Rabbits, Cosmos, and Break-Ups: A Memoir

Aaaaaahhhhhhh! Helllooooo World!!!

Oh how I have missed thee! It is pure insanity that takes place in this brain of mine when I am unable to write!!! Between not being able to see and then not being able to BREATHE (damn Sinusitis!), it's damn near a doe-eyed lambs-wool headed sweet baby Jesus restin' on a prickly bale of hay MIRACLE that I didn't kill somebody!

Seriously ya'll....my brain was on overload....so grab a martini (I don't care if it IS only 9 in the morning - you know at least ONE person in your house has already annoyed the hot mess outta you) and enjoy the ride because I am about to go there.

Don't like it? Blame it on the meds...

Remember being 17,18,errr...21, and going to your very first "adult" shop? Remember that? Being all nervous and embarrassed, and not wanting to look ANYONE in the eye for fear that they will know that you're either a: single, b: a virgin, or c: a single virgin, and they may try to hit on you....Remember looking at all the oblong shaped "toys" hanging on the walls, and the "ring for his thing" that supposedly added time to the so-called blessed event? *Newsflash newbies - they don't add time, they just make penii (that's my made up plural version of 'penis' - it's rather fun to say...bet you can't say it without smirking) look like a purple hot dog accompanied by oversized easter eggs* Remember when you first laid eyes on "THE ONE". You know which one I'm talking about. No...not the hot lacrosse player in the popular fraternity with the blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes that kept eyeing you from across the dance floor (yes...yes....my memory IS that clear, and he WAS that hot). Not him...I'm talkin' bout THE.ONE...the one that you came home to after shitty dates and never asked you any questions, but made you feel A-MA-ZING....Remember when you were first introduced to THE RABBIT?? YESSSS!!! I KNOW YOU DO!! IT WAS AMAZING! LIFE ALTERING! EARTH SHATTERING! We told our girls about it. We told our Ob-Gyn's about it. We told our mother's about it. Well....I did. And then I regretted it because I think she prayed over me....but anyway....REMEMBER THE RABBIT???

Well, I do....however times have changed. And now The Rabbit is no longer a handy dandy replacement for man candy. It is a pet. In my daughter's classroom. Alli - The Rabbit. And she eats carrots and lettuce and some sort of weird rabbit pellet food. The Rabbit of my day took batteries. Today's rabbit takes walks. On a leash. Through the schools' courtyard.

Times.Have.Changed.

Remember when "Skinny Jeans" were called "Skin Tight", and "Dark Wash" was for old people, and "Dirty Denim" was dirty because you were outside playin' all day, not because you payed Sir Ralph $60 to run over them a few times, and shoot bebee gun pellets at them? Now my skinny jeans are dark washed. Is this so you a: can't see my booty jiggle when I walk, b: can't see the cellulite masquerading as a well traveled parade route, c: get distracted by the dark blue hue in the jeans, not the dark blue hue spreading across my lips from lack of oxygen, or d: all of the above? (If you said "d - all of the above", you are officially dead to me - I'm just sayin'). And they are definitely skin tight. Know how I know? Because when I take them off the imprint of the seam runs down my leg like an inverted racing stripe. Yes. I just admitted that. I really.just.admitted that. Perhaps I should refer to them as my "would be skinny on a skinny girl but I'm not skinny so they are more like thick, sexy, and not fully exhaling because the zipper might pop" jeans. Yeah. That sounds about right.

Remember being 21, 22,23 and being at the club with your girls? Remember booty bumping the hoochie next to you out of the way because she was dancing "in your space"? Remember giving your girlfriend the "save me" signal from across the bar, being rescued from the guy with the speech impediment that left the side of your face littered with more DNA than a hooker's bra strap, and repaying her with an Amaretto Sour? (OMG - I try NOT to remember that I EVER drank those!) Remember when you had your first Cosmopolitan? Remember when you had your fifth Cosmopolitan? I remember when I had my THIRTEENTH Cosmopolitan. Of the night. And I passed out in the Maloney's bathroom. And I didn't go back to the bar for a few weeks. And when I finally did come back (and the smell of alcohol didn't make me wretch in my own cupped hands), some girl came up to me and told me she thought I had died of alcohol poisoning. Because she hadn't seen me at the bar for a few weeks. I laughed then. I want to say I've grown up and that I would say to my former self "Self, don't drink so much - you should be embarrassed that they thought you were dead because you didn't make your weekly bar appearance". But no. I still laugh. Because the memory of the whole night is vague, but hilarious. Because of the absurdity of the notion that since I decided not to drink for a few weeks in my 20's, naturally I must have died. And because now, at age 34, the thirteen Cosmos I have are in my magazine rack with ear marked pages telling me how to "bounce my badonkadonk to break his bad habits", how to "canoodle my mans' noodle in the new year", and how to angle my hips just right when I'm laying in bed so that I look like a hot mama and not Mama Cass. Sadly, there is no mention of the Rabbit. *Harumph*

Lastly...I remember when break ups meant you called all your girlfriends, who naturally bashed your ex in their undying love and support for you. You likened his sexual prowess to that of geriatric amputee, and may have used words like "tic tac", "pencil dick", and "shotgun sam" in the same sentence as his name. Today, break ups mean splitting kitchen appliances, transferring bills to the other person's name, and explaining to the kids why "it's just not working out". It's contemplating whether or not to put it on facebook, which has effortlessly taken on the role of our supportive, albeit mean/well meaning girlfriends, and doing your best to protect him from your family. You don't share the ins and outs of the breakup/breakout/breakdown. You don't tell cousin Pookie to "go beat his ass". You don't let your mama call him out his name, or stick pins in the voodoo doll she just happened to have in a box under her bed that shared and uncanny resemblance to your ex. (But you do take the box home with you for "proper disposal", and feign complete ignorance the following morning when you wake up with a basket of pushpins at your feet and 3 empty vodka bottles on the table). Nope. You don't do any of that other stuff. Whereas before you cried,boohooed, and screamed bloody murder...today, you simply walk away....

My....How.things.have.changed.

No Vision = No Jail Time

Ok my lovelies.....I have not abandoned ship...my glasses broke and it is KILLER for me to try to stare at this screen for extended periods of time w/o them...Soooo...in the interest of not ripping someone's head off and possibly spending extended periods of time rockin' the orange jump suit, I'm taking a writing break until (hopefully) next week....trust me - it's for the better. I'm not nice sometimes....really. not.nice.at.all....

Thanks for following and I will be ranting at ya soon enough!

Gap Be Gone: A Tribute To My Mother

If you know me, you know that I'm a mushy girl. I love a good rom-com, I absolutely believe in love at first sight, and I think the scene in "The Last of The Mohicans" where John Alexander tells Cora "I will find you!", is hands down one of the most romantic and loving moments in movie cinema history. One thing you ALSO know if you know me, is that even though my mother drives me to the edge of insanity sometimes, and has me standing in the aisles of BevMo pondering over the calorie content of vodka vs. gin, I love her to no end. She is a fascinating, complex mixture of book knowledge and ditziness. Human kindness and cobra venom. She can be the punchline of a dumb blonde joke, and she can walk you step by step through open heart surgery with her eyes closed. No lie. She once tutored a struggling nursing student while "resting her eyes". AND WAS SPOT ON. This woman is definitely someone to think twice about. She can make you feel all warm and gushy inside, and cut you down with a look so fast you will be reduced to the fetal position and thumb sucking in two seconds flat. As the recipient of said looks, I guarantee you, this is no exaggeration. Lastly, you also know that I am not a crier. It has to be something just BEYOND devastating/touching/earth shattering for me to rain from my face.

HOW-EV-ERRRRRRRR, yesterday I made an exception.

My mom is awkwardly and stunningly beautiful - at the same time. She does not have Ford Model looks. She's not leggy (although she does have legs that can stop traffic - seen it happen), she's not blonde (in theory), and my favorite part....she has a way less than perfect smile. Well....she HAD. My mom had buck teeth that led to RELENTLESS teasing as a kid (little bad ass kids - can be so cruel!), and a GAP. Models may have gaps, but they don't have buck teeth AND a gap. My mom had BOTH. And she was stunning. She had a smile that stretched from ear to ear, and could light up a dark closet at midnight. I remember sitting on the toilet as a kid (just sitting - NOT using...gutterheads), watching her put her makeup on and thinking "wow....my mom is so pretty...I hope I look like her someday". Then in junior high never wanting her to come to school because a:I knew I would be in for a major ass whoopin' if she saw me wildin' out like a fool with no common sense, and b:I didn't want my crushes to see her. In my juvenile, pre-pubescent mind, my crushes would take one look at her and fall instantly in love, and I would never have a chance. Of course, at age 12 the notion that you never had a chance to begin with, and your mom is not a chester doesn't pop into your head. All you think is "she's gonna steal my not-yet man".

My mom used to tell me all the time that I was beautiful. Never believed her because....I have a gap too. And how could someone with a gap like mine be beautiful. SHE was beautiful. But definitely not me. I was......cute...at best...on a good day...wearing my best bra and highest heels...and mascara. Yeah...THEN I was cute...but my mom...she was stunning. Because she accepted herself. Short stature, big booty, and gap tooth grin...she took it allllll in an easy, stop and stare stride. And eventually, as I grew older, I began to accept myself too. And my good bra. And my highest heels. (Hey - I still need a little help...) But I accepted my gap tooth grin, and learned to say "thank you" when people complimented me on my smile. Learned to laugh AND insult at the same time when I would hear the age old comment "You know what they say about a girl with a gap?"....and I would respond with "Easier to floss after she bites your pecker off!". That always left them a little dumbfounded. But it left me feeling giddy. My point is I.learned.to.love.my.gap. Because my mommy loved hers. Her acceptance of her gap helped me to accept mine. She always thought she was beautiful, so I thought I was beautiful. People always told me that I look just like her. So if she's gorgeous, so am I.

And then it happened. She got dentures. With no gap. The gap was gone. And for me, the one thing that (in my mind) made my mom the MOST beautiful, was gone too. I was (shockingly) devastated. And all of a sudden the girl who doesn't cry was a bumbling, rainy faced fool in the middle of the dentist's office. If she didn't have her gap, where would that leave me? I have always based my self acceptance on my mom's ability to accept herself. I always listened when she told me I was beautiful JUST THE WAY I WAS. I amy not have BELIEVED her, but I listened. And I thought SHE was beautiful too. JUST THE WAY SHE WAS. But now, she's different. So what does that make me? What do I do? I feel weird. My mom being ok with her gap, made me ok with mine. But then my mom told me that was never really OK with her gap. She had merely learned to live with it. It was something she had just learned to accept. But she had never really been O.K.

That's when I realized...

It wasn't my mother's teeth that made her beautiful. It wasn't even her ability to "learn to live with it" that made her beautiful. It was her determination to ensure that I would always see MYSELF as beautiful, REGARDLESS of what mean junior high boys (and catty junior high girls) said. She knew that if she portrayed herself as not ok with ANY part of her, I would not be completely ok with who I AM. And so she laughed way out loud, and all her teeth showed. She smiled wide for pictures, and never gave a glimpse of insecurity. And therefore, she was beautiful. Stunningly, graciously, simply, beautiful.

And she still is. Gap be gone. She still is.

Mommy Porn

Soooo...I've often wondered about the genetic "make-up" differences between men and women. There are things that they (men) will do, that women (or at least THIS woman) wouldn't ever dream of doing. Like smashing beer cans against their foreheads, convincing their friends to "take one for the team", so they can talk to the pretty girl...I would NEVER do that. My girlfriends would look at me like I was high on crack and probably disown me...for a very.long.time.

However, there are things that WE can do that I think many men either a: can't do, or b: won't do. The main, and most glaring thing that comes to mind is MUTLITASKING.

I don't know many guys out there who are capable of doing more than ONE thing at a time. However I know HUNDREDS of mom's out there who in two hours time can: make all the beds in the house, clean the kitchen AND bathroom, fold all the laundry and put in respective bedrooms, WHILE starting another load, prep dinner for the evening, AND reorganize the playroom. Now, if you give that same to do list to a guy, and left the house to run errands for two hours, how much do you think would get done? I am going to go with.....TWO ITEMS. I am being nice and giving them the benefit of the doubt that they could prep dinner AND do the dishes because it's all in the same general area. But really, I don't see much else happening.

And when you come in all breezy and light because you managed to escape the zoo for two hours of loveliness, you look around, look at him, look around one more time for validity's sake, and then look back at him. And what do ya get? The look. The "deer in headlights" look. The "what did I do" look. The "oh shit she's pissed" look. And when you ask what got done while you were gone, in your sacchrine-y sweet, non accusatory voice, you get "well I did the dishes, and I prepped dinner like you asked, and I was just about to....blah blah blah". By this time you've probably tuned him out because you've already started the 5 other things on the list. And he will watch you work. And he will watch football. And he will be quiet. Because he knows...and you know...there will be no nookie tonight.

But honestly, don't you think our guys would get it by now? Male domesticity is SEXY! There's a reason the PORN FOR NEW MOMS book is as popular as it is. Helping mama out at home means we will most likely help you out in the bedroom. Know why? Because we're not dead-ass tired from picking up EVERYTHING through out the day. Dishes after dinner = Dirty Diana after the kids go down. Little laundry = little licky licky. LOTS O' LAUNDRY = LOTS O' LICKY LICKY. And so on and so forth.....

So ladies...maybe run that by your guy....maybe he'll get busy so he can GET BUSY.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have 800 more things to do on my to do list. That includes buying new AA batteries.


*Note from the author: For my uber sensitive guys out there who may take offense to this, please notice I did not say ALL guys are incapable of multitasking. I know a handful that definitely are. And let me just say, they are very happy gentleman. But if you DID get offended, maybe that's a sign that you need to put ON the yellow rubber gloves more often. Do that and your little lady may take something OFF for you. Imjussayin'.*

Five Steps To Insanity

As parents (though I think mostly, as MOMS), there are things that drive us absolutely INSANE. Things that our kids and significant others do that make us briefly question their necessity to our lives. Ok, well maybe that's extreme, but they certainly make us question the number of working brain cells. They also make us question our doctors when they tell us they can't up our dosage of Xanax.

So in honor of all mom's teetering on the brink of putting the kids, husband, and family pet in a large box and shipping them all to Istanbul for a few quiet, glorious days, I have comprised a list. A list of things that sometimes drive ME to toss back a bottleglass of wine or three at the end of a long day. Hopefully you will realize that you, my mommy friend, are in good company. Or perhaps just confirm for me that I'm not crazy. It's them.

1. Almost breaking my ankle because I have tripped YET AGAIN over a size 12 pair of Nike's left RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of the living room. Apparently the five extra steps to take theme off in our bedroom was just entirely too much.

2. Finding the toilet paper roll EMPTY, and a brand new roll sitting on top of the tank, on the sink next to the toilet, IN the sink, or on the floor next to the toilet. REALLY??? Was the crap leaving your ass with such speed that you just couldn't get the roll on the holder fast enough?? It was? Oh. Well that sounds like a personal problem. But how about when you were done? Couldn't put the roll on then either huh?

3. Having cleaned the ENTIRE kitchen after dinner, it's spotless, and then you wake up in the morning to crumbs on the stove and a plate and butter knife in the sink. And the bread on the counter - open. It is at that point when all the sharp objects in MY kitchen become very VERY appealing.

4. Looking forward to getting a glass of juice only to find that someone has left the portion equivalent of ant piss in the bottle, and placed it back in the refrigerator. Seriously, I have no words to describe the amount of irritation this causes. NO. WORDS. And it happens with EVERYTHING. Potato chips, lunch meat, cookies, string cheese...FOOD IN GENERAL.

5. Hearing the following words 8 MILLION TIMES A DAY: Babe, have you seen my (fill in the blank). Mom, I can't find my (fill in the blank). It's enough to make me wanna change me name to "Don't ask me another damn question because if you had just put your crap away like I told you to, you would be able to find it" Nelson. Seriously.

So...there's my top five. I am sure if I sat here long enough I could come up with plenty more. However, I don't have that luxury. Someone is calling me because they can't find their toothbrush. REALLY??? Your TOOTH-BRUSH?? Maybe it got tossed in the trash after it was found IN THE SINK, next to the BRAND NEW ROLL of toilet tissue that just didn't quite make it's journey to the holder.

Jussayin'.

The NEW Dirty Words

"Jeeeemmmm is truly outrageous! Truly truly truly outrageous! Oooooohhh Jem!"

"I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R' Us kid! There's a million toys at Toys R' Us that I can play with! From bikes to trains to video games, it's the biggest toy store there is! I don't wanna grow up, cuz maybe if I did, I wouldn't be a Toys R' Us kid!"

"Oh who are the people in your neighborhood? In your neighborhood...in your neighborhood? Oh who are the people in your neighborhood? They're the people that you meet, when you're walkin' down the street, they're the people that you meet...each...daaaaayyyy!"

Remember these songs. They were staples. Staples of our childhood....if you were a child of the 80's. And I am. So...these songs, I claim as mine. They are songs that said hey, it's ok to run down the street at warp speed, with your hair ribbons trailing behind you like dragonflies trying to keep up'. And it's ok to eat allll the Apple Jacks in the cupboard, and drink up alllll the kool-aid, and give your mom the saddest puppy dog face in the world as you beg for the GOOD peanut butter this time. You know which one. Don't act brand new. Goobers. With the peanut butter and jelly IN THE SAME JAR! Yeaaaahhhhh man....that was the good-good. As long as you had your Goobers pb & j, all was right in the world.

These songs told me that the "b" word had five letter, the "f" word had four, and the consequence for saying either involved NO LETTERS. Being a kid was the biz-bomb-diggity. The ish, my friend. The stayin-up-late-on-friday-night-because-it-was-the-weekend-only-to-wake-up-extra-early-on-saturday-to-watch-THE-MON-CHI-CHI'S-ish. I clearly remember watching after school specials, "one to grow on's", and The Electric Company.

Heeeeeyyy Yooooouuuu Guuuyyyyyysssssss! Guess what? We're not kids anymore. The "f" word now has eleven letters. FORECLOSURE. The "b" word has six. BUDGET. And one begets the other to remind us with a swift kick to our checkbooks that we have grown up. If you're like most parents today, Toy's R' Us isn't even an option. Not because it's a cesspool of germs, and evidence of failed birth control gone wild, but because Target has the same toy for $5.00 less. And that $5.00 equates to one box of Up & Up unscented baby wipes. Three packs in the box and you're set until the next pay period rolls around. Many of us have traded in our Jem dolls for discounted gym memberships, and if we're lucky, like Jem, we have managed to steer clear of The Misfits. If we're REALLY lucky, we have our own personal Rio, and Synergy has been replaced by our wise, all knowing, and always annoyingly right mothers.

This is the new childhood. Our playgrounds are outlet malls, our superhero's are financial experts on the Today show teaching us how to get out of debt in one year or less, without giving up our monthly waxing appointment (quit frontin' - you know you get SOMETHING waxed. And if you don't, you probably should), and our Goober's PB & J in a jar is Activia - because Jamie Lee Curtis says we need to be regular.

Our 9 year old professed to me that she NEVER wants to grow up. She wants to stay a kid FOREEEEEEEVEEEEEERRRRRRR. To her, being a kid is the.best.thing.on.earth.ever. Seriously. Ever. And as I listen to her breakdown the character profiles on iCarly, and explain to me why Carly lives with her brother and not her parents (because her dad is on a submarine 10,000 leagues under the sea - DUH!), I find myself thinking that she really needs to take off her "school clothes" and put on her "play clothes" because we don't have money to keep buying Costco sized bottles of detergent to do just HER laundry. And lost in my own adult mental playground, I totally miss why Gibby is stuck in Carly's chimney. But our 9 year old kiddo is laughing hysterically. And rolling on the floor in her school clothes. Because really, she's a kid. And that's all she wants to be.

Me too.

Yes I Said It, And No, It's Not An Olympic Event.....

Sport Fucking.

Yes. You read right. SPORT.FUCKING. Did your face fall on the floor? Mine did. I didn't make this up. And I'm not trying to be crass or vulgar. I actually heard this being discussed on the radio this morning by some local dj's.

What is it, you ask? Get ready for this one y'all. Long gone are the days of panty raids, and squirt guns aimed at our boobs as we walk to class. The days of TP'ing your favorite sorority house are o-v-a-h OVAHHHHHH. Now, your favorite 18-21 year old can engage in a lovely game called Sport Fucking. The object of this lovely little game is to go out and have random sex with the biggest girl they can find. The small penis boys all throw money in a pot, and whoever brings home and successfully "bag 'n tags" the biggest girl wins.

Folks, I PROMISE you, I am not making this up. Young boys are now likening thicker, heavier, chubbier, fatter, WHATEVER WORD YOU WANT TO USE girls to trophy kills during hunting season. Seriously?

SERIOUSLY????

Soooo....I really want to be funny. I really want to be anecdotal, and make references to small penises (more than just the ONE reference I already made), and come up with funny scenarios of what I WOULD do if I ever found out someone was treating me, my child, my family member, or my friend as if they were nothing more than a piece of pawn shop trash. I WANT to say that if I ever found out that someone did my child like that, you would have to hide every single sharp object I own because someone would definitely be gettin' cut that day (huh, guess I did just say it..oops).

But really, what would that solve.

All I can really say is Mama's, teach your boys RIGHT. Teach them how to respect women, how to treat women, how to love women. Daddy's - you do the same exact thing, by modeling that behavior with their mothers. I don't care if she is your baby's mama and you curse the day you didn't use a condom - model it. Boys coming up now have less and less respect for girls/women than EVER before.

Also, teach your DAUGHTERS how to exemplify self respect, class, dignity, and confidence. Teach them that it's not just about how cute you are, but how you carry yourself. Teach them that SASHA FIERCE is a CHARACTER, not an aspiration.

And lastly, make sure you teach your daughter the power of words and quick thinking. You never know when she might need a good "tic tac in a whale's mouth" comeback. I'm just sayin'.