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Month: March 2005

Mommy Needs One too!

Mommy Needs One too!

You always think it will happen to someone else.  It starts so innocently.  First it is just looking at pictures on the internet.  Then, those pictures get downloaded and looked at more frequently- with great lust I might add.  The next thing you know, he comes to you and says he is flying to New Hampshire to pick her up and bring her home.  He insists that you will think she is hot too.  How could I not agree?  Look at her!

With that said, I never really fell in love with the hot-rod like he did.  Oh, sure, it was great to go out on date night in it and pretend that we are young, hip and dating.  And, yes, I did like the way it rumbled so deep and low.  I’ll admit it.  Although I wasn’t really thrilled when I went to his office and saw a poster size picture of the Z and also an 8×10 ‘portfolio’ image and not one of me…his WIFE. 

Did I begrudge him his love for his Z?  No.  Did I tell him that he needs to spend more money on me and less on the Z?  Sometimes.  Did I completely tease him about his “baby”?  Absolutely!  I neither loved nor hated his car.  (Yes, to some of you it is blasphemy to not love a classic Z.  Deal with it.) In fact, I have never even driven it.  Not once.

Until last week.

All I can say is….SWEEEEEET!

Forget about mommy needing coffee.  Mommy needs a hot rod!  I can see it now.  That deep rumble through the carpool line.  Challenging the mini-van moms at the light on the way to preschool.  Strapping in that car seat for Gabrie and cruising with the windows down. Two free-spirited chicks on the go!

Oh, yes….Mommy Needs a hot rod!

Now who is going to tell Clint?

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Could I BE any happier about this?

Could I BE any happier about this?

I am very happy today.  I found out something that is going to change my life dramatically. (As well as someone else’s.) However, I did not ask that certain someone if I can talk about it, so to protect his identity, I won’t use real names. Let’s call him Dick Richard. 

You see, some of you know “Richard” as the father of my children and my husband of almost 15 years.  (No names, please.  Let’s respect his privacy.) I got a call from him today saying that…

….wait for it….

He is scheduled for his vasectomy next week!

[We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you the happiest of happy dances, the giddiest of giggles and the loudest of hallelujah shouts ever experienced at this blog.  Do not adjust your computers.  The issue lies with the author.  Feel free to dance along.  We now return you to the regularly scheduled entry.]

Was it wrong that I was in Kohl’s and shouted out “Wooo hooooo!!” quite ecstatically?  (Don’t worry sweetie, I used my gift card.) Is it wrong that I can’t stop telling EVERYONE I know that at last the snipage will occur? (By the way, the mailman said he really didn’t care.) And really, is it wrong that I am making jokes about it to him?  Like:  ‘Call the vet and maybe we can get a 2-for-1 deal!’ or ‘Do you want me to get frozen lima beans, frozen corn or shall we just make sufferin’ succotash?’

Yeah, okay, maybe the jokes are too far, but damn I am one happy woman!

So mark your calendars.  April 7th.  Family Local National Holiday, folks.

*skipping off doing the Snoopy Happy Dance*

Oh, and of course, all snipage jokes are absolutely accepted.  I must share the joy! 

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The more things change, the more I love Matt

The more things change, the more I love Matt

So we were watching American Idol on Tuesday (Shut up.  I have kids and they like it.  It isn’t like I can send them out after dark to play while I enjoy my martini and soap operas!) when the camera scanned the audience.

“Did you see him?!” I shout.

Startled looks and slight fear (or was it dread?) crossed the faces of my beloveds as I grabbed the remote to rewind it.  (Thank you gods of electronics who have blessed my life with a DVR.)

“There!” I shouted and pointed.  “It’s Donny Osmond!” (Yes, I am well aware that had I waited a few moments I could have seen that “Seacrest Out” was going to actually speak to him, but I am an impatient person.)

“Did I ever tell you about…” I began.  (I am pretty sure there wasn’t an eyeball in that room that didn’t roll back in it’s head with dread as they knew I was going to set off on one of my tangents.)

“…when I was little I SO had a crush on Donny Osmond? Even when he was just a small punk with bad 70’s hair.  I mean, I had this record where he was on this locket with Marie and that was an okay record, but I really loved this record where they are jamming out in retro hot clothes with their little silver microphones.  I even knew every word to every song on this record with all of these still frames from the Donny and Marie Show as well as having every picture memorized.  I mean, I had posters and everything…”

(pausing for a breath)

“I mean, it’s not like he was Shaun Cassidy or anything.  I mean, Shaun could da-do-ron-ron-ron me anytime.  I had the kissed posters to prove it.  I never quite got into the whole David Cassidy “I Think I Love You” phase (which ironically enough, one of the Idols sang Tuesday!)

Pausing to catch my breath, I sort of notice the overwhelmed and bewildered look on the faces of the male members of my household.  Of course it doesn’t deter my monologue into the past.

“Of course, you have to grow up sometime.  But before all the posters came down, there was that stint with Journey But not all of them.  Some were a bit creepy and Steve Perry just didn’t do it for me.  No, I was all about Jonathan Cain , but now that I really look at him, (with more mature eyes) I think he might be Bill Engvall’s missing twin brother.”

*crickets chirping and males mouths hanging agape at my soliloquy*

Best save I could come up with after realizing how much I had gone on about girlie crushes was:  “Good thing we girls outgrow that, huh.”

To which Brandon replied, “You mean like how you’ve outgrown that with Matthew McConaughey?”

“That is SO not the same thing,” I huff as I quickly unpause the show again.

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Cocktail Moms? Sign up here.

Cocktail Moms? Sign up here.

Today was Gabriella’s Easter party at school.  On a holy T-day. Yes, I am aware that it makes sense that they have their party on a school day.  But they actually encourage the parents to attend.  Give up their holy T-day and go watch their own children play.  At school.  That we paid to send them to so that we can have our days free.  Now, before you go off on me for being such a bitch, have you been keeping track of how many T-days I have missed this year due to illnesses?  Do you know how many of these days off I have had to unwillingly had to sacrifice?  Many.

So there I am writing. I was doing actual work on my book.  W-O-R-K-I-N-G.  But then that damn guilt monster kicks in taunting me in my ear.  “You know this is her first Easter party and egg hunt at school.  You can’t stop for just an hour to go?  What kind of mother are you, anyway?” So, I saved my work and trudged off to the school to catch the last 20 minutes of the hour long party.  In the middle of the day.  My day off.

Standing off to the side with another mom, we watch the gung-ho, Go-Get-’Em UberMoms getting into the party.  Being the cynical women we are, we began to moan about being there and began to question just when we went from UberMom to Oh-For-The-Love-Of-Cocktails How Did We Get Here Moms?  (We realized we have always been this way, thankyouverymuch.  She asked me if I had read the article yesterday in the paper about Cocktail Moms.

Cocktail Moms?  Where do I sign up?

So I went to look up the article.  It really did hit home.

I love how the author, Mary Jacobs, describes the Cocktail Mom.

For an antidote to the perfect madness of perfectly neurotic

Is clenching considered cardio?

Is clenching considered cardio?

Down 6 and a half pounds and ready to take on the world.  If I never hug a toilet again, it will be too soon.  I was not quite ready to face the world and join the land of the living last week, but I was “forced” to by previously made and then cancelled and then reschedule appointments.

Like one with a trainer at a gym.  After the stomach flu.

A local gym is holding a “challenge” to see how much weight and body fat can be lost in a 6 week period.  (You see, Dallas was like number 4 in America’s Fattest Cities” and we just can’t have that!  So, thus the gimics and programs and gym ads begin.) It’s like a mini-boot camp. I get a personalized training program, a personalized nutrition plan and free gym access.  What’s not to love?  But it is on a time schedule and I was already a week behind the others.  I had to get started or it would be too late.

You see, I had to reschedule the initial body assessment twice.  I was out of town the first time and locked in my bathroom the second time.  There was no rescheduling this time.  So, still weak from the flu, I dragged my sorry ass into the gym to be “assessed.”

I told him from the get-go that I was not going to work out much that day because I was just not up to par yet.  Have you ever tried to tell a trainer that?  After 2 reschedules?  It doesn’t work.

Okay.  I am tough.  I haven’t had stomach issues yet.  Bring it on.  And he does.

There I am doing the leg press when I feel that familiar rumbling low on my gut.

Oh good lord… no.. no.. no.. no

Steve* continues to tell me how much weight I need to add and how many reps.  At least I think that is what he is saying.  All I see is his mouth moving.  All I can focus on is the LOUD GURGLING low in my gut.

for the love of god…. this cannot be happening… no.. no.. no.. *CLENCH* *CLENCH* …please stop gurgling… please no… please no

I begin to think of the horror if I were to be the woman on the leg press who farted or worse!  Oh the horror of the “..or worse” part.  My legs started to shake as I tried even harder to clench tighter.

“Too much weight?  I notice your legs are shaking a bit,” he mentions.

“No, no.  This is fine,” I say.  When in fact, what I am actually thinking is, “All’s well.  Just trying not to be the woman who shat upon your leg press, Stevo!”

I’ve never been so happy to finish an exercise in my life.

“Great job.  Now, we’ll move on over here and go for a few squats.”

SQUATS?! Oh, hell no.  I am only human and that is SO not something we are doing right now.

“You know what, Steve?  It’s been fun, but I think we will call it a day today.  We’ll meet up here tomorrow? Mmmkay?  Great.  See ya!”

As I race (as much as you can race with your ass cheeks clenched so tightly you could make diamonds out of coal) out of the gym to my car where I can get home and…uhhh..relax.

I am happy to say, though, I will not go down as the woman who defecated the leg press, thankyouvermuch.

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