggie needed was a good anal gland expression and she had discovered all that corded nubby goodness was doing the trick. 

apparently, this is not an uncommon problem for house pets and your vet is more than happy to relieve you of $30 a pop to perform this service. i say, invest the $19.95 for the current twin version of the spread and you’re all set.

it’s official. i’m hot.

eff, i love the internet. i think i’ve finally found the antidote for my suppressed adult ADD. as long as the web continues to exist, blog fodder will never be in short supply.

here’s the most recent source of my amusement – hot or not. i was bored so i decided to put my picture up just to see what would happen. in about eight hours i got the following in a email:


“whoa!” i thought. apparently, a certain percentage of 192 voters agree. i’m hotter than 98% of the women on this site.

before i allowed any of this go to my head, i decided to check out the other talent. after viewing a few profiles i decided 9.8 was not that much of an accomplishment, considering this was about my closest competition (scoring a 9.4) who i managed to beat without resorting to homemade porn shots.


also, it probably didn’t hurt that i listed my age as 99, or that i am genetically female, because i’m pretty sure these three are smuggling grapes in their vanity fair’s smoothing, supporting, non-binding tranny panties. these guys scored 5.5, 6.1, and 9 (holy crap!) respectively. but you can’t fool me, guys. man hands will give it away every time.

              not3.jpg  not2.jpgnot4.jpg


ok, now to address the haters.

who the eff voted me a 1? this is seriously screwing up my average and now, it’s personal. so i’m asking my *ahem* devoted readers to help me out. go here and vote for me at hot or not and make it count.


guitar heroine?

there’s a new video game in town. it seems like everyone i know has gotten guitar hero III – my neighbors, coworkers, colleagues. joan.jpgeveryone is talking about it and the competitiveness is getting bad – and i’m not talking about the kids. the other day a conversation i was having about it with a friend quickly deteriorated into this:

me: oh, i love GH III. i got it for the kids but i’ve been playing it too.

b: me too.

me: level one is WAY too easy. i skipped to level two and i’ve already beat it!

b: oh yeah, well, i skipped level two and i’m on level THREE cos i didn’t want my orange button to feel neglected!

me: no way!

b: way!

seriously, the popularity of this game has gone beyond the usual target audience for video games and even adults are playing it. and i think the explanation is simple. who didn’t want to be in a band when they were younger? even during my dorky marching band days, i would dream of being joan jett or lita ford, rocking on stage, which was a lot sexier than honking on a clarinet.

so, i picked up an old guitar and learned how to play a few chords but never got much further than “cum bah ya” on the six string. but now, with GH, i have the ability to make with the rock on the guitar-shaped controller. every time the kids turn the game on they exclaim, “mommy! you got us some new songs!”

this game is awesome. there’s no PROFANITY and no hidden SEX scenes, and no one is SHOOTING anyone,  and it is just plain FUN. so i was completely floored recently when i heard someone dissing it. at a restaurant the other night, we were seated next to a large table, headed up by some blowhard who felt entitled to loudly express his opinions to everyone at his table and to anyone in earshot. in addition to letting everyone around him know that he was an attorney (which will get you killed in some parts of texas), he loudly proclaimed that GH was a terrible game and that it was giving kids the false impression that they were really learning how to play the guitar. all the members of his party bobbed their heads up and down and murmured their agreements. my kids just looked at me.

lita.jpgdude…it’s a GAME. and you probably bought it, but you suck at it. admit it, you wanted to rock when you were young but you were probably in the latin club instead. you obviously were never in a band (or in BAND for that matter) because nobody in their right mind thinks this is REAL guitar playing. even slash got hooked on this game while touring, because it helped him unwind after an evening of thrashing. was he offended? no. did he get incensed because he thought it was infringing on his turf? no. it was just a game and he liked it, and kept playing and playing until he beat the damn thing (level two only, not expert – i feel in good company) and then he decided to endorse the effer because he thought it was so great. so there. geez. go back to practicing something you might know something about and shut the eff up. if it’s good enough for slash, it’s good enough for me.

so anyway, i am trying to work my way through level three (i hate the orange button) and have even read that there’s a duet challenge dubbed the “joan and lita award” but i haven’t found it so far.

i can’t wait. i’ll have to find another mom in the neighborhood to jam with me.

stuck in the middle (ages)

here it comes again. it seems like i have just gotten over the holidays and then BAM! every single year – it’s my birthday. so this year, i’m having one of those milestone birthdays. i’ve actually already had some milestone birthdays and most of them i’d like to forget. there was the one that my ex-boyfriend threw. he held a surprise party for me, complete with “you’re old now” gag gifts and black balloons. and i was only 30. needless to say, i did not end up with him…actually he hasn’t ended up with anybody. coincidence?

when i was younger, i loved having my birthday. i loved having a party, and getting presents and being the center of attention if only for one day. i guess in theory, i still enjoy people wanting to make my day special…just don’t ask me how many days it’s been. it’s funny how just a few years can make such a difference.cake.jpg

take boobs for example. until only recently i had what some might consider a fairly spectacular rack. gravity and two pregnancies have conspired against me, however, i can still incite envy in some of my girlfriends and still manage to turn heads at the hardware store, so it’s not completely hopeless. they say the best offense is a good defense. and in my case, i’d say the best defense is a good brassiere. so between me and victoria’s secret, we’re managing to perpetuate the illusion of youth and perkiness with relative success.

so maybe that’s what’s bothering me. in spite of my best efforts, and strategically engineered underwear, i still can’t stop what’s happening to me. i’m middle-aged…and there’s nothing i can do about it. but there are some things i can do. i will defy expectations and preconceived notions and live my life the way i want to.

  • i will have long hair and it will be blond. forever. 
  • i will sport cleavage until people begin to snicker and point.
  • the words “age appropriate clothing” do not exist in my vocabulary. i will continue to shop at forever XXI and abercombie & fitch, because i can. the only people who say older women shouldn’t shop there are the haters that can’t fit into the clothes.
  • i will flirt with the slacker counter boys working at starbucks near my office.
  • i will wear tank tops and shorts during the summer and have tan legs.
  • i will wear a bikini to the beach.
  • i will revel in the fact that older women have more character, humor, intelligence, and sexiness that any 20-year-old girl could possible hope for.
  • i will love myself and my wrinkles – at least until my regular botox injections begin.

so, i’m going to accept what’s happening, but i’m not going to take it lying down. i’m going to fight it every step of the way. and i’m going to win. and when i walk down the street, and hear “wow! there goes a great-looking older woman!” i’ll accept the compliment graciously and with pride.


i’d like to thank the academy…

blogging is something i’ve only recently discovered and i do it mostly to amuse myself.  however, i luv it when people find and read my blog, so i am just beside myself because of this!

someone over at the wall street journal wrote an interesting article titled “putting privilege into perspective” which discusses how many children today are given so much, so early that it perpetuates a fake rich lifestyle. and at the very bottom of the page was this:


and what’s so amazing is that i only wrote it yesterday and this was up by last night. how does that work?

i’m not sure to be flattered or insulted (maybe i’m a perpetuator) but this is awesome!! apparently someone wants to read me, besides me.

merry xmas to all now shut the $*&% up, part 2

we spent christmas at disneyworld, as i had promised. i know when i was a kid, this would have been the penultimate holiday experience. the magic kingdom is exquisitely decorated and there are parades and light shows that will rival any griswalding that takes place in my neighborhood. so you think my kids would be ecstatic about being there, right? my daughter was having a great time, but apparently i was just bothering and irritating my son in an attempt to make a magical christmas for him (except for the gratuitous ordering of room service), and to show his displeasure he made every attempt to sabotage any commemorative photos of our HAPPY trip. 


“gee. now that a professional photographer is taking our picture, this looks like a good time to pick my nose.” 


“i hate all of you.”


“i’ll ride on this, but i don’t have to like it.” 

seriously, i was about ready to strangle him. but instead, i just did this:


problem solved!

i did however, manage to get a fake smile out of him for this one.


santa seemed a little peeved to be recognized and a little jet lagged after his busy night, but he did graciously pose with the kids.

cheers and jeers

on new year’s eve, my husband and i elected to stay in and drink some wine that we have been storing in our wine refrigerator. my husband is an occasional wine connoisseur and has amassed a fairly impressive collection over the years.

my husband has connections to football royalty. his best friend is a guy we affectionately call “mr. peter.” mr. peter is the nephew of the owner of a major-league southern football team and various car dealerships located across the southwest united states.  i don’t want to completely give it away, but this team’s fan’s were once reduced to wearing paper bags over their heads to conceal their identities during their lean years. you figure it out.

mr. peter and my husband became friends during high school and their friendship has continued to this day, much to my dismay. they were each other’s best man (twice apiece). mr. peter is a middle-aged peter pan who grew up with everything handed to him on a silver platter and could probably have any woman he wants, but he continues to prefer the company of woman with really big boobs and strippers. this should tell you something.

when i married my husband, mr. peter came as a package deal. don’t get me wrong, i like mr. peter OK and he has been a very good friend to my spouse, but he himself, is a terrible husband. but he is generous, amusing, and generally has some pretty interesting stories to share.

so as we uncorked and drank our grape juice, my hubby asked if i’d like to hear an amusing story about the wine we were drinking.

one time mr. peter and my husband had gone to chicago with his uncle for an out-of-town game. the pregame dinner was located at a prestigious restaurant where many fine wines were served.

the owner of the restaurant approached mr. peter’s uncle as they were seated. the owner began chatting and said that recently, one of football team’s players, rickey jackson, had visited their fine establishment. the player said he wanted to order some of their finest wine.

after perusing the wine list and not finding anything to his liking, he called for the sommelier and stated, “yeah, do you guys have the wine with the two dudes?”

apparently there was some confusion on the part of the staff who were probably convinced he was talking about ernest and julio gallo, until someone brought this to the table:


 “yeah, that’s it! the two dudes!” he exclaimed.

i guess ponying up a couple hundred dollars for a bottle opus one is easy when you forego your child support payments for say, 11 years.