Monthly Archives: January 2014

The Golden Globes as Told By Me

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True that

Contrary to what I said on my Facebook page, I watched the DVR’ed Golden Globes.  Even though it’s old news.  It’s kinda like watching The World Series a day later.  Well, I would imagine.

The Kid saw that I had recorded it and insist I watch it with her.  It was just her way of getting me to spend time with her.  You know.  Because I’m usually too busy texting or having slumber parties.  What a trickster.

I had a hard time concentrating on this awards show.  Because they always go on forever and ever.  And I kept getting texts from my posse.  Here is what I believe happened.  Or told from my point of view.  Which is coming from thoughts inside my head.  Enjoy.

  • OMG!  Did I just see Rita Wilson texting?  I could totes be her BFF.
  • I never realized how itty bitty Sandra’s boobs are.  Huh.
  • I’m not too old for Channing Tatum.  I swear I’m not.
  • Does Paula Patton know she has wadded up toilet paper all over her dress?  Who is Paula Patton?
  • Come on people.  Hurry it up.  We only have 3 hours here.  Geez.  I’m guessing they should get Segways for all the people sitting in back for next year.  I mean, really.  Do you know how much time they could save?  I’m not kidding.
  • Are those sparkly butterfly clips in Alex Ebert’s hair?   Who is Alex Ebert?
  • Emma Thompson is my kind of girl.  Except my drink of choice would be a Cosmo.  I don’t care if it’s so 1999.
  • Hayden Panettiere, I hate to tell you chicky, but it looks like a cow licked your hair.  I wish someone would have clued you in.
  • “Her” is about a guy who falls in love with his iPhone?  Wait.  Am I supposed to pay 10 bucks to see that?  Disturbing.  I wonder when it’s playing on Friday.
  • Gawd, I really hate the part where they talk.
  • I would love to sit at Meryl Streep’s table.  No wait.  Johnny Depp.  No.  Emma Thompson.  No.  Tom Hanks.  No.  Bradley Cooper.  No.  Robert Redford.  Oh balls.  Never mind.  I’ll just stay home.
  • Can you imagine how much money went just for champagne alone?  If I were there, I’d just want to talk the whole time and get drunk.  Boy, would I be a spectacle.  I guess that’s why I didn’t get an invite.  The Foreign Press people probably know that about me.  Who are the Foreign Press?
  • I wasn’t expecting Spike Jonz.  I was expecting Spike Lee.  It’s like going to take a drink of your soda only to find out it’s beer.  And who is Spike Jonz.  Although, I feel like I should know who he is.  I feel kind of stupid right now.
  • OMG, all the older actors are going to die and then there won’t be anyone I like.  Or even worse.  Anyone I know.

So, that’s a wrap.  See you all for the Oscars.  Where we get to see the same people.  Getting more awards.  Wearing multi-thousand dollar borrowed jewelry and dresses.  I’ll bring the champagne.  I’ll try not to fall asleep.

The Case of the Ninja Children

I have a friend who has 7 children.  SEVEN.  It’s not like I never heard of that before.  My dad is one of 7.  His parents are from Irish Catholic descent.  They did not believe in birth control.  This is the 21st century.  I didn’t think people still did things like this.  I freak out when a woman I meet tells me she has 3 children.  Seven?  Holy Hell.

Anyway, my friend had to go out of town.  I helped to sit some of her children.  With another friend.  Because that shit cannot be done alone.  I don’t care if your name is Mary-Freaking-Poppins.  For the record, I adore her kids. They are awesome.  Full of personality and life.  Amazing.  Did I get baby fever (or toddler fever)?  Almost.  But then I realized that if I still had a uterus, it most likely would have jumped right out of my body.  I’m seriously not sure I could do that all over again.  Actually, I’m AM sure I couldn’t do that all over again.

This friend of seven has a blog.  I have spoken about her before (www.not-your-average-mom.com).  She’s funny.  She’s real.  She says it like it is.  She doesn’t hold any punches.  When her kids get into something (which is quite often), she documents it.  Shares it with the world.  There are haters out there.  People who say shit like, “you should be watching your kids more closely.”  Blah, blah, blah.  I do not judge her.  I am a mother of one.  And I remember when The Kid was a young child, sometimes crap would happen.  You could have your back turned for 3.5 seconds, and crap just happens. It just does.  I don’t care who you think you are.  It happens to all of us.  The best of us.  Even the haters.

It happened to us yesterday.  Her living room is divided in half by a sectional.  Behind the sectional is a play area.  With a rectangular kid’s table.  Her youngest child seemed to want to go back behind the couch and take a nap under this table.  My friend and I checked on her.  She was out cold.  A few minutes later her brother decided to join her.  He laid down next to her and seemed to be passed out as well.  We checked on them.  Even called out their names.  Not a flinch.  They were out like a couple of burnt out light bulbs.

We were sitting on the couch.  Not 2 feet from them.  10 minutes passed and not a sound.  Not a freaking sound.  You could hear a pin drop.  No rustling.  No nothing.  Do you understand?  Not.A.Sound.  They suddenly appear and this was our surprise:

photophoto

That is nail polish, lipstick and Lord knows what else.  The little girl had it all over her princess dress.  Her older sister (not pictured) was a bit worried that the stains would never come out.  I was absolutely amazed and although I have the utmost respect for my mother of 7 friend, the level of respect was raised by 2,000 decibels.  If that is possible.  These kids completely and utterly bamboozled us.  They deserve an Oscar.  It’s like they got together and spoke in their toddler speak or something.  I can hear them now, “Show’s on mo-fo’s.  Let’s blow their minds.”

We sat there completely dumbfounded.  These children are Ninja’s.  They are stealth.  They are like nothing I have ever seen in my life.  They have their craft down to a science.  Seriously.  That is some crazy crap.  I hope they do some good with that someday.  Because it is a gift. A real gift.

When I got home, I sat on the couch and fell into a deep sleep.  A coma-like sleep.  My daughter had to nudge me because I was snoring.  At 4 in the afternoon.  An 8 hour shift at My Retail Job doesn’t exhaust me as much as watching those beautiful children for 4 hours.  Phew.  With that being said, I would do it again in a heartbeat.  Great experience.  Good job, Friend of 7.  Good job.

What’s In My Name and Other Stuff

My name is Maureen Catherine.  My close friends call me “Mo.”  My mother wanted my middle name to be spelled “Kathryn.”  But that’s not how Catholics spelled it in those days.  The woman at Town Hall told her so.  Bully.  My father wanted me to be “Dawn Marie.”  I’m glad he didn’t get what he wanted.  I do not look like a Dawn.  And with the way I am with songs, every time someone said my name, Tanya Tucker would be popping up in there.  Every time.  I just know it.  The other day at work someone yelled, “COME ON EILEEN!”  Not good.  Especially since that is probably one of my least favorite songs ever.  Just so you know, it’s still rattling around in my brain.  But I digress.

When I was a kid, I must have asked my mother what my name meant.  Which is really weird for me.  Because I was a simple child.  I didn’t think much.  Seriously.  I’m not hating on myself.  I just was not known for my thinking skills.  I’ll give you an example:  When asked on a test if I was Male or Female, I didn’t know the answer.  I figured I had a 50/50 shot at getting it right so I guessed.  Of course, I guessed incorrectly.  Which happens to be the story of my life (you know, guess the wrong answer, get in the wrong line at the grocery store…).  Unless I had grown a penis overnight, I was female (and still am, I swear).  I was about 7 when I took that test.  And that statement about me figuring I had a 50/50 shot?  That’s not true.  I just took a stab at it and failed.  Accompanied by a mini anxiety attack.  I can still see my 7-year-old self totally freaking out because I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the hell that meant.

Another time, while standing in line at the school cafeteria, a girl asked me what my nationality was.  I looked oddly at her for a second and then I just turned around and completely ignored her.  Yes.  I ignored her.  Just like that.  Turned my back in the hopes that she would go away.  It worked.  I couldn’t even remember the word to ask my mom when I got home.  But when it came up later in life, I had one of those “aha” moments Oprah is always talking about.  Sorry to the girl who was probably trying to be my friend.  I’m Irish.  And for the record, you are a show-off.

little house on the prairie dress

I loved “Little House” so much that I asked for a prairie dress for my birthday. This beauty touched my toes.  I’m sorry you can’t get the whole effect.  You’re missing out.

Anyway, my mother, or someone,  said my name meant “Mary.”  I was thrilled at this news.  I knew that Mary was Jesus’ mother.  I also knew that Mary was my favorite character (other than Charles for reasons I do not need to explain) on Little House on the Prairie.  When I went to school the next day, I wrote my new name on every single assignment.  Because I figured if that’s what it meant, then I had a right.  Besides it took less time and energy to write it out.  My teacher was not empathetic.  And gave me an “F” on all my assignments that day.  That was the beginning and end of Mary.  It turns out my name doesn’t mean Mary at all.  It means “bitter.”  Hmm.

I was born in New Jersey to an Army father and housewife mother.  We moved all over the country and even lived in Germany for a few years.  I never went to college, but attended a trade school where I honed my typing and shorthand skills.  Skills that are falling by the wayside because I can’t find a damn job but that is a story for another time (or did I already write about that once or twice?  Yes, I am Bitter.  I’m allowed.  That’s my name after all).  I met DH when I was 19.  We married when I was 25 and we settled in Connecticut.  We have one child.  My life is full of excitement and adventure.  Have you seen that new show “Naked and Alone?”  Yeah, well, I did something like that once.  Except I was wearing clothes and I was in my backyard.

So, that’s it.  Are you amazed?  I know.  Try to contain yourself.  I’ve been trying to get TLC to do a reality TV show on me, but they refuse.  I don’t understand.  I could be a big money maker for them.  Big.  Their loss.  They’ll be sorry when NBC comes knocking on my door.  Until then, you can find me hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Just kidding.  I’ll be on my couch. watching reruns of Friends.  I’m so glad Ross and Rachel ended up together.  Aren’t you?

Why Being 40-Something is Awesome

glasses on headSo, maybe “awesome” is a strong word here.  But being in my 40’s isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  I was inspired to write about this subject by a post I saw the other day.  The blogger wrote a list of 40 reasons why being 40-something is better than being 20-something.  And it got me thinking about my own reasons why the 40’s are better than the 20’s.  I couldn’t come up with 40 exactly, so 10 will have to do.  Here’s what I think.  Tread lightly.

  1. You don’t need to bring your ID with you everywhere.  Believe me.  I don’t care how young you think you look.  You will not get carded.  Unless the bartender is trying for an extra tip.  But for me, that doesn’t work.  Because I know he is trying for an extra tip.
  2. We are smarter.  See number one.
  3. When I was in my 20’s, I would beg, borrow and steal to get you to like me.  Now?  I don’t really give a damn, Scarlet.  Unless your name is DH.  Cuz I want him to like me.  Otherwise I’d be divorced.
  4. I would rather die than admit that I needed glasses to read.  Today?  You can find me at any given time with 3 pairs sitting on top of my head.  It’s really quite cute.  And oh so convenient.
  5. People take you a little more seriously.  And I can act like a dumb ass around young people and they can’t say anything because it would be totally disrespectful.  It’s so much fun to see The Kid’s friends squirm or the young people at My Retail Job give me that “you’re so weird” look.  I should be embarrassed.  But I’m not.
  6. I can, and have, answered the door in my robe and slippers and am surprisingly fine with it.  Now the person at my door?  That may be a different story.  I see soap to the eyes in their near future.
  7. When I was in my 20’s, you would never, ever catch me singing out loud in my car to myself.  Ever.  Now?  Not only will I sing out loud and proud, but I may even roll down my windows for all to enjoy.  Consider that my gift to you.  You’re welcome.
  8. As a 40-something year old woman, I am more confident, sure and wise.  Honestly.  You couldn’t pay me a million bucks to go back there.  Well, actually.  It would be really great if my ass still looked that good.  Or was at least in the place it was intended to be.  Because I am completely freaked out by what happened to it.  I think I need a bra for my butt.  A Butt Bra.
  9. I have no problem with being accountable for my actions.  Back then I would throw every Tom, Dick and Harry under the bus to save my ass.  Oh wait.  I thought I was supposed to be smarter?
  10. I am so incredibly at ease with my partner.  I will walk around naked in the light.  Tell him what I think.  Burp out loud.  And poop with the bathroom door open.  Ok, actually that last one is a lie.  That’s just gross.

So, that’s about it.  For Now.  Maybe there will be a Part II because surely there are many, many more reasons why being 46 is better than being 26, right?  Can you think of any?  Let me know.  Because it has got to be better than this.  Maybe.

My Top 10 Blog Posts of 2013 According to Me

I’ve been noticing something since the new year.  It appears that some bloggers are blogging a list of their top 10 posts from 2013 (or Tweets, but since I desperately suck at Twitter and have less than 10 to choose from, that won’t work).  You know, kind of like the Barbara Walters Most Fascinating People list?  But way better.

Well, I’m not exactly sure what my top 10 blog posts are because I’m absolutely horrible at checking my stats.  But here’s what I think are my funniest.  For all you late comers, check them out.  For those of you with me from the beginning, reminisce.

  1. Fa La La La What?
  2. Embarrassing Moment #3,195
  3. They Do WHAT On The Bus?
  4. I Am A Grouper
  5. Things I Learned During Spring Break
  6. The Big Flush
  7. Random Thoughts
  8. Reiki Away My Pain
  9. Oops
  10. Our Family Christmas Letter

Which was your favorite?

 

Everything Gets Old. Everything.

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That’s a dried up peach. Get your head out of the gutter.

Attention all women.  Guess what we have to look forward to as we age?  Besides wrinkles.  And gray hairs.  And flabby skin.  And age spots.  And facial hair.  And toe hair.  And nose hair.  And memory loss.  And menopause.  And dryness.  And baldness.  Ooh, I got a little carried away there.  Sorry about that.  Apparently, there’s a new ailment in town.  Well, perhaps it’s not new per se.  I’m sure it’s been around since the beginning of time but no one felt comfortable about talking about it.  Until now.

It’s called Vaginal Atrophy.  Yup.  You got it.  The walls of your vagina can dry up from underuse.  You heard me right.  Underuse.  If you do not use your vagina, it can have the potential of drying up like the Sahara.  Or like old rubber left out in the sun too long.  And there are side effects that come along with this dryness.  Just think bread but not as nice.  Gross me out the door and gag me with a spoon. (There’s some ’80’s slang for you.  To prove I’m not old.  Oh wait, actually that proves that I AM old, doesn’t it?  Never mind.)

How do I know this?  Because my poor mother suffers from it.  She’s been suffering from the effects of it for months.  Months.  I had to listen to her complain about it for months.  Do you understand?  This is almost as bad as when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when I was 13, only to find my dad skipping around the living room in his heart covered briefs.  Okay, maybe that was worse.  Okay, that probably was worse.  Okay, that was worse. She didn’t know what it was. No amount of Monistat was curing it.  No amount.  I’m pretty sure the woman bought enough of that crap to put a down payment on a vacation home.

Anyway, her good doctor said it was from underuse.  When she told me, I was overcome with all sorts of emotions.  My amusement turned to disgust.  Which turned to disbelief.  Which then turned to full on panic.  Because I do not want to have vaginal walls of cracked shoe leather.  Like, I don’t worry enough already about getting old.

So, in a nutshell, if you don’t use your vagina, you could possibly suffer from vaginal atrophy.  Can you imagine?  What?  Are we supposed to have sex until we are 80?  I mean, sex is great and all.  But I’m guessing after 60+ years, I may be wanting a break.  Does anyone hear what I’m saying?  I mean, how hot will I look in a maid’s outfit at that age?  After all, if I’m still doing it at 80, I’m going to have to get creative.  Sorry for the visual.  But the truth sometimes hurts.  How would you get in the mood?  I’m talking about you.  Not your husband/significant other/partner.  Because men can go for forever.  They are like the Energizer Bunny crossed with Tony Randall.

It does give sex a whole new meaning though.  “Hey honey,  get ready.  We have some vaginal wall drying-up prevention to do.”  Mmm.  Romantic.  I’ll grab the petroleum.

A New Year, A New Promise

download-download-happy-new-year-2013-2-hd-withFirst, I want to say Happy Anniversary to me!  It was one year ago today that I started this journey of mine as Blog Writer.  (Click here for my first blog post.  It’s about some dirty ice and the runs.)  Just so you know, I’m having so much fun and loving my new hobby.  You know, in case you were wondering.

Second, I want to talk about the dreaded New Year’s Resolution.  They suck.  I stopped doing them years ago.  Mainly because I was sick and tired of not following through.  Because, let’s face it, I’m lazy.  Isn’t it funny how many of us start off our New Year’s resolutions hung over?  If that’s not bad enough, we have to remember to write the year correctly on all of our documents.  Which, by the way, takes me about 6 months.  And why do we wait until the beginning of a new year to make changes?  I know for me, it’s just so I can buy more time.  (“I’m giving up french fries.  Oh, wait.  I don’t need to do that now.  I’ll do that in the new year.  I have 7 months and 23 days left.  Phew.”)  But I digress.  What was I talking about again?

Oh right.  I hadn’t written (or thought of or told anyone) New Year’s resolutions for a long time.  Until last year.  I was not in a good place physically, which led to me being not in a good place mentally.  Although I am a wife and mother, two roles that I love, I felt like I needed more.  So, I wrote myself a little list.  On that list included getting healthy, starting a blog and finding a job.  Well, as you know, I started the blog on day numero uno.  It took me another month (one month and 19 days to be exact) to start the getting healthy bit.  And then another 3 months to find a job.  Better late than never, right?

Because I had such a successful resolution year, I decided to have a go at it again this year.  Here they are.  It’s not a big list.  Because quality is better than quantity.  Besides, quantity is just too much unless you are talking about money or something.  (Ok, ok, I know.  I’m doing that cliche thing of sharing my boring promises.  But you people keep me on the straight and narrow.  If I don’t say it out loud, I’m afraid I won’t be accountable.)

  1. Turn up the volume on the blog writing. Including going viral (I can do it…I know I can).
  2. Volunteer my time to humanity.  In other words, make a difference.  Somewhere.
  3. Be a better me.  By “better” I mean think before I speak (this hasn’t worked in the past, but I’ll try again.  In fact, I remember promising this exact resolution to myself when I was about 17…look where it has gotten me), be less judgmental, more conscious and get organized (see how I kinda snuck that last one in?  I was going to have it be separate but it was just too overwhelming).

That’s it.  Three (four) little things.  Shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish, right?  I’ll update you in 365 days to let you know how I did.  So far, I’m sitting in bed writing this blog.  Number one is on track.  Last night, I’m pretty sure I said some stupid stuff after my second Cosmo.  Which means that perhaps I’m not heading in the right direction for #3.  Oh, but that was last night.  So it doesn’t count.  At this point, I’m just rambling.  So, Happy 2014 everyone!  I hope all of your dreams come true!  And thanks for being here.  I couldn’t do it without you.  Peace, love and happiness.