He’s my little brother. He was only 6 when my dad died, so I had to help take care of him even though I was pretty young too. He was always a good guy. Never a problem. A very special kid. Extremely handsome, like my dad. Very kind and caring. He keeps it all inside. Never says a bad word about anyone. He thinks it’s best that way. He loves his family, his kids, and his wife. Only problem is, he came over yesterday… he came right to see me. He had just come from the courthouse. She divorced him. And just like that it’s over. And he won’t say a bad word about her. He holds it all in. He thinks it’s best that way. It’s just who he is. He still loves her. And I feel so bad for him I could burst. So I just take care of him, like I do. He’s my little brother.
Our neighbors have a big, black, truck. A very loud big, black, truck. When they start it up, it pierces the morning silence like a gong. It is even louder when it’s cold out. This morning it’s really, really, cold. Vrooom. Vrooom. Welcome to my morning… so this is what it looks like! Frankly, I’m unimpressed. I’d like to go back to bed now, please.
2006? There are no pictures of me in 2006. I’m the one who takes the pictures here. People don’t take pictures of me! There are no pictures of me, until I figured out how to take pictures of myself. Clearly that wasn’t until 2007. Or was it 08? I dunno, maybe later. Anyways, you know what I look like. Imagine it 5 years younger and… Bingo, 2006!
Yes, it’s true. I haven’t had much to say lately. I’ve just been sitting back enjoying the view. (that’s what Barbara Walter’s says.) Anyways, I’ve been walking two miles everyday, with my neighbor, and ya know what? Exercise works! My muffin top is now just a slightly puffy dinner roll. Also, down three pounds. (yay) And that is all for now. So, carry on. Good Day!
So here’s the thing about the Super moon. To get the full effects, you had to see it right when it was rising… or right when it was setting. Now, since I don’t live by the ocean, on a mountain top, or any place where there’s not an unobstructed view, the chances of me seeing the Super moon, when it was REALLY, really, super are pretty close to none. But, I did get a pic of it when it was ‘semi-Super’ so there’s that.
Going out with the girls tonight. I’m a little excited, except for one thing. Stupid green!! I hate green. I don’t have ANYTHING green. I look terrible in green. So, how about teal? Will teal do? I can do teal. I look good in teal. It matches my eyes. I will accessorize with green. Okay? Will that save me from being pinched. (which, by the way, I think is a very rude custom) Happy St. Patty’s Day! Tonight you can call me Teal-a Tequila.
I’ve never been in a real ‘knock down drag out’ fight, but when I was a young teenager, I kinda got pushed to my breaking point.
I can’t remember exactly what caused the problem, but there was some kind of verbal altercation between one of my siblings and the neighbor girl. Her way of attempting to win the fight, was to shout out, in a snotty little rant, “and I’m glad your dad died”. At which point I immediately leapt from our front steps, took chase, and caught up to her in record time. I grabbed her by the hair, pulled her to the ground, and gave her, what any hockey player would consider, the hardest and best face wash in the snow, ever to be recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records. I really don’t remember what happened after that, …but I bet, to this day, Judy still can’t bring herself to eat a snow cone.
Twas a night of dysfunctional family fun. The “in laws” are seriously people you want to party with. Meaning: A lot of wine was consumed. And we’re on the Concierge Floor of a fancy hotel, in Chicago. Are you ready for this? I think not, Concierge people. I think not.
So yeah, Let’s talk about Paczki’s. Although I’m Polish, and am pleased as punch that everyone celebrates the paczki today, they’re not that big a deal. My dad used to buy them for us all the time, when we were kids. Like weekly. You can pretty much get them at any bakery. They’re called jelly doughnuts, y’all, JELLY DOUGHNUTS! (or bismarcks in some circles) P.S. So enjoy your jelly doughnuts today!!
Spring Break is over. After being home a week, The Boy said GOODBYE and went back to school yesterday. Then, HELLO, my Oldest Boy came home, on Saturday, to go skiing with his dad. He said GOODBYE and left for his place today. The house is empty again. But no need to fret, cause HELLO, I’m going to Chicago to see The Girl tomorrow. You say goodbye and I say hello…hello, hello,
'The Man' and one of the boys went skiing. Me? Oh, I don't ski much anymore. In fact, NEVER-more. It's a sad story, really. I was that woman. The woman who wanted to be it all. Brains, looks, money, and athletic ability. (take a chill pill..I am none of these, it just makes for a good story) I have hiked the trails, canoed the rivers and even, *gulp*, attempted to go down a gigantic ice hill, with two pieces of wood strapped onto my feet. Until that day. That one fateful day, when we went on a family ski trip, after years of not going on family ski trips.
I was never very good at skiing, but I could make it down a hill, doing the “pizza slice” all the way down. (essentially braking the entire time) Shut up and read on. So this time, I decided to practice a little bit before I headed up to the “Black Diamond” hills. I spent a great deal of time going up the pull rope and down the semi icy mounds of snow. I was actually getting pretty good. Building up my confidence with every move I made. I was even doing turns, guys! Turns! I was slicing and dicing that gah-damn pizza slice.
It was getting dark. Time to go in. I wanted to make it down just one more time before I hit “the major slopes”. And then it happened. As I headed for my final journey toward the tow rope, I hit a patch of ice. The mother of all patches of ice. My feet flew up, my head flew up. I was bent at the waist shaped like a “V”, with the bottom of the “V” being my arss. I hit the ground. I heard a crack. And oh the pain. Oh the pain!! The kids were there and asked if I was okay, as I softly said “no, I’m not, momma’s hurt.” “Momma’s hurt bad”. I don’t know how I got myself up, but I did. I inched my way back to our room, about 30 minutes later. It hurt to sit, it hurt to lay down. It hurt to ride in the car all the way home the next day.
Long story short. I went to the hospital, got x-rays, and found out that MOMMA BROKE HER BUTT! Yep, fractured my sacrum. Momma broke her butt on Mighty Mouse. Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to tell you that I was on Mighty Mouse? The bunny hill? The fricken BUNNY hill, when I fell and broke my ass? Yes, yes I was. And they’ll never let me forget it. And that’s why I don’t ski anymore. But I still have my brains, looks, and money. Right? Right?! …Have a nice trip, guys!!!! I’ll just be here, at home, sitting in my soft comfy chair, at the computer, sitting on my unbroken butt. And if you happen to go by Mighty Mouse…tell him I said motherfu#%*#!
Seriously, it always snows when ‘The Man’ is gone. I shoveled the driveway, the day before yesterday, and then the snow plow came (i know you can feel my pain). So I shoveled that mess up last night. (heavy icy chunks). I wake up this morning? And yes, we have 3 new inches of snow. So, you know, I go out and shovel away, like I’m one of the Seven Dwarfs, heaving coal into Snow White’s furnace. (why does that sound so dirty to me) Anyways, I FINALLY get done and the neighbor’s niece takes a sharp turn onto our unplowed street and gets stuck. So I grab my shovel and head down to the corner, like a good little dwarf, (at this point, I’m going to go with Dopey..because, man, I’m exhausted) to help dig and push her out. After a few tries, we free her. And long story short: I’m a beast! …A Dopey beast…and now a little bit of a Sleepy beast as well. Where’s the motrin, Doc?
Today I’ll clean the house, tidy up things a bit. Tonight we’ll drive to the train. MY BABY GIRL IS COMING HOME! It’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since Christmas, and since “that one guy” broke her heart. And when she gets here, I’ll put my arms around her and hold her tight, and rock her like I did when she was little. (She’s fine now, this part is more for me.) I need to know I did my part. We could sit and trash talk about him for a couple hours, and laugh about what a jerk he was, but what would be the point. We’re moving on. As we do. We’ll laugh and laugh because WE have the upper hand. WE are the winners… for tomorrow we will shop till we drop! And there pretty much isn’t anything better than that. Is there?
Back when The Man and I first were married, we had a house on the South side of town. (Back behind Deja Vu, the local strip club) But that’s a whole other story for a whole nother day.
Anyways, One night we had a torrential down pour..water running down the street like an angry river, backing up almost as high as the car doors. The Man and I had been out pretty late partying, and when we came home after picking up the baby, I walked into the kitchen and a horrible smell hit me in the face like a stink bomb on the Fourth of July. Like a fat man’s farts after eating authentic Italian meatballs. “What smells like shit?” I said, as the man headed down to the basement to see what was up. He made it down to the 3rd to the last step when he saw, with his flashlight in tow, the contents of the entire neighborhood’s sewer floating around, like ducks in a duck pond, up to our second stair. Now just think for a minute all the things you have ever put in your toilet, and THAT was now swimming in OUR basement.
It was that night that we learned that our house just so happened to be the lowest house on the street. (that’s a lot of thats) Oh joy. A small tidbit of information that nobody ever thought to tell us, when we bought the house. The other neighbors were already prepared. They all had their own personal monogramed basement pumps amongst their household belongings, for just such events. But us? Us? Oh no. We didn’t have no stinkin pump. (no pun intended) Who plans for this kind of shit? So I packed up the baby, and we went back to grandmas house, while daddy stayed home and pumped out the poo. He spent the night cleaning and bleaching out the basement, working well into the next day.
So you see Cary, I would NEVER make fun of leaky basements or flooding phobias, because I too have issues with the poo monster that lives in the pipes deep below the basements of our minds. God, it’s like we’re sisters or something.
Happy Birthday Lindsaylooo!! May you have sunshine on this cloudy day. (not in the form of K.C. and the Sunshine Band) May a pack of teeny tiny elephants dance across your floor, delivering you the most fantastic cake, while making sure not to step on your cute little sparkly purple toes. And may Eminem drive up, in his Chrysler, and tell you that you are beautiful, while the Detroit Tigers sing Happy Birthday in the background. I love you Lindsaylooo. Have an awesome day!!
January 31st: Suzanne Pleshette, Sade, Portia DeRossi, Carol Channing, Minnie Driver, Nolan Ryan, Norman Mailer, Justin Timberlake and Tallulah Bankhead. (Tallulah. Frikken. Bankhead. Now THAT’S a name!) …Oh, and the ever popular tumblr’er, thatchris!!
You know that thing where you’re getting a whole bunch of money back from income taxes and you think “WHOA BABY, we’re gonna have some fun” and then your kid’s car goes into the shop, and you find out it’s gonna cost more than half of that to get it fixed? Yeah, that.
One of my spawn is coming home today. I guess, technically, spawn isn’t the correct word. But offspring makes it sound like I did something wrong while jumping… (and that could be entirely correct.) Anyways, just a little bit excited here.
I am so proud of my daughter, for picking herself up and moving on so gracefully, after being disposed of by her boyfriend. Proving to me, herself, and the world, that she doesn’t need a man to define herself. So, so, so, proud of her!
She thought he was “the one”. And then he let her go. He threw her away because she wasn’t perfect. She was flawed, in his tiny little mind. He doesn’t know what a mistake he made. She’s as good as it gets. I know this cause I’m her mom. He broke her heart. I mean he REALLY broke her heart. Now I help her pick of the pieces. And she’ll eventually figure out that he doesn’t deserve her. He never did. She’s better off without him. What a JERK!
When you’re naming candles, be verrry careful. An Island Margarita should *never* be burned. It should be proudly served in a shapely glass, placed on a pedestal, with a coaster, and then savored. Savored to perfection. Never burned.
Skyping with my favorite little sister from Arizona. A visit from a favorite girlfriend who brought me a belated birthday present. ‘The man’ finally coming home from a business trip, after being alone all week, in the stupid snow storm. Drinking a whole bottle of wine. Tonight didn’t suck!