Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

My husband says I’m a marketer’s dream.  (Guess it’s a good thing I married someone in advertising then, huh?)  I’m a total impulse buyer and can be so easily swayed by the so-called “promises” of a product.  Perhaps that’s why I was swept right up into the whole hoopla of the Keratin hair straightening craze.  (And by the way, to my guy readers?  Please don’t necessarily feel like you have to do an about-face on this very “girly” blog post — I may or may not include talk of beer and strippers later on, so hang tight.)

Since I have naturally wavy hair that takes FOR-FREAKING-EVER to blowdry straight, my hairdresser thought I’d be the perfect candidate for this “amazing” Keratin treatment that takes the major wave and frizz out of the hair, thereby making it much easier to style.  After several months of hemming and hawing about it, she finally talked me into doing it.  So, given that it costs a hefty $350, I then finagled my husband into getting it for my birthday in April.

**boobs, beer, strippers, boobs, beer, strippers** (had to throw that in there for the guy readers….)

     At first, I L-O-V-E-D the results.  I could whip my hair into shape like I was frickin’ Ken Paves.  No more everyday ponytails for this chicky!  I was lettin’ it down on a daily basis because my hair and I had finally grown to like each other again.  We were like newlyweds, and I just couldn’t keep my hands off it.  However, as with most marriages, the honeymoon period was very short-lived.  Not even two and a half months after forking over all that dough and the damn thing was all but gone from my frickin’ hair.  Talk about a buzz kill!

**boobs, beer strippers, boobs, beer, strippers** (You still with me, guy readers??  Come on, now, stick with me!)

     And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I also began to lose ridiculous amounts of hair each time I actually shampooed.  Thank the Lord that I have a shit-ton of hair to begin with or else I’d most definitely look like Telly Savalas by now — who loves ya kid?  Seriously, we’re talkin’ about SCARY amounts of hair left in the drain.  Makes me wonder just what in the crap kind of chemicals have been caked on my friggin’ hair.

     Needless to say, I will NOT be going for Round 2 of the Keratin treatment.  In my honest opinion, it was a total freakin’ waste of money.  And yes, I’m sending out a big “Sorry, Honey” to my husband for throwing away his hard-earned Benjamins on something that was so fleeting.  Perhaps he would’ve been more rewarded spending his money on boobs, beer & strippers???


No Holdin’ Back

At what point in our development do we actually start giving a shit what other people think about us? I often find myself a little envious of kids and their ability to just say and do whatever they’re feeling without regard for whoever’s around them. They have absolutely no filter whatsoever, so they call it like they see it and do it when they feel it.

Take for example my son at his soccer practice last weekend. The kid clearly had to take a whiz, given that he was squeezing his johnson like a damn water hose; however, he insisted that he didn’t need to go. But after a few more minutes of watching him hop around, my husband finally persuaded him to take a trip to the Port-A-Potty with him. When they were about halfway to the can, my son decided to save himself some time and go ahead and drop trow as he was running. He scurried right along, peter waving in the breeze, while horrified girls in soccer duds watched from a distance. My son, Mr. One Track Mind, was oblivious, though, since he only had his eye on the prize.

Also this past weekend, there was the girl at my daughter’s birthday party who apparently didn’t care for the game we were playing. Rather than keeping her thoughts to herself, she blurted out, “This is soooooo boring.” And I didn’t hear this little phrase out of Negative Nancy’s mouth just one time. Oh no, she made sure she repeated it over and over and over again. I REALLY had to work hard to bite my tongue with that one, but you see, MY mama taught ME to not say anything at all if I can’t say anything nice.

My daughter is particularly skilled at saying anything and everything that’s on her little mind. In the span of just a few hours one day, the girl told me that my teeth were yellow, I had bad breath, and my hair looked like a wild woman’s. Way to make the woman WHO GAVE BIRTH TO YOU feel like a rock star! I know that she doesn’t mean any harm, but I still made sure to brush my teeth, throw on some whitening strips, and run a brush through my hair just in case.

And then there’s the constant public proclamations by BOTH of my kids about what they need to do in the bathroom. We could be in the middle of a ridiculously crowded restaurant or standing in a long-ass line at the grocery store, and neither one of them has even the slightest qualm about screaming out, “I GOTTA POOOOOOOOP!!!!!” It’s beyond awesome to have all eyes on you while your kid’s hand is crammed up his ass crack.

As embarrassing as it might seem at times, though, think about how liberating it would be if, as adults, we could share that same no-holds barred attitude toward society. You hate the sweater your mother-in-law gave you for Christmas? Tell her you wouldn’t use it to clean your toilets! You’re trying to get out of a dinner date with your creepy neighbors? Tell them they are the constant stars of your nightmares! Your husband asks if the sex was good for you even though you accidentally nodded off in the middle of it? Tell him you had a better orgasm at yoga the other day. I’d love to just speak my mind, if only just for a day. Something tells me, though, that I’d find out a whole new LITERAL meaning for the phrase “roll with the punches” if I did….

Things I’ve Learned This Week

** My son is a human pogo stick.

** Turning 29 again this year feels even better than it did the last several times.

** Sending me a coupon in the mail AFTER I just made a big-ass purchase at your store does nothing but piss me off.

** Larry King is to marriage what 2+2 is to 5.

** Kids talk. A. LOT.

** Every day should include a good scalp massage.

** I am a 5 foot, 2 inch chew toy to my asshat of a dog.

** Nobody in this freaking house knows how to replace the empty toilet paper holder.

** There are way too many LOUD people in this world.

** My husband should never be put in charge of family programming.

** Whitney Houston should probably lay off the crack pipe before trying to belt out the high note in “I Will Always Love You”.

** I am a sucker for boys in baseball caps.

** Downhill is WAY more fun than uphill.

** We all live in a yellow submarine.

** It will be nothing short of a miracle if I can finish another book.

** The laundry STILL doesn’t fold itself, even on your birthday.

** Bras are overrated.

** The little guy doesn’t always finish last — sometimes he comes in second to last.

** I may very well O.D. on Benadryl this spring.

** Cheese that doesn’t belong to you is called NACHO CHEESE.  🙂

** My mom was right — I WILL be late for my own funeral.

** I butter A LOT of people’s bread around here, dammit!

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

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.  😉 


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.

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!!
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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!!!



     Today is my half birthday.  I know — whoopty freaking do, right? Do you think I’ll be throwing a party or eating a cake or opening presents or expecting any special treatment whatsoever?  Hell to the no I won’t, because it’s a flippin’ HALF birthday!  There’s a reason why people don’t make a big deal about celebrating this very insignificant event.  However, thanks to the idiotic checkout lady at our grocery store, my daughter is now counting down the days until October 19, her half birthday.  

     Last week when I took my daughter with me to pick up a few vital items, we just so happened to choose the lane that none other than Miss Mary Motormouth was running.  I absolutely dread going through this woman’s lane because she is the queen of bullshit small talk.  I know she’s just trying to be friendly, and maybe she really does like her job, but I’ve got no time for friendly these days with my patience being ripped right away by Wrigley’s furry little mouth of razor-sharp teeth.  I’m pretty sure my face is like a flashing neon sign that says, “Don’t f@*k with me.” However, she was apparently oblivious to my scorned, worn-out facial expressions cause she immediately started in with her talk of the weather and all things stupid.  And when she noticed that I had my daughter with me, she turned up the charm factor to full speed.  

     She wanted to know how old my daughter was and somehow got on to the subject of birthdays.  She then began a whole rambling monologue about the fact that my daughter had a big half birthday coming up.  I kept trying to give her the old enlarged eyeballs/shut your damn piehole look, which, unfortunately, went straight over her completely clueless head.  She went on and on and on about how my daughter would be getting half a present, half a cake, half a birthday song, half a birthday crown, and on and freaking on.  I seriously considered opening the wine I was buying and shoving the cork in her mouth to shut her up.  She told my daughter to be sure to remind her mommy about this occasion and even sealed the promise with a high five.  I wanted to strangle this woman and claw her eyes out with every fiber of my being.  My daughter was so pumped up about the whole idea that she’s talked about it ever since.

     I hope and pray that the child doesn’t honestly expect a big to do blow-out cause it just ain’t gonna happen.  I have about as much desire to plan a party right now as I do to drive a sharp stake through my chest.  I’m actually contemplating dropping my half-birthday girl off in Lane 5 on Monday with Mary Motormouth, so she can celebrate her special day with the genius who planted this ridiculousness in her head in the first place.

Who You Callin’ Girly?


As a mom of twins, I rarely get opportunities to have one on one time with my kids.  So, for a special birthday treat, I promised my daughter I’d take her to get a manicure with her best little girlfriend before the big birthday party last weekend. (My husband took my son and his best buddy on a beach adventure so we could have some girly time.) To say that the girls were excited about the appointment would be a severe understatement. They were dressed in their pinkest of pink dresses and waiting by the door for hours beforehand.   My daughter must’ve asked me five hundred times if it was time to go. When we finally got to the salon, they were told to pick out the color they wanted, which, naturally, was the sparkliest pink known to mankind. When the ladies began to clean up their tiny little hands, I have never seen two little girls sit so perfectly still in all my life.  I couldn’t get my daughter to sit that calmly if my life depended on it! While I waited for the beauty queens to be pampered, I watched these nail salon experts go to town with their magic — I haven’t the slightest clue how you file something as tiny as a six year old’s microscopic pinky nail without losing your mind. And then, I was even more amazed when they used a toothpick to apply the world’s tiniest flower stickers to the girls’ itty bitty thumbnails without hacking up the whole paint job.  I wanted to stand up and clap or something because that truly takes skill.  I know this because I have tried and miserably failed on more than one occasion to paint my daughter’s nails, only to have them end up looking like she stuck her fingers in a bowling ball full of pink paint. It’s impossible!  As expected, the girls could not have been more proud of their fancy nails.  They were beyond careful about not messing them up.  However, kids will be kids, though, and after she knew that her nails were definitely dry, my daughter hiked up her dress and proceeded to dig for worms in the backyard.  So much for girly time….  🙂

Time Flies When You’re Having Fun


It is so hard for me to believe, but my babies turned six today. Where in the world did the time go???  I admit that I don’t really miss the baby stage, but I have to say that I have absolutely LOVED the age of five.  It is, by far, my favorite age.  Over this past year, I have simply adored the zillions of comments that have literally made me laugh out loud till my belly hurts. The wheels in their little heads seem to be constantly in motion, questioning anything and everything that comes their way.  Now, I’ll be the first to admit that many of these interrogations have led me to seek sanity in more than one glass of vino, but I love that they are completely fascinated by EVERYTHING around them. Wouldn’t life be so much more interesting if, as adults, we also took an interest in ALL of our surroundings?  All we do is bitch and moan and hope for the next day to hurry up and get here. Kids just live in the moment and seem to be all the more happy for it.  It is such a bittersweet feeling for me to know that we are entering yet another year of growth and change.   I’m so afraid that with each passing year, they will decide that it’s not such a cool thing to hug me and hold my hand.  So, in the meantime, I plan to hold on dearly for life to moments like today when each one of my kids whispered separately in my ear, “Thanks for giving me the best birthday ever, Mommy!”  Little do they know, that they’ve given ME the best of EVERYTHING with each year that I’ve been lucky enough to be Mommy to them, the absolute coolest little kids one could ever know.