Things I’ve Learned This Week

 

    I’ve decided that every Friday I’m gonna try something new here on my blog — it’s gonna be called “Things I’ve Learned This Week” and will allow me to reflect on all the shit that’s been thrown my way over the past seven days.  So here’s what enlightened me this week: 

** Getting bitten on the ass when you get out of the shower is not as arousing as it may sound.

** If I want to take a little nap, I should flip on this season’s “American Idol”.

** Apparently, it’s really funny when you puke on your parent’s face.

** My car automatically finds the slowest person on the road to get behind.

** Caffeine is WAY better than sex.  Well…not really.  But it certainly was this week anyway.

** I really shouldn’t be trusted with a razor.  Ever.

** Girl Scout cookies are laced with crack.

** My bras are highly entertaining to six year olds.

** There’s a conspiracy amongst the members of my household to act like bafoons when my husband goes out of town.

** If I need to learn how to properly throw a tantrum, I should give Jay Leno a call.

** Four o’clock a.m. is most certainly NOT my favorite hour of the day.

** My dog’s been studying the Kama Sutra to spice things up with his girlfriend, Betty.

** I will NEVER speak the language of Starbucks correctly.

** I will be wiping my kids’ asses until they’re 45.

** Sid the Science Kid makes me grateful for earplugs.

** There’s actually green stuff (I believe it’s called GRASS?) underneath all that snow on the ground.

** I could really use twelve sets of arms.

** The Bachelor is a typical douchebag guy who only thinks with his penis.

** The dishes in the sink DO NOT put themselves away overnight.

** A seven year old kid does not make a good air traffic controller.

** I could cook a Thanksgiving turkey with all the heat I radiate while I sleep.

** Despite what I may think, God does not give me more than I can handle.

Jasmine’s Jewels

I have met so many amazing people through my blog and through Twitter.  One such person is Jasmine, who has been a loyal follower of my blog since almost its very beginning.  She was just one of those people with whom I instantly clicked.  Here she is — say hi to Jasmine y’all:

Jasmine has her own jewelry-making business online called Jia and asked me if I’d be willing to write a review and post it on my blog.  She said she’d send me some “FREE” jewelry to check out.  FREE?!  Uh, yes, please!  I never get free stuff, so I was just about to pee myself the day I found the package in my mailbox.  And just look at the goodies she sent me:

    

           

I had told her that I tend to wear a lot of black and silver (much to my mom’s dismay who for years has tried to get me to wear something other than “funeral clothes“), and Jasmine picked out the absolute perfect pieces for me!  And what’s really cool about Jasmine’s jewelry collection are her prices. The earrings are only $5/pair, the bracelet is only $7, and the necklace is only $10!  Unbelievable, huh?!  You could totally justify buying multiple pieces and not have to worry about a bitch session when your husband notices your new baubles.  (Or is it just my husband who likes to do that?)   

My favorite piece that Jasmine sent is this turquoise and silver bracelet:

I could totally rock this with a cute black sweater or a sexy little black dress.  And again, the price is unbeatable — only $7!  

I know you’re probably dying to check out more of Jasmine’s stuff so you can snatch up some things for yourself, for your wife, or for your girlfriends. So, here’s the link to more of her fabulous jewelry:

The Interview Gone Wrong

     Have you ever had just a nightmare of an interview?  Did you walk out of there feeling 110% convinced that there was no way in hell that you were getting the job? I’d venture a guess to say that the majority of us have been there, done that at some point in our lives.  I remember one such interview in my past when I was being considered (if only for a fraction of a second) to teach in an inner-city school.  Wow, did I ever eff that one up!

     Given the fact that I come from anything BUT a big city, I don’t have a whole lot of know-how about the rough and tumble life of the mean streets.  I grew up in a bubble where the worst thing that really happened in my neighborhood was a peeping Tom who actually turned out to be some idiot teenager living only a few streets away and was just looking to get his rocks off.  And the only teaching experience I had at this point was a year in an upscale community Catholic school.  So, needless to say, I wasn’t really walking into this particular interview with a whole lot to pull out of my back pocket.

     As I was driving to the school, I noticed that almost every building in the area had boarded up windows — not a good sign, but I had such high hopes of finally working in a public school, that I was willing to overlook it.  When I pulled into the parking lot, I was relieved to see that the building looked brand spanking new, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.  How bad could it really be, right?  I walked into the school’s office and was told to have a seat next to another prospective job candidate.  I sat there nervously waiting for my turn and wondering what the chick next to me was bringing to the table. The school secretary must have noticed my fidgeting and decided to strike up some small talk (either that or she saw how naive I was and wanted to scare the living shit right outta me).  

Secretary:  ”Have you had your car tuned up lately?”

Me:  ”Uh, yes, I think so.  Why do you ask?” 

Secretary:  ”Well, you don’t want to get stuck with car trouble anywhere NEAR this neighborhood.”

Me:  ”Oh, ok, good to know.”

Secretary:  ”Do you have an unlock button on your keychain?”

Me:  ”Uh, yes, I actually do.”

Secretary:  ”That’s good cause you don’t want to be fidgeting around for your keys in the parking lot after dark.  It’s best to unlock your car as you’re walking out of the building.”

Dear God, what had I gotten myself into?  I was NOT Michelle Pfeiffer, this was not “Dangerous Minds”, and I did not own a bullet-proof vest.  As I sat there silently wondering if I should just get up and leave while I still had the chance, my name was called.  Holy shit!  I was about to be eaten alive.

     I sat down with the principal and a panel of teachers and realized that I was for sure going to piss myself at any given moment.  They immediately started firing off questions, which I was surprisingly able to handle without a problem.  I was feeling pretty good about myself until they decided to give me a classroom scenario to see how I’d handle it.

Principal:  ”What would you do if a well-known gang-banger repeatedly came to class chewing gum even though it’s against the rules?”

Me:  ”I’d have a talk with him after class, and if that didn’t work, I’d call his parents.”

Principal:  ”What if his parents are never home and refuse to take your call?  Or what if they don’t even have a phone?”

Me:  ”Well, then I’d request a parent/teacher conference to discuss the matter in person.”

Principal:  ”And what if the gang-banger threatens you?”

Me:  ”Threatens me?  You mean, like, with violence?”

Principal:  ”Yes, with violence.  But don’t worry, every classroom is equipped with surveillance cameras as well as a panic button if you need it.”

I had such a big lump in my throat from all the throw up that was threatening to work its way up my esophagus, that I wasn’t really even able to finish addressing the question. I think they knew they’d completely stumped me because they changed the subject and quickly wrapped up the interview.  I’m pretty sure I heard them rolling on the floor laughing as I got the hell out of there.

     It was no surprise then that I did NOT get the job.  (What a shocker!)  I was clearly out of my element and totally out of my comfort zone.  It was definitely a learning experience and a huge eye-opener for me.  Maybe my little Catholic school job wasn’t so bad after all.

**SO, WHAT WAS YOUR WORST JOB INTERVIEW?**

The Loveseat Freak

    

     My husband is a huge fan of selling our unwanted crap on Craigslist.  While I’ll give him the fact that we’ve made some decent money from it, the whole idea kinda creeps me out.  Now maybe I am a little paranoid, but I’m just not real crazy about the idea of having a complete stranger come and roam around our basement.  Sure the “Craigslist Killer” headlines are in the back of my mind, but this fear goes back even farther than that.

     Before the days of the mighty mighty internet, you may recall that we had to actually take out an ad in the classified section of the newspaper if we wanted to cash in on our useless junk.  You had to submit a brief description of your item and include your home phone number (because remember, there were also no such thing as cell phones back then).  And much like Craigslist, you’d set up a time and a location to meet with potential buyers to hopefully conduct a sale.

     I remember one such occasion when my mom was trying to sell the loveseat in our living room.  She’d placed an ad in the paper and had received several interested calls, but no one who was really very serious about buying it.  Naturally, it wasn’t until my dad was out of town for the entire week on business that she finally got a call from a man who seemed extremely interested.  He asked 10,000 questions about it (color, fabric, measurements, etc.) and said he wanted to come and see it in person.  So, my mom mapped out the exact directions of just how to get him to our house. And then, things got weird.  In fact, things got VERY weird.

     He proceeded to tell my mom about all the freaky deaky things he wanted to DO to her on that said loveseat.  He went into enormous porno-style detail as my mom stood there horrified with the phone in her hand.  Naturally, she hung up as fast as she could when she finally snapped out of her shock, and then she went into severe panic mode. This pervert knew EXACTLY how to get to our house!  And don’t forget that my dad was, of course, out of town for the whole freaking week!  She put our neighbors on high alert and encouraged them to report any suspicious activity.  Luckily, nothing ever happened (thank God), and it was probably just some lonely freakshow who was looking for a way to get off on someone else’s fear.  Sicko.

     So, as you can imagine, this whole incident has made it a little difficult for me not to judge people who respond to our Craigslist ads.  Can I help it if I worry that the man who comes to look at our ancient bike rack is gonna pull out a whip, a chain, and an anal probe and ask me to smile pretty for the camera?  Needless to say, I’ve completely taken myself out of having anything to do with the selling of our old shit.  If my hubby wants to ward off Ted Bundy or Hannibal Lector to sell a damn toaster oven, then that’s his choice.  I, however, want nothing to do with it.

The Puke Invasion

    My house was invaded this weekend by an unexpected visitor.  Yes, the puke bug decided to spew its ugliness all over my poor son’s little body and literally knock him right off his feet.  And as a parent, one of the most gut-wrenching experiences is to have to watch your child suffer in pain and know that there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.  As miserable as he was, though, the little rockstar was still able to make his severely sleep-deprived mama smile more than once even though he was busy “driving the big white truck.”

     When I picked the little guy up from school on Friday, I immediately knew that something was up.  He was as pale as a ghost and laid his head right on me the moment he saw me.  He even turned down a playdate invitation from one of his favorite buddies and showed absolutely no interest whatsoever in Super Mario Brothers — both definite signs that he was going down for the count.  He had a sore throat, fever and chills and started vomiting about an hour after we got home.  The fun continued all day and night for the next 48 hours.  

     At one point after yet another episode of bed puking, he was lying in a tiny curled-up ball on the floor while I changed his sheets for the umpteen-bazillionth time.  He was so listless that I actually thought he’d finally fallen asleep.  However, after a few minutes I heard a crackly little voice say in an almost whisper, “What’s your name?”  I turned around to see him staring at me with a glazed look in his eyes and a tiny smile on his lips.  It actually kind of freaked me the hell out to be perfectly honest.  I wondered if maybe he’d regurgitated his mind along with the rest of his stomach lining. I told him my name, and he asked me again, “What’s your name?”   I hesitantly repeated it, and he asked me to spell it, which convinced me that he truly was going cuckoo.  I humored him and spelled it, but when he asked me again to spell it, I was ready to throw him in the car and head to the ER for a brain scan.  When I spelled it for him again, he then said in a tiny crackly voice, “No, I said to spell ‘I-T’!”  Now maybe it was pure exhaustion, or maybe it was relief, or hell, maybe I was a little cuckoo too, but I found this so hilarious that I laughed and laughed till I almost cried at the wit of my amazing boy. God love him cause I don’t know about you, but I highly doubt that I’d be cracking jokes if I felt that bad.

     By Sunday, the poor kid was so sick and so weak that he could barely even stand up, and my heart shattered into tiny pieces every time I looked at him. After taking him to the doctor, it was determined that he has a severe case of strep.  And because he wasn’t able to keep anything down, the doctor gave him the antibiotics in a shot form to be sure it did its job.  His frail little leg was so sore from the shot afterwards that he had trouble walking, and I had to carry him to the bathroom.  As I was carrying him back to bed to tuck him in last night, he took my face in his hands and very gently kissed my cheek. It was such an incredibly sweet little gesture, like he was trying to tell me thank you for taking care of him all weekend.   

     I pray to God that he’s over the hump and finally on the mend.  He’s so scrawny and thin that I can’t bear to see him lose any more weight.  I would literally do anything to make him feel better at this point.  If he said he wanted a Costa Rican banana, I’d fly there to get him one.  If he wanted to wrap up in a handmade blanket, I’d bust out my knitting needles.  If I could take the sickness out of his body and put it into mine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.  Cause that’s what parents do — you leap tall buildings in a single bound and you catch puke in your bare hands in the middle of the night.  You sacrifice yourself for the good of your kid cause there’s nothing better than a happy, healthy child.

Facebook Foul

    

     Are you a Facebook addict?  Do you constantly update your status and spend hours looking through other people’s pictures?  I used to be on there a whole lot more than I am now.  I will say that it’s definitely a great place to reconnect with old friends and to see where life has taken them.  However, lately, I’ve become a bit turned off by the whole thing because of those over-the-top mushy statuses that make me want to vomit on my computer screen:

     “My amazing hubby is like a gift from the heavens.”  
     ”Every single part of motherhood makes me giddy with happiness.”
     “My life is so rich and full of sunshine and rainbows.”   

     Now, if you just so happened to marry Prince Charming and you truly enjoy digging baby poop from under your fingernails, then that is absolutely wonderful for you. Unfortunately, though, there are those of us who may just be having a really sucky day and don’t really care to hear you toot your horn about the awesomeness that is your life.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to send your freak of nature husband or your infant’s little patootie a personal thank you note instead of broadcasting it to the rest of the free world?  Don’t get me wrong — I truly am happy that you’ve found the utopia that we all seek in life.  However, I just don’t need you to shove it in my face when I’m just a phone call away from checking myself into the nut house.

     And then there are those who feel they need to wrap up their whole world with a big shiny bow so that everything looks hunky dory on the outside, when in reality, it’s gone to shit on the inside.  They want to put on this facade that they live on “perfect mountain” high above the rest of us imperfect souls.  I’m convinced that these are the very same people who send out those obnoxious holiday newsletters, bragging about all the amazing things they have that you don’t.  

     And it’s not always easy to tell whether those ooey gooey Facebook statuses are for real or whether they are just trying to overcompensate for something.  Regardless, though, I really wish people would take a serious chill pill on the praise singing.  So if you really feel the need to shout it out to the treetops about how unbelievable you think you are, then open your back door and scream to your little heart’s desire.  That way, you’ll spare the rest of us who are struggling just to hang on for dear life.

My “Click” Story

A while back I was contacted by a friend I met through Twitter asking if I’d like to write a guest post on her blog.  She is an amazing writer who is not only brutally honest but also extremely enlightening.  Her name is Leslee Horner, and her blog is called “Waiting for the Click.”

Leslee writes about her many learning experiences on the road to discovering her true self.  One particular experience that resonated with me was the time that she lost her best friend, Amy, who died of a ruptured brain aneurysm just after giving birth to twins. This very painful and life-changing event inspired her to seek out other writers willing to share their own personal moments when they realized their lives would never be the same. I was both humbled and honored that Leslee asked me to write about my own “aha” moment.  After reading my post, I really hope that you also take some time to check out Leslee’s other entries to see what a talented writer she is.  So, without further ado, here’s my “click story”:

http://lesleehorner.wordpress.com/2010/02/25/nuckingfutsmamas-click/

 

No Pain, No Gain

     Newsflash: I am NOT a huge fan of forwarded emails.  In fact, I pretty much hate them, especially the ones that tell you that you’re going to burn in hell if you don’t IMMEDIATELY send them to ten of your friends right this very second.  I mean, good Lord, I have enough things hanging over my head without having to add the prospect of meeting Lucipher for dinner.  Therefore, I typically end up deleting them right away without ever even reading them.  However, I received one from a friend the other day that actually made me want to read it.  I figured it had to be good cause this particular friend also despises forwarded emails, yet took the time to send me this one.  Anyway, I thought it was absolutely hilarious and wanted to share it with you all as you will see below. And for the record, I promise that you will NOT be struck by lightning if you choose not to pass it along to someone else.  ;-) 

A WOMAN’S WEEK AT THE GYM

Dear Diary,

For my birthday this year, my husband purchased a week of personal training for me at the local health club.  Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.  I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swimwear.  Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started!  The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

________________________________
MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00 am.  Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me.  He is something of a Greek god– with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile.  Woo Hoo!!

Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines.  I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today.  Very inspiring!

Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around.
 
This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!
________________________________
TUESDAY:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door.  

Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air, and then he put weights on it!  My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile.  His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile.  

I feel GREAT!  It’s a whole new life for me.
_______________________________
WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it.  I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals.  

Driving was OK as long as I didn’t try to steer or stop.  I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.

Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members.  His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning, and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster.  Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?  Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.  He said some other shit too.
_______________________________
THURSDAY:
Asshole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl.  I couldn’t help being a half an hour late– it took me that long to tie my shoes.

He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he wasn’t looking, I ran and hid in the restroom.  He sent some skinny bitch to find me.  Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine — which I sank.
_________________________________
FRIDAY:
I hate that bastard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor.  If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.

Christo wanted me to work on my triceps.  I don’t have any triceps!  And if you don’t want dents in the floor, don’t hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.

The treadmill flung me off, and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher.  Why couldn’t it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?
________________________________
SATURDAY:
Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today.  Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner;  however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.
________________________________
SUNDAY:
I’m having the church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over.  I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun — like a root canal or a hysterectomy.  

I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

Bye Bye Balls

     It used to be that the hot topic in my household was the penis.  Lately, however, it’s switched to the balls.  Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about, but I guess they are a rather odd-looking sight.  I mean, you gotta admit that there’s a striking similarity to the gobbler of this guy:

And my kids think they’re absolutely hysterical.  My son even likes to make up jokes about them (“Why did Tigger have balls?  So he could play with them!”)  All this fascination with the nards has only increased with the arrival of the demon dog’s second testicle, which finally made its grand entry into the world a few weeks ago.

     So now that Wrigley’s got a complete set of bean bags, we have begun to discuss whether or not to neuter him.  My husband is all about protecting the family jewels, so he is actually against the whole idea.  He doesn’t see the need to cut off something that’s never even gonna be used in the first place. The fact that he’s never going to be doing the wild thing with another dog (that is, at least if I have anything to say about it anyway) is reason enough for my husband to insist on keeping things in tact.  I, however, completely disagree.  The older the dog gets, the more he’s into humping.  His poor polar bear, Betty, now looks like she’s been ridden hard and put away wet.  

And it doesn’t help that my husband totally encourages this mounting of old Betty.  Just last night, I felt like doggy porn was being filmed in my family room, as my husband decided to add running commentary to the dog trying to doink the polar bear.  He thought it was hilarious, while I thought it was all more than just a little disturbing.

     Needless to say, I made the call this morning to schedule the removal of the giggle berries.  Call me crazy, but I don’t really want a pet who goes to town on my guests’ legs while they’re visiting.  And now that the surgery is set, I’ve gotta figure out just how I’m gonna explain this whole ordeal to the kids.  I discovered last week that they’ve already heard us talking about it cause I caught my daughter telling her playdate, “My dog’s gonna have his balls chopped off soon.”  Past experience has proven that kids tend to get things mixed up, so I need to be sure that they understand that this is just something that’s gonna happen to the dog and NOT to my son.  

     Unfortunately, I have a feeling that we’ll be dipping our toes into the whole “how babies are made” pool, and I’m not really looking forward to the barrage of questions that are sure to follow that discussion.  It’s an inevitable part of parenting, though, so I’m gonna have to just put on my game face and go with the flow.  Let’s just hope the kids don’t tell Wrigley about all the fun he’ll be missing without his love spuds.

Baring It All

     You know that saying, “Curiosity killed the cat?”  Well, I’m quite certain that phrase would apply to me if I ever did choose to throw caution to the wind and get naked with my bad self on a nude beach.  I must admit that deep-down I actually do have a desire to see what it’s like to lounge around in my birthday suit amongst the sea gulls and other beachgoers.  It just seems like it would be so liberating and refreshing, not to mention the awesome line-free tan I’d get as a result.  However, it would be just my luck that my sweet little moment of liberation would be completely pooped on by some unexpected outside force.

     I speak somewhat from experience when I say that I see this whole scenario playing out in a glass half-empty type of outcome.  You see, back in my pre-kids teaching days, I was lying on the beach one summer afternoon in my itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini when I happened to see a group of students heading my way.  Considering that these boys, who were packing serious hormones in their pants, would, in fact, be occupying my classroom in just a few short weeks, I practically dug a hole and buried myself in the sand to avoid making eye-contact with them.  I could just picture the first week of school and having to stand up in front of these boys and expect them to take me seriously.  Thank God I’d grabbed my oversized beach towel that day so that I could roll up in it like a hot dog in a bun.  I was taking no chances.

     Regardless, though, I can’t help but be a little bit curious about stripping down all the way.  I know it would be just my fortune, however, that I’d end up like this poor woman my mom heard about from a patient at the dentist office where she works.  This lady, a teacher in the midwest, was on a cruise ship that happened to stop at a topless beach one day.  She figured what the hell and adapted to the “when in Rome” philosophy by whipping her top off. As she was lying there in all her unveiled glory, she suddenly heard a voice calling her name.  When she opened her eyes, she saw the parent of one of her students standing over the top of her and her bare boobs.  I’m pretty sure that she died right then and there of embarrassment, causing a ridiculously painful sunburn on her ariolas.  Can you even imagine the awkwardness of THAT parent/teacher conference?!

     That poor woman’s story is something that would totally happen to me.  You’ve read enough about all the stupid shit that happens to me to know that this is true.  However, the older I get, the less I care about what people think, so maybe I’ll just get crazy and streak the beach when we go down to visit my mother-in-law in Florida for spring break.  I may give an old-timer or two a heart-attack, but hey, it might just be worth that tiny burst of freedom, don’t ya think?