end of an era

it’s thursday people. THURSDAY. i have somehow managed to make it all the way to thursday without making one single person shoot a hot beverage out their nose. i apologize for my extreme failure.

~sigh~

so. i was bored last weekend. i finally decided there was nothing better to do than clean my house. which made me realize i don’t like the way my furniture was arranged. which made me realize: it must be time for new furniture. so i bought some. it’s being delivered tomorrow. so i’m taking the day off. might as well, right? mostly, i will be spending all of tomorrow being completely inappropriate with my new chair. can you say PERFECT. READING. CHAIR.? seriously. i think this chair may be every book whore’s wet dream. which i happen to be. and it is.

so. getting new furniture means getting rid of old furniture. which is actually sad. see, the couch i have now is the last remnant of my divorce. which i could actually care less about…i wasn’t married long enough to be too attached any memories there. what it IS attached to however is memories of my little spawn. the couches were bought RIGHT BEFORE he was born. we decided that having a baby meant we needed to upgrade from my college futon to REAL furniture. so we picked out what turned out to be the MOST MAGICAL couch and love seat. i actually have to warn people when they come over: sitting on these couches for any extended length of time WILL put you to sleep. it’s what they do. perhaps because i broke them in the right way- after the spawn was born i wasn’t allowed to nurse him in bed at night (don’t ask..one of MANY stupid rules. oy vey.). so spawn and i spent basically the first 9 months (til we moved out) sleeping all snuggled up on the couch together. some of the sweetest baby memories E.V.E.R. awww…now he’s all growed up and a smarty pants (he’s discovering his sense of humor now…funniest. thing. ever. to watch).

besides the small spawn memories, i have to think of all the COULD HAVE BEEN small spawns. yes, i’m sure there are millions of aborted babies on that couch. (like you didn’t know this was coming…it’s thursday people). and i can honestly say: none of the aborted babies on the couch would have been mine. looking back, i honestly can’t remember one time of being all freaky deaky on my couch…there had to have been once…seven years…hmmm…depressing. that means even if there WAS an instance, it wasn’t very memorable. double depressing.

apparently, however, that couch is THE après spot for everyone else that has ever been to/stayed over at my house. odd. there have been several nights where i decided i REALLY DIDN’T need a drink of water from the kitchen…no need to interrupt the animal planet re-enactment going on in my living room.

so. tomorrow is the end of an era. good bye to my old couch and love seat. hello to my new lovely modern couch and chair. good bye aborted babies. hello cushions with no mystery spots.

the titanic, the hindenberg, and the train running over a small puppy: recap

ok kids. you knew it was coming: sunday night date = monday morning blog. OH YES I AM. grab your popcorn, your coffee, your booze (made it tolerable for me) and snuggle up to hear the tale:

so. i was SUPPOSED to go out saturday to coffee. life happens, plans change, we were able to rearrange for sunday evening. now. let me first say this is my first REAL date in well over a year. the last time was drinks at the illinois tavern with a guy (which never expanded into a second date). before that? umm…i’d have to say 2007…elvis…before we shifted into being friends that go out occasionally. let me again say: i’ve been OUT several times, but always with clearly defined friends (several long and fucked up stories there). i haven’t had the first date: is he going to like me, could i DATE him, is there a chance of this going to a second date? jitters in a LONG time. so. to sum up: i haven’t been sitting at home rotting for the last few years, but i also haven’t been “dating”.

curtain open: sunday night: post street ale house:

**back track: i met this gentleman (he really was chivalrous) on plentyoffish.com if you haven’t checked it out, don’t waste your time. i signed up after a friend did. let’s just say…~sigh~…plenty of options for men, NONE. ZERO. ZIP. NOTHING. for women. unless you happen to like complete douche bags that want to “hang out” at 11 at night and have an affinity for texting you…well, let’s just say it’s odd to be introduced to ALL of someone before you’ve even met them. i’m not a prude by any means but holy hell men. NO. just NO.

so. i emailed a bit with this fish and agreed to meet for drinks. like i said, fish was a gentleman. stood up when i arrived, opened doors, offered his coat when we were walking back to the cars after dinner. very chivalrous and polite and nice. hhhhmmm…what can i say now…hmmm….was he interesting? hmmm….good question. did he carry on a conversation? hmmm…. was he witty and humerous? hmmmm… did he respond to EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. THING. I. SAID. WITH. HMMMMMM?? yes. every. single. thing. for THREE HOURS. and i have to say: i did not crack ONE SINGLE JOKE for three hours. i TRIED. but it’s hard to joke when you say something and the response is HMMMMM. LEARN A NEW FUCKING WORD. and maybe it’s a cultural thing…i don’t know. he was born and raised in japan (dad: american navy, mom: japanese) so maybe that’s the culture in japan…i don’t know. never been there. maybe that’s their way of showing that they heard you and are considering it before they respond. i have no clue. i DO know that it is a conversation killer. any guy readers: want to kill a bad date? start saying HMMMM after she says ANYTHING. (also a fun game: come up with questions that hmmm…would be a HORRIBLE response to. does this make my ass look big? hmmm… do you take this woman to be your wife? hmmm… was it good for you? hmm… seriously…hours of endless fun).

so. we’re at the post street ale house having STRAINED conversation, but not TERRIBLE. and he asks if i’ve had dinner yet. now a SMART cookie would BAIL at this point. lie, say yes you have. say you have to get home to put the kids in bed on a school night. say your left peg leg is chafing and you need to go home and take it off. SAY ANYTHING BUT THIS: no i haven’t, are you hungry?

~sigh~

i totally blame my well documented obsession with air force boys. tell me you’re a boy in blue and you automatically get extra outs (although for being stationed at fairchild, he had NO CLUE all the different things that this base actually does…real air force? or pretend? hmmm….).

so. we walked over to luigi’s for dinner. which…SCORE…luigi’s…YUM. it’s the chubby bunny in me. i can’t help it. now, here’s one thing i forgot to mention about fish: he’s a looker. not as in ROWR, can i lock you up as a sex slave for the next week, but as in WOW…do you need to look at my boobs one more time or are you good for the next 5 minutes? and it’s not just the boobs. it’s everything. he looks at everything. but your eyes. multiple times. not so great for conversation. and he, of course, did this to the waitress too. now i GET IT. i know guys check out chicks. I KNOW THIS. but on a FIRST DATE? you can’t contain it for ONE EVENING? the rest of the time it’s fine. i get it. hell, let me know which one you think is hot and i’ll compare point ratings with you. but on a first date? and to pull the whole MULTIPLE LEERINGS?

~sigh~

so. dinner. MORE strained conversation. more awkward conversation changes because IT’S FUCKING UNSETTLING when everything you say is met with hmmm… did i say something wrong? have i offended you? are you not interested in this topic? are you not able to follow along? am i using words that are too big? so. at some point between the salad and the actual dinner i switched gears. i went from the unintentionally awkward conversations to the VERY INTENTIONALLY AWKWARD conversations. here’s the bombs i dropped: divorce. closing the baby factory. my brother’s death/cremation. world history. reproduction laws of foreign nations. the poorly engineered and therefore fatally destructive design of the tacoma narrows bridge. oh yeah. i went for it. we covered the history of river front park and world expo ’74 which, naturally, led to the discussion of the FIRST world’s fair on american soil in chicago and the emergence of america’s first serial killer. KA. FUCKING. BOOM. resonse: hmmmm

~sigh~

so. we walk back over to our cars (if you’ve even been to spokane you’ll know that the post street ale house and luigi’s aren’t exactly next door) and i’m READY TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF DODGE. so i go for the awkward “thanks, it was nice” hug and he does it. he goes in for the good night kiss. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WE TALKED ABOUT SERIAL KILLERS.

~sigh~

so i pulled the “but i’m shy” card. yes. *ashamed* i pulled that card. the LAST CARD i could ever be accused of or expected to pull. and i pulled it. said i had to get home to make sure the spawns were in bed for school the next day even though i already knew they were.

GOOD NEWS: on the way home i got to see the police making 6 people get down IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. nice. oh yeah, and the shallow portion of the report: not TERRIBLE looking, but really not my type. wearing oversized ecko polo shirt (really? they didn’t have it in any other size besides circus tent?), khaki shorts that went well past his knees (again…SIZES?). and those stupid boy sneakers that only pull on but have no laces. you know the ones…they look like air jordans without the laces? HATE. yes, i’m shallow. also: *ashamed* YOU’RE IN THE MILITARY. they have GOOD medical benefits. USE THEM. GET BRACES. sorry. but teeth…it’s one of my HUGE pet peeves.

so. not TERRIBLE. really not the worst date i’ve been on. but not an experience i’m looking to repeat any time soon. unless someone buys me a tiny wireless camera and we can ALL play the hmm….drinking game. THAT, and that alone might warrant a second date.

this post does not exist:

i would just to make one thing perfectly clear: the blog you are about to read does not exist. the things it talks about DO NOT HAPPEN. like ever. it's ALL made up. NONE of it is real. this is all in you imagination.


this subject is completely made up because we all know that none of this would EVER happen to a woman, and IF it ever did (it doesn't) we would never admit to it. much less blog about it. in detail.


clear?


ok. so. i have an issue with...umm...dropping off the cosby's at the pool. taking a little time to read a magazine. visiting mr. hanky. POOPING. okay? i have an issue with poop.


~sigh~


yes. i went there. it is too much information thursday after all.


so. because it's me, i can't have normal issues with it. or maybe they are normal but since women never talk about it we don't know it's normal...especially since it doesn't actually happen. like ever. i'm making it all up that i ever would consider doing such a thing. right? we on the same page?


ok. so. here's my issues with pooping...if it were ever to happen. which it doesn't:


1: the noise. you KNOW that when you're home alone you will never make noise. everything will go as planned and there will be no problems. but the minute you're at work, or in a public place, or in the most inconvenient place possible, all hell breaks loose. see, it's when you're in those places that your body suddenly decides to release every single molecule of gas that you've been holding in since the day of your birth (cause women don't do that either). the fuller the bathroom is, the more gas you've been holding in. same goes with tiled bathrooms: the more tile to create an echo, the more noise your body will figure out how to make. it happens every. single. time.  also: what's with the inevitable "splash"????? why does it always have to sound like shamoo doing tricks at sea world? why does it sound like the winner at a belly flop contest EVERY. TIME.??


2: the cosby's HATE me. it never. ever. fails. every time they HAVE TO GO TO THE POOL RIGHT NOW we get to the pool and the decide they're not really up for swimming right now. maybe the water looks cold. maybe they they're afraid of the high dive. i don't know what it is, but they ALWAYS decide they don't want to go swimming as badly as they did two minutes ago when i was in the middle of work. or...one will decide to go swimming and the other can't make up their minds. maybe i do...oh no...wait...i don't. oh yeah i do....wait...nope. BUT NOW I DO. just kidding. now? no. and you try to...you know...push them off the edge, encourage them along...but they won't have any of it. so you're all FINE. no swimming for you! and then 10 minutes later they're all WE WANT TO GO SWIMMING NOW. 


sweet chocolate baby jesus (yes, i did that on purpose).


ok. i'll quit now. that's more than enough for me on this subject. two TMI thursdays in a row...damn. i promise i won't make this a habit. or maybe i will. hell, it's nothing new for me anyway.


and remember: THIS BLOG NEVER HAPPENED. it's impossible to write a blog about something that i would never ever do...right? RIGHT?? ok. good. you were never here....

the REAL endings:

dear prince charming: quit stealing my shoes you asshole. do you know how hard it is to find the perfect strappy stiletto? <3 cinderella

dear prince charming: just b/c you know basic cpr i'm supposed to marry you? sorry. i'm waiting for a REAL doctor. <3 snow white

hey aladdin: no i don't want to "ride your flying carpet". did you REALLY expect that line to work? go rub your magic lamp. <3 jasmine

dear prince charming: fuck long hair. rockin a twiggy cut. ran off w/my stylist. find another chick for your long hair fettish. <3 rapunzel

dear peter pan: "pixie dust"? really? try stripper dust. i'm not stupid you know. how bout you DON'T call when you grow up. <3 wendy

dear prince charming: 100 yrs? really? did you stop off for "just a few" or some shit? how bout you kiss my ass? <3 sleeping beauty    

liquid math

i will admit that i've never been particularly good at math. as i've gotten older i've learned which math skills from school were important to keep (figuring out sales discounts), and which math skill could be replaced by other vital information (like replacing imaginary numbers with which movies lauren graham is in. rowr. IMPORTANT). there have been times that i've worried about certain math skills that i've let lapse: like when my oldest son came to me asking about how to find the area of a circle...do i LOOK like an engineer? no. moving on.

but. it has occurred to me...in the last 5 minutes specifically...that there is one particular IMPORTANT form of math that i have never mastered. i'm not sure if there is an expert on this type of math, or if you just have to study on the fly...so to speak...

i'm talking about liquid math. you know what i'm talking about. THAT math. the math it would be handy to know before venturing out to any bar with friends. the math that comes in handy before long road trips. the IMPORTANT MATH. i've worked up some rough equations, but i'm not quite sure how to solve them. or perhaps not so much equations as things i would like to be able to have equations for:

example one:

chubby bunny is going to a bar. how many drinks may she consume before breaking the seal is ABSOLUTELY required?

example two:

chubby bunny is going on a road trip. please solve for a beverages to rest stops ratio.

example three:

chubby bunny has consumed three large glasses of water at work today. the last time she peed was approximately 1 hour ago. it is 15 minutes until quitting time and the commute home is 20 minutes. will she make it before resorting to the potty dance?

additionally, besides these examples, there are forms of this math that i CAN NOT figure out for the life of me...mostly in relation to ratios:

one glass of water = one trip to pee

one 16 oz coffee = one trip to pee + "extra" time

one shot of alcohol = 18 trips to pee

two shots of alcohol + 2 mixed  drinks = infinite trips to pee in 5 minute increments.

see, logic says that a glass of water has WAY more content than one shot of alcohol...yet the ratio of return is VERY different. and there are variables that are thrown in: has food been consumed? is there a bathroom nearby (this has a reverse ratio effect: the further the bathroom, the more often one has to pee), is there a long line (also a reverse ratio), is the outfit of choice particularly difficult to maneuver (yet one more reverse ratio). and don't even get me started on belts...that just changes the WHOLE EQUATION.

anyone have any tips? a cheat sheet? study guide? does ANYONE have liquid math figured out?

and men wonder why...

so. i got to thinking about my purse today. like most mom’s, i carry a small suitcase. not even kidding. it’s a messenger bag…and it’s FULL. now, granted when i’m going out, just me, for one evening, i can usually reduce the load to JUST my small wallet, lip gloss and phone. done. simple. but: for any other given day…there’s no way to reduce the amount of STUFF in there.

why? what in the world could women possibly need that takes up that much space? here you go. you asked for it: the glimpse inside a woman’s purse:

basics:

wallet: contains drivers license, debit cards, check book, car insurance, medical insurance, “club” cards (you know…safeway, fred meyer, shopko, barnes and noble…any and every store that has ever asked you to sign up for anything), credit cards, gift cards, punch cards, pictures of kids/family, receipts, notes to self, phone numbers of kids friends (if you have kids), half completed shopping lists, stamps, a recipe from a friend, and hidden somewhere in there (usually) the emergency $20 that your dad told you to carry AT ALL TIMES. (i split all this into TWO wallets)

cell phone

mp3 player

sun glasses

lip gloss/lipstick

water bottle

work id/entry card

organizer: these are losing space to smart phones that can hold contacts/appointments

pens (usually 3 that don’t work, one that does)

gum

camera: also losing space to smart phones that have good pic quality/can record short movie clips

medication: tylenol, ibuprofen, excedrin, midol, benedryl

touch up kit: compact, extra lip gloss, eyeliner, bobby pins, brush/comb

emergency kit: spare tampons/pads, condoms

disaster kit: small hairspray or nail polish, nail file, nail clippers, floss, toothbrush (in some form), wet wipes small super glue, bobby pins, safety pins, sewing kit, dryer sheets (don’t ask, they work for EVERYTHING)

mom expansion pack (after graduation from diaper bag):

fruit snacks/general snacks

1st aid kit: bandaids, neosporin, gauze, gloves

toys

crayons

drawing paper (envelopes from bills will work)

kid gum (the other stuff is “too hot”)

nerd expansion pack:

journal (or two)

hard cover book

additional electronics/gadgets

add to this miscellaneous things that get thrown in for odd reasons (i once had the pcv pipe to my car in my purse for a few days), extra scraps of paper, notes to self, spare change, odds and ends, kid trash, tupperware containers, extra napkins…it all takes up space! and this is just MY purse...each woman had her own stock/supply that she likes to/has to carry around (a friend is a diabetic...she has to carry her supplies with her). so. next time you even THINK about asking what the hell is in there...stop, think, remember all the different things you've asked for that have always magically appeared. now you know why/how.

fear:

so. i will admit to fear. i'm afraid of some normal things like snakes and extreme heights. i'm also scared of odd things like having my curtains open at night (you never know when you're going to look out and see a serial killer with a hook hand) or having my house burn down at night and the smoke detectors not going off (i used to lay awake at night staring at the smoke detectors making sure the red light flashed every few minutes).

i'm afraid of something happening to my kids. i'm afraid of something happening to my family. i'm afraid of many things.

i've also overcome many fears: i've had to walk through fire at times to be able to support my kids. i've had to pack up and move on ZERO planning. i've been able to make ends meet even when it seemed impossible. i've been through hurt. i've been through betrayal. i've been through abuse. i've been through heartbreak. i've lost friends and family. i've been through things that break some people. i've walked through those fires and come out the other side.

this weekend i admitted to a new fear. one i didn't know i had. actually, i don't know if it's new, or simply one i've been afraid to admit to before now (you know it's bad when your afraid to say what you're afraid of). but one thing i've learned in life is that you can't over come your fears until you call them by name, make them step out of the shadows, and face them head on. i've been afraid of depression: and i've learned to call it what it is, say when it's attacking, and learned how to battle it. so. here i go again: i'm calling out this fear: i'm naming it. hopefully i can find a way to over come it:

i'm afraid of what will happen if i become a better me. now hold on...follow me on this one: i'm afraid of what would happen if i get rid of all my excuses. if i mellow my quirks, lose my chubby bunny weight, learn patience, acceptance. i'm scared of what will happen if i break down the walls i've spent so long putting up. there's a bit of a catch: i'm already a damn good me. i love me. i'm a strong, intelligent, amazing person. i would be a damn good catch for some lucky guy just as i am. but i know there's room for improvement: i know there are things about me i can make better. but there's a fear that goes along with that. you see, right now i KNOW why i'm not "datable": it's me. it's things about me that keep guys away. i haven't let anyone any close enough to let it be someone else. it's always my fault why things don't work out. it's because i'm too quirky/picky. i'm too much of a bitch. i won't let someone get close enough to care about. i'm too chubby for them. i'm not neat enough for them. i have a dark sense of humor. i'm too sarcastic. it's all things about ME. only me.

in one of my last posts i vomited about how i really don't believe there's anyone out there willing to take on a single mom with two high needs kids. and the complete honest truth is that i'm scared to find out FOR SURE. i've had people say it. i've had SEVERAL people say it. but i'm scared to really test their words. right now i can hide behind my bitchiness and my weight. i can blame being single on myself. it's all ME. i'm too chubby to be datable. i'm too honest. i'm a bitch. i'm too quirky. it's all me. i'm scared that if i "fix" myself then it will be something else. something i can't fix. and i can't face that.

it doesn't matter how much weight i lose, or how pollyanna i become: weight loss won't fix aspergers. being the nicest person on earth won't make dealing with one of the smartest kids i know any easier. what happens if i fix me and things still don't work out? what if the simple truth is that no one wants to take on high needs kids? i don't want that to be the reason. i CAN'T LET that be the reason. it's ok when it's me. it's not ok if it's them. i am the way i am because I CHOOSE TO BE. i can change me. they can't. they didn't ask to be the way they are. and they don't deserve to be blamed or an excuse or anything. they're perfect and wonderful kids, and i don't want anyone to see them as anything other than that.

i was told i need to work on my first impression. does that even matter? does it matter how smooth and polished and amazing my first impression is if they won't stick around after that? I WANT TO BE THE REASON. i have to be the reason. that's all there is to it. i don't think i can walk through this fear. i don't see how. but then again...i rarely see how until i'm looking back at the trail that was blazed.

bad mommy moment:

i will start by saying this: EVERYTHING to follow is completely, 100% narcissistic and missing the big picture. i get it. i know it's not ALL about me. i do. really.

that said:

i feel like the biggest mommy failure but i'm very proud at the same same, but very ashamed, and very embarrassed, and a whole other mix of things. ~sigh~ basically it's a typical friday.

so. i had a call from youngest spawns school this week. his reading recovery teacher called to let me know that he's been selected for a special "reading behind the glass" demonstration (don't even get me started on what that sounds like...a 1st grade reading program is NOT on the list anywhere). out of all her reading recovery student, she selected my son to do a special reading demonstration to all the other reading recovery teachers, a few different principals, and whomever else would like to attend.

SUPER COOL! he was selected out of all the kids in his school in the reading recovery program because he's making the most progress, doing the best, working the hardest! HOORAY! and you can really tell...he reads out loud at home now at night for part of his homework and he's REALLY TRYING. and he's doing so much better. it's very exciting. it really is.

so. what's the bad mommy moment? i'm mad that my son is in reading recovery. and i'm sure that makes NO SENSE AT ALL. but see, here's the thing: i have a bachelors degree in literature. LITERATURE. READING. BOOKS. i've been reading since before i can remember. i wrote my first "book" when i was around 5 years old (illustrated and everything...and stapled backwards because i'm left handed and it totally made more sense that way). so...if i'm such a book freak, WHY IS MY SON IN READING RECOVERY? why has someone else had to teach him? the ony way i can even try to explain it is like this: imagine john nash trying to teach 1st graders math. and granted, i'm not the john nash of literature, but when i'm trying to teach something or explain it i feel like i am. i get SO FRUSTRATED that he doesn't just get it. that he doesn't just pick up a book and read. it TOTALLY doesn't help that the old spawn did that. never had a problem. just picked up a book and BAM. done. so. along comes spawn number two, and not only does he have trouble reading, he still has a very hard time with different parts of speech (think wiff instead of with) which makes listening to him read out loud SO HARD for me.  i want to focus on getting the word RIGHT instead of focusing on the fact that HE GOT THE WORD. and usually it ends up with one or both of us in tears due to sheer frustration. and i feel like such a failure. how can i not pass on the thing i love the most to my own kids?

and i know that's why there ARE reading recovery teachers. they have that gift of patience and ability to work through the frustration and help where i can't. i KNOW that. i'm GLAD those people are there. i'm SO EXCITED that my son IS DOING GREAT now because of one of those people. i just...grrrr...i feel like such a failure because i'm not that person.

TMIT: the first and the last

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Steal this button and put it in your post just by copying and pasting the html code in the box below, or just link back to the hub with this link, so your readers can read ALLLLLLL the TMI glory, and I’ll make sure to link to you.***
TMI Thursday
 

ok kids. this is my first and my last TMIT: LiLu, this is all for you darling. i am blushing at the thought of posting this story, but it only seems right that if i'm going to jump on the bandwagon, the LAST bandwagon, i have to do it with guns a-blazing, in the most humiliating way possible. this story has been known to make it's way to light in the company of good friends and after MANY drinks...so i think this is the perfect home for it. that said: let me tell you about kevin:

i met kevin online back in the yahoo chat room days. WHAT? you know you did it too. shush. so. we chatted for a long time (months) but had never met since he lived across the state. and, as a newly divorced young mom with two kids i didn't do much traveling. kevin seemed mostly normal...as normal as someone can seem in chat anyway. he was able to keep up with conversation, crack jokes, catch my jokes...it was fun to have a pretend friend to chat with after the kids were in bed. fast forward a few months, i actually ended up going on a road trip (with my mum) to a town only about 30 minutes from where kevin lived. so he decided to drive up and meet me. my mum and i had adjoining rooms at the motel we were staying at...and...well...let's just say that didn't bother kevin at all. i will warn you: this is horrifying: we ended up gettin dirty on the floor in the bathroom. that's right. a motel bathroom floor. with my mum in the adjoining room (thus the bathroom...it put at least one more door between us). i don't even want to think about it. motel. bathroom. floor. *shudder* oh.my.god.

~sigh~

but that isn't it kids. that wasn't the TMIT post. that was just the back story. yes, it gets worse from there. so. kevin it turns out was fairly normal (thus the actual gettin it on, not just a friendly hi, thanks for driving up). we continued to chat after our little romp and he decided to drive all the way up north to the middle of BFE to visit me a few weeks later. this time in my own house. with my own bed. much better. and he did! and i was flattered. aww...a boy drove across state to see me.

so. you know that moment when a little alarm bell goes off i your head and you start to think: hmm...maybe this is something i'm not ok with?

three words: RED. VELVET. THONG.

and not me kids. NOT. ME. that's right. "somewhat normal" kevin was wearing a red. velvet. thong. not just a boy in a thong (ew). not just a boy in a red thong (ew, ew). a boy in a RED. VELVET. THONG. (vomit). here's another fun fact about kevin: he was a little alternative. now granted, this was back before i had any ink or anything different about me, so you know, pretty much EVERYTHING was shocking. not anymore. sure kevin had ink, which was "so edgy" to me then. kevin also had piercings. well. one anyway. just one. one.oh.god. piercing. i've never seen anything like it again and i REALLY, REALLY hope i never do. you see, kevin had (probably still has...who knows) a "down there" piercing. yes. red. velvet. thong. boy had a down there piercing. and not just a little bar, or a stud, or anything dainty. oh hell no. he went ALL OUT. imagine a circle with the diameter of a silver dollar. now add the gauge of approximately a pencil. now. place that THROUGH THE TIP. yes. through the tip. i don't even know how to describe it more than that: let's just say: if you ever saw the pam anderson/tommy lee video...know the part where he hangs the towel over it? kevin would have had a nice little ring to tuck it through...like a little mustache at the end of a pinocchio nose...OH.MY.OUCH.

and we're still not done yet kids. i warned you i was coming out with guns a-blazing.

so. we have red velvet thong boy. with the optional towel ring. and...alternative tastes. you see. after we bow-chicka-wow-wowed, he was interested in a little more. now...here's me: young, innocent (i honestly was back then...truth) flattered as hell that a guy drove across state for me...i'm pretty much gonna do whatever he asks. and boy did he he ask. you see...he wanted to...umm...visit other continents. like austrailia. like...ones i'd never been to before. EVER. like...ones i wasn't sure i EVER wanted to go to. you know...ummm...THERE. and i'm reasoning it out: well...he DID drive across state for me...so...

(if i had ever watched sex and the city at this point, i SO would have understood charlotte SO much better).

now. here's the thing. when you've never been to austrailia, you don't know what you're supposed to do. you don't know the customs or the rituals. you don't know how to...umm...prepare for your trip. if you're smart you read a tour guide before you go...i had never even planned on going and had never read a tour guide. i trusted that my traveling buddy had been there before and knew what he was doing. looking back...i'm thinking not so much.

so. we have red. velvet. thong. boy. with LARGE *ahem* "ear"ring. with his passport to austrailia and he's ready to go. damn. there's really no delicate way to end this story...so...we will just list the mistakes that i QUICKLY learned:

#1: girl should NEVER EVER EVER be on top. EVER.

#2: there should ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be plenty of lube and preparation.

#3: there should NEVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. be piercings of any type involved.

so. my first "exploration to the other side of the world" lasted all of about 30 second. MUCH pain. MUCH. ~sigh~ MUCH PAIN.

there you have it. the first, the last, the mortifying TMIT. all for you LiLu.

hey look! that sword has TWO sides!

so. i’ve been spending a LARGE quantity of time lately thinking about what’s wrong with me. and what’s right with me. and…i don’t know. there’s a LOT on both sides. i guess the trick is…fuck. i don’t know what the trick is. i’ve been single basically my whole life (i REALLY don’t think those two years that were a mess of my marriage should count!). my oldest son’s dad and i “dated” (it was high school ya’ll) for a total of 4 months: three of which i was knocked up. responsible, i know. then i was single until said marriage
which went like this: met in november, married in march, pregnant in june, moved out in september, moved back in october, baby in march, moved out in december. since then i’ve been single. there have been a few distractions. there have been a few dates. but there hasn’t been anyone specific that has wanted to “claim me” for any length of time. whatevs. i’m fine on my own, i’ve never been the type to need someone, but occasionally it would be nice to have someone around, you know?

honest truth? there’s this damn pickle jar in my fridge that i haven’t been able to get into for MONTHS. getting a fella around the house seems like a much easier option than shattering the jar on the counter.

maybe.

anywho. like i said. i’ve been thinking about what’s wrong with me AND what’s right with me. so. here’s what i’ve come up with:

WRONG:

i’m chubby: guys do tend to like the little itty bitty size two waifs. they look cute on your arm at the club. they keep your grocery bill nice and low. they’re easy to get into kama sutra position #493. they’re generally too weak from starvation to fight often. not so much with chubby girls. ~sigh~

i can’t have any more kids: guys like the idea that they can reproduce their own spawn on this earth, someone to carry on the manly maleness that is them. they want a little mini-me running around someone to pass on their generations of ruggedness to. i can’t do it. my factory has been closed, decommissioned, and is sitting around taking up useful real estate. (dude, if i could have all that removed, think of the instant weight loss…would help with wrong #1)

i’m smart: guys don’t like a girl who can challenge their intellectual supremacy. or who even knows how to spell intellectual supremacy. i not only CAN, i WILL challenge things. i WILL have my own thoughts and express them. i’m not very good at just sitting around looking pretty (besides, there’s a rule that chubby = not pretty if you didn’t know). i’m loud, i’m obnoxious, i speak my mind, i call it like i see it, i will make you look like a douchebag asshole if you’re acting like a douchebag asshole. it’s just the way it is.

RIGHT:  

i’m chubby: who wants to cuddle up to skeletor when they’re sick? and who wants to go do dinner with someone who orders a leaf of lettuce and a glass of water and pretends to be too full to eat that? never trust a skinny chef: and i am NOT a skinny chef. i’m not afraid to eat a cheeseburger when i’m grumpy. it really does make you less bitchy. what guy really enjoys grinding hips while they’re doin the wild thing? there’s truth to the cushion for the pushin’ theory. i’m still flexible. i’m still able to get into the other #492 kama sutra positions. and i AM working on being LESS chubby, but no matter how far down i get, i will always be bigger than 90% of the girls out there. it’s in my genes. and i love myself. so. you know.

i can’t have any more kids: i have two AMAZING kids already. i’ve been walked away from twice already. i’m not looking for a hat trick. i won’t accidentally “oops” on a guy. i’m not a jerry springer show waiting to happen. there won’t be a phone call from maury povich inviting anyone to a mysterious show. i don’t have to worry about counting days or peeing on sticks. when i’m 42 BOTH of my kids will be out of the house and i’ll be ready to do all sorts of amazing things. my spawns are already house broken. i can sleep full nights and late on weekends. i don’t have to worry about diapers or bottles or strollers. i’m already half way done (with one anyway).

i’m smart: i have a good job. i have a college degree. i can count to 20 WITH MY SHOES ON. i know how to make a joke, read a newspaper, follow a conversation that has more than 2 words that are over 2 syllables in a row. i am willing to speak my mind and contribute to the conversation around me. i can support myself. i know how to fix things around the house, take care of basics, and not pass out from forgetting to breathe.

in all seriousness though (yes, all the above was tongue in cheek…shocker). i do know what my fatal flaw is, and i’m slowly coming to terms with it. it’s something i’ve wondered for a while. it was given a voice a while ago. i’ve since challenged that voice and it’s been proven true. by several. so. my fatal flaw: i have kids. it’s a simple math equation really. one kid halves your chances of dating. two kids halves those chances. one kid with high needs halves those chances. and two kids with high needs halves those chances one more time. throw in that the two high needs are on OPPOSITE ends of the needs spectrum: half those chances again. throw in that there’s not one, but two baby daddy’s andyou half those chances one last time. so…i’m working on a half to the sixth power here. in layman’s terms of slim to none: slim has been shot, dragged by wild horses, mauled by rabid dogs, run over by a run-away carriage, strung up from the courthouse, and then buried out back under the future site of the new and improved town outhouse.

so, what i’m saying is: THERE’S STILL A CHANCE.

dear wii-liam: I HATE YOU

so. one of the nifty things about owning a wii is that you get to "name" it. ooo...fancy. mine happens to be named wii-lliam. see what i did there? yeah...i'm THAT creative. sad. so. the nice thing about naming your wii is that when you get mad at it, you have a name to curse in vain. it really helps. take yesterday for example:

i've been working out for TWENTY TWO DAYS. 22. that's A LOT. almost a whole month. i mean...FOREVER. and i've been working out close to an hour every day doing cardio, strength, yoga, balance, ALL of it. i sweat. and i hurt. and i'm exhausted. well, when you work out on the wii it measures you EVERY.DAMN.DAY. i've gotten used to ignoring it calling me obese every single day. i know it will take a while to change. it still irks me, but i'm finding my zen place. i know i'm losing inches (pants. falling. off.) so i'm ok. until yesterday. it automatically set a 2 week "goal" for me. and yesterday was the end of the two weeks. so. up it pops: "oh, i noticed it's your goal date! let's check your progress!"

I KNOW MY PROGRESS YOU BASTARD! YOU TELL ME I'M FAT EVERY FUCKING DAY!!

but whatever. let's check: "oh, i noticed you didn't reach your goal. and your weight indicates you're obese. maybe you should try watching what you eat."

YES. IT REALLY SAID THAT. i almost understood all the pictures of tv screens with wii-motes sticking out of them. WII-LLIAM: I HATE YOU. i about cried. instead i did boxing and channeled the angry energy there. and ended up hurting my knee. ~sigh~

in other news: i've found a second source of motivation (since the dress STILL doesn't fit). you see, i have a ninja around my house. it's handy. really. for several reasons. here's the thing about ninjas: they're REALLY in shape. like 17% body fat in shape. and they're FAST. so when they make fun of you for NOT having 17% body fat (or having WELL OVER 17% body fat) you have to work REALLY HARD to hit them. which is good. also. they eat. A TON. so left overs are NEVER a problem at my house. ever. GONE. my particular ninja also happens to be very good at yoga and has *cough*nicely*cough* told me how i'm doing my poses wrong. re-enter the fact that they're REALLY FAST. and when you're trying to un-pretzle AND hit a really fast ninja...well, they should make a work out video JUST FOR THAT. or i can just set up a camera in my house and sell it to you all. if nothing else, laughing burns calories, right? so, if you don't have your own personal ninja: go get one. they're nifty to have around. mostly.

the point? i suppose all this should have a point: EVEN THOUGH the wii is laughing at me every day and calling me obese and suggesting i "try eating healthy" (WHAT DO YOU CALL THE RABBIT FOOD I'VE BEEN EATING ALL WEEK YOU WII-TARD), and even though i have a ninja that reminds me how un-ninja i am, I'VE STUCK WITH IT! and i'm going to stick with it. 22 days is technically into the "new habit" zone. and it's true. i find myself planning how/when to fit my work out in every day now instead of finding excuses to avoid it. and i slightly panic when i have a busy day and can't find time (so far i've always found time). and i find myself checking what i eat and HOW MUCH of it i'm eating now thinking about working it off later. and i pick water over soda as a reflex now. and I'M DOING IT! IN IT TO GYM IT BABY!

if you were curious:

if you've wandered here from In It To Gym It, or if you happen to follow me on facebook, or twitter, or here, or if you were one of the unfortunate people stuck listening to me talk about it just because: here's an update on the chubby bunny slim down: I AINT SLIMMIN SO FAST.

~sigh~

so. i know i talked all about this dress (see right): and how i was going to rock it...I FAILED. i mean TECHNICALLY i didn't fail. it fit. as in i could get it on and zip it up and move around and breathe and be *MOSTLY* ok in it, but i didn't ROCK IT like i wanted to. there were lumps and bumps, and for some fucking retarded reason, spanx have TWO seams going up over the ass which is NOT a good look in a form fitting dress...so that option was out to help (which they don't anyway. what a fucking waste of money. seriously). so. i DIDN'T fail, but i DID fail because i didn't wear the dress to the party. so. in my closet it sits. hopefully it will fit by vegas WITH ALTERATIONS because i'll be too skinny for it then...here's hoping.

instead, i rocked this dress (see left): complete with 1940's pin curl hair, and CHUCK TAYLOR SHOES. oh yes i did. classic converse with a strapless dress. and i FUCKING ROCKED IT. i heart me just a little. it turned out to be awesome since this doll of a dress has been hanging in my closet for a few months without occasion to be shown off. so. BAM. i STILL win. just not the win i wanted...but still a win...so there!

in other news: i'm about to murder my wii...still...it isn't getting better. i understand flexing a few pounds from day to day...but FIVE? yes. it seems that every day when i weigh in i'm either 5 pounds heavier than the day before or 5 pounds lighter. my chart looks like a REALLY BAD something...i don't know. but it doesn't look good. i think i need to get the board off the carpet and onto something a little more stable...that might help. maybe. i think. from some reviews i've read online it might. i have to do something though. it's so fucking discouraging to be eating right, working out, drinking water and STILL be going up in weight. wii-tard. whatever.

BUT...i'm hanging in there. i'm still getting off my couch every night and doing something. so. that counts a little...right?

what would YOU do for a klondike bar?

so. i have a problem. see, my oldest spawn is smart. i know...all together...POOR NANA. but seriously. he's smart. like wicked smart. like he really needs to be a lawyer because he can argue his way out of ANYTHING. he would make the supreme court look like a bunch of arguing toddlers...oh...wait...hmm...maybe not the best example...anywho. he's wicked smart. over the top jimmy neutron brain smart. and why is this a problem? i'm smart too after all...but...shhh...if you tell him i said this i will bust your knee caps: i'm not as smart as him. i can't keep up with all his arguments, and how he remembers things, and how he can think of excuses. because while i'm smart too: i'm busy! there's life, and another spawn, and work, and a million other things, and the oldest spawn knows this. AND HE USES IT.

so...how smart is he? well, he's in this special school. for smart kids. he had to take a test and be recommended by his teachers to get into this school. it's a school of ALL smart kids. and he's STILL bored. i've never once seen him do homework or study something and he's still getting 3/4 grades (on a 4 point system). he can figure out almost anything after just a few minutes. he's freaking wicked smart. which is making him LAZY. and by LAZY i mean he won't do a damn thing EVER and throws a complete temper tantrum if i make him. and if you know me, you know i don't tolerate tantrums in my house...but what this kid does is something even beyond tantrums.

the last time he was really in trouble at school i took away tv, the ds and went the extra step of taking away his art work. sounds odd, but it's what he LOVES. he has often been in trouble at school for drawing in class, he loves making his own shirts, the kid is an art freak. so, what better way to get his attention than take away the most important thing? holy. epic. meltdown. screaming, crying, literally pulling his hair out. telling me he had no other way to express himself besides his artwork and i was destroying him by taking it away. (drama queen much?). but, i stood my ground and the art work was gone until all his homework was caught up and his school work was being turned again (hard to do, but i refuse to give in to drama tantrums).

well, here we are again. last night he had a report due for school (deadline is this wednesday). he asked if he could use my laptop to type up the paper. i asked to see his rough draft first. he didn't have one. so i told him he needed to write one out before he would be allowed to type it. and so the battle began. I DON'T NEED TO WRITE ONE. I GET THREES AND FOURS THE WAY IT IS. told him i don't care what grade he gets, i want to see effort in his work. if it's so easy, he should be able to get all fours without a problem. and around it went. it actually ended pretty quickly because there's no point in arguing with an 11 year old until i'm in tears (lesson learned the HARD way. plus, i don't have the greatest temper control). i went to do dishes and the rest of the house went quiet. i assumed (bad) that he had gone to bed. it's a small apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen. that's it, and i didn't see him anywhere. i finished the dishes, did my work out, and in the middle of step aerobics out he crawls from behind the couch where he hid so he could play his ds and NOT write his rough draft. at this point it's an hour after his bedtime. "well, there's no clock back there". REALLY? i should have known to put a clock BEHIND THE COUCH...silly me. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? it's a good thing i was well into my aerobics and didn't want to stop. oh. my. FURIOUS. so he S.L.O.W.L.Y. went to bed (push a few more buttons kid...see what happens) and i have spent the last...oh...14 hours completely frustrated and out of ideas. before school today i told him i WILL see a rough draft tonight. he is grounded indefinitely from the game boy and tv, and i'm thinking of taking away the art supplies again. HE NEEDS TO DO HIS SCHOOL WORK. but doesn't need to because it's so easy for him. i have books at home with current events and last time around i tried making him pick out one of the articles and writing two pages about it, but after about 10 battles on writing a report vs. copying out of the book i gave up (bad mommy, i know).

i just don't know what to do with him. he is not motivated AT ALL to do ANYTHING. i've tried grounding, taking things away, adding extra work, using chores/school work to earn wii time, i just don't know what to do. he's fine and dandy from the school's point of view because he's getting ok grades, but NOT FINE from my view because he's putting in NO effort. he's too smart for his own britches. damn my good genetics! sheesh.

apparently the answer to the question: what would you do for a klondike bar in OUR house is: wait til mom is completely worn down, then just take it. don't earn it, don't work for it. just wait it out.

so...are you going to eat that?

here is the tweet: E.P.I.C. just watched a very drunk guy drop his whole sausage on the ground. but it doesnt end there: he picked it up and ate it.

here is the story: thursday night i took a friend to go see clash of the titans for his birthday (yes, thursday, before it opened on friday. i'm amazing like that). so. movie lets out right after midnight and during the walk home he wants to stop at a local club and see what's going on. so we do. the club is PACKED. on a thursday? REALLY? you can tell how often i go out. well, at the clubs there are some smart people. as in smart FOOD people. at the club a few blocks over is a taco truck, at this particular club was the hot dog/sausage guy. TOTALLY makes sense. who hasn't had the drunken midnight munchies?


so: my friend wants to get a hot dog. there are four VERY, EXTREMELY, AMUSINGLY drunk guys already there...two of them have sausages in hand. now. these aren't regular sausages. these come PACKED with all sorts of drunken happy making goodness. from what i saw there is an option for nacho cheese, a few kinds of mustard, ketchup, relish, sauerkraut, onion...you can really stack these suckers up. and drunk people are trying to eat them. AH MUSING. so, of the four drunk guys: two are off to the side being normal (one of those two was doing his best to eat his hot dog w/o making too much of a mess) and two were play fighting...and one of those two had the other hot dog. the two normalish drunks were reminding the other two that they're friends and shouldn't be fighting. which is where i had to step in.

normal drunk guy #1: you guys! you're friends! you really shouldn't be fighting!

me: yeah. and besides, you're holding food. if you drop that it would be a SIN. like a big sin. like a sin against the gods (hey, i had just watched titans...it was allowed).

obnoxious drunk guy #1: whatever. i'll never drop this. i got it. (and starts to wave it around).

me: you're really tempting the fates there. i wouldn't do that if i were you.

obnoxious drunk guy #1: whatever. i told you. i'm good. i got this. (and starts to obnoxiously lick at the hot dog in a "suggestive way" (and by "suggestive way" remember: he's completely smashed. suggestive to him, funny to me))

me: wow. you're really lovin up on that sausage there, aren't you?

him: oh yeah. just doin it like you do it. (i think he was trying to insult me here: like saying i was wrong for liking "sausage" or something. or maybe he was calling me a fat girl. but i really do think he was trying to insinuate that i like big sausages...maybe if i was a guy that would have worked...)

me: *blink* um...and? cause, yeah: i'm a girl. i'm supposed to like "sausage". and i do. is there something wrong with that?

and. E.P.I.C. in slow motion, he's trying to still be funny/insulting about me liking sausage and starts waving the damn thing around again. AND. IT. FELL. like a fat kid at a belly flop contest: you could see it coming. and you knew it would suck. and then it hit. oh the glory...it hit the pavement and splattered EVERYWHERE. all that gooey topping goodness. EVERYWHERE. and i swear to you...his three buddies, the vendor, my friend and i all just stopped and stared. S.T.A.R.E.D. we didn't think it would really happen. but it did. and drunk obnoxious guy is PISSED. he's been called out, made fun of, failed at an insult, AND dropped his hot dog. oh. my. god. did. that. just. happen. AWESOME. that's what he gets for being obnoxious and trying to insult me.


~sigh~ 


his buddies were laughing their asses off, i was basking in the glow of sweet justice, and my friend finished ordering his hot dog (nacho cheese and all). then it happened. just when you thought the story was over. IT WASN'T. drunk obnoxious guy isn't done yet. oh no. he has another round left in him. after stalking around for a few seconds while his buddies laughed: HE PICKED IT BACK UP. and i'm giving him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he's just being polite and picking up his own mess. silly me. i forgot that this is OBNOXIOUS drunk guy. HE. TOOK. A. BITE.


HE. TOOK. A. BITE.


oh how i wish i were kidding. we all stopped and stared. again. he did NOT just do that. oh, but he did. and he ate the whole thing. all foot long that had just been resting upside down on a downtown street corner. HE. ATE. IT.


i almost threw. up. and the vendor guy TRIED to make it better. he reminded us that they power wash the sidewalks every night. so it's not SO bad. but still. even if they had washed them the day before, that's a WHOLE DAY of people and shoes, and dogs, and homeless people, and party people, and who knows what walking all over that sidewalk all day. people spitting, dropping thing, stepping in things, i don't even want to think of what could have been there. AND. HE. ATE. IT.


dear friends: PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. never let me get that drunk. EVER.

things i would buy:

so. i've been working on skinny-ing up this chubby bunny backside. if you're sick of hearing about it already...SUCKS TO BE YOU. this is a big change for me!!

any-who. working out gives you time to think. well, when you're not thinking of new curse words to yell at the machine anyway.


so. all this working out and thinking- i've come up with a few things that someone needs to get off their ass and invent cause i would TOTALLY buy it:


#1: kama sutra for the wii. a "grown up" version of the wii fit. use a slightly bigger balance board made for TWO people. then teach them how to get into the poses, have the little balance circle that they have to stay inside, show them how many calories they're burning, let them set up "routines" or positions that go well together. i'm telling you: SMASH HIT. seriously. think about it: working out increases endorphins and testosterone and all that junk. which makes you *ahem* "more energetic". so. yeah.


#2: a camel pack that doesn't weigh anything. cause when i'm working out i get thirsty. and i don't want to stop and pick up my water bottle. so i COULD get a camel pack like motocross racers wear, but water weighs A TON. and my wii fit already calls me obese. so. you know...like make one that floats. or attaches to a helium balloon. or SOMETHING. help a chubby bunny out people!


ok. so those are the only two thoughts i had. i guess i spent a bit more of my time thinking up new curse words to call my wii. (wii-tard is the most popular right now...i didn't say i was thinking HARD).


umm...i guess that is all. oh...WAIT: if you want to read more about other people working out and getting in shape and get some KICK ASS motivation going on go read the new blog: http://inittogymit.com/ (which i just happen to contribute to). all sorts of amazing people doing amazing things. that is all.