Once again my girl Jules from A Little Bite of Life (and high school) has kindly let me know that time was ticking and I was not posting. She is blog perfection and the slayer of the very mean Wall Street Journal anti blogger lady. I find it difficult to fight Jules' reminders. I really enjoy writing and feel great after putting together a good (in my opinion) post. So, without further delay, I will now embark upon my next topic. One that is so common that I don't know there is much more to be said.
Dieting. You can call it a lifestyle change or some other bullshit like that, but the reality for me is that I am dieting. When you realize that your old storage bin of fat pants are really your not fat enough pants, it is time. When you start going to pharmacy clinics instead of your own doctor because they won't weigh you, it is time. When your supersized batch of guacamole that you brought to the Cinco de Mayo party became a serving for one, it is because you make fan-friggin-tastic guac and don't want to share...and it is time.
It started today. And do you like to know what else started today? Cramps. Those of you who are naturally skinny probably don't realize what a bad combo this is. Because my formula is at risk. I am like Einstein when it comes to this formula...
(Ibuprofen x 4) + (Wine x 2) = What cramps?
Not to be confused with (Ibuprofen x 4) + (Wine x 6) = Hey babeeeee, do you mind that I bought 5 pairs of shoes yesterday? You're so hot. Kids? I don't know where they are, do you? Wait whose kids? I think we should zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Anyway, I bet just a few of you out there know EXACTLY why my formula is at risk. 1 measly little cup of white wine = SIX weight watchers points!!! It is diet highway robbery. A cup of Grapes costs 0 points, so how can wine be 6? IT IS IN THE FRUIT AND VEGETABLE GROUP!!!
So, today I munched a lot of lettuce, had about 8 or 9 oz of some lean protein, and squeezed a lime and called it dressing. And I enjoyed 1 cup of medicinal wine with Advil sprinkles for dessert. There were a couple of times during the day when I felt full, but now is not one of them. As I write I have reverted back to my childhood habit of chewing on my cheek to give my mouth something to do and maybe get another bite of protein. I am craving chocolate and am trying to figure out how I am going to make it to bed without going downstairs to attack the Cinco de Mayo leftovers.
As I climb down from the kids' bunk bed after reading them to sleep, I am reminded that this is not the first time my fat ass will have to turn sideways to exit or that my knee will snap, crackle, pop on the way down the ladder. Maybe that memory will be enough to get me through tomorrow. That or the gargantuan pants I will climb into.
In the meantime, I post a challenge to Ms. Jules of recipe creating fame...create a 10 point dinner that leaves me full for > 1/2 hour. Or a 3 point dessert that silences the screaming carbohydrate voices.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
Sticks 'n' Stones May Break My Bones...Because Apparently I'm Old
Hello. I would apologize for my long absence, but it is boring to have to start every single post the same way. So I'm just going to catch you up on some things that I did or had done to me:
Did you read last April's post about the Virginia Beachnightmare vacation? Yeah, if not, read that first and then read this to know that Oops, we did it again. Apparently as abhorrent as my Husband and I found that trip, it was equally as GOOD for my kids who had fan-freakin'-tastic memories of it. They clearly have a much higher tolerance for their own whining, disobedience and tantrums than we do! So, we packed up and went again. Surprisingly I do not have enough for a top ten worst moments of vacation this year! That said, I may have blocked out most everything else except for one incident that repeats in my head like a scratched...we'll say DVD, but I really mean record (album, these giant music discs that used to play on "record players" and I think DJ Rub a Dub or whatever might still use in clubs). By referencing the record album, anyone reading will already know that I am of "a certain age." And at this certain age, a woman may become a little sensitive to references about her age. But let me frame up my sensitivity for you a little more.
Before we went on this trip - which was planned during my kids' Easter/Spring break (all 2 days of it thanks to a school district that fears rain and fictional forecasts) - I had given up something for Lent. I'm not Catholic which many many many MANY people pointed out, but I have always tried to give something up for Lent anyway. So this year, as usual, on Ash Wednesday, I asked myself "what haven't I done yet that I can still give up?" Swearing? No, that was out by 7am. Salt? Too late, already had the omelet. Drinking? Probably could have but at my "certain age" it isn't that challenging anymore - especially since my 9 year old seems to be picking up math better (meaning I don't have to try to teach him). Heels? No, I couldn't. I wouldn't! I was a 5 day a week platform heel junkie. It was my rep. My identity!! But I had worn flats to work that day due to something that I am sure is probably a ligament/tendon/internal thingie related to my Olympic training for the sitting-on-your-ass-at-a-desk-all-day competition. So the shoes were still an option. And it was a huge challenge, so I took it. How many pairs of flat shoes did I have to buy to make it through? 6. Black, bone, fuchsia, royal blue, burgundy (that my boss thought were Ninja slippers) and some weird green/khaki color that matched nothing but had rhinestones and were on sale. Some of the guys believe this was my ulterior motive. People I didn't even know the name of at work asked if I had hurt my foot or something. Someone that I know but don't see frequently had heard the rumor that I had given up heels - but I believe she misunderstood why as she thought it was "for Len" and was under the impression that I had a new short boyfriend. So, why did flat shoes depress me? Because for every inch of heel I lost, I appeared to have gained 5 pounds. Since I was prone to 5" heels, that was a significant weight gain. And, that 25 pounds was on top of real weight that I gained since I had not stopped eating since last year's vacation to Virginia Beach. I felt ugly and fat and old and short. I started shopping in old lady stores and my friends openly mocked me. After 40ish days of feeling ewww, I was vulnerable.
Cut to Virginia Beach. We had made a few alterations from our trip plan from the year prior in hopes of saving a bit of sanity. We got a hotel room that had the beds in a separate room from the living space (for the expected time outs and "JUST GO TO BED NOWWWWWW" moments) and had a mini fridge and microwave (for the oops, we forgot to eat and it is 2pm and we are all starving and crabby now issues). And, we secured a hotel room on the boardwalk and near the interesting stuff (to save ourselves from the imminent 5 year old collapse tantrum on the sidewalk and refusal to go one more step back to the hotel). All of those were successful strategies by the way. As was bringing the Wii. The only issue came when I went with my 9 year old to the bodega (aka little grocery) across the street to stock the mini fridge. It was going fine. Perfect. I mean yes, I was buying bread, bologna, cheese, peanut butter, and water for $40, but generally it was going fine. And then, out of nowhere, the friendly man behind the counter dropped the straw that broke the ego's back. His words hung in the air while I tried to absorb what he had asked... "Is he your Grandson?"
What did he say? Is he talking to me? My what? HE THINKS I AM A GRANDMOTHER????? OF A FRIGGIN' 9 YEAR OLD??????? Through my endless obsessing with this conversation, I have developed some awesome comebacks that I wished I had used. But I am horrified to tell you that the best I could come up with in my shock was "Uh, no, he's mine." I'm embarrassed to tell you that because my friends clearly thought that I would have either threatened his life or stuffed his corpse into the ice cream cooler. But I did not. I quietly let my son look at redneck rodeo belt buckles on the way out with the enthusiasm of someone who has had her walker pulled out from under her. And we went back to our room where my Husband got the best laugh of his calendar year. I tell everyone who will listen so that they can tell me the man was clearly crazy or blind...after they stop laughing.
We will probably go back to Virginia again sometime and might even stay at that same hotel. And I will go alone to that bodega and I will be skinny and wearing 7" heels and new gravity defying boobs that came free with my facelift. I will be there to stock my fridge. And that night, I will eat his liver with some fava beans and a nice bottle of Metamucil.
Did you read last April's post about the Virginia Beach
Before we went on this trip - which was planned during my kids' Easter/Spring break (all 2 days of it thanks to a school district that fears rain and fictional forecasts) - I had given up something for Lent. I'm not Catholic which many many many MANY people pointed out, but I have always tried to give something up for Lent anyway. So this year, as usual, on Ash Wednesday, I asked myself "what haven't I done yet that I can still give up?" Swearing? No, that was out by 7am. Salt? Too late, already had the omelet. Drinking? Probably could have but at my "certain age" it isn't that challenging anymore - especially since my 9 year old seems to be picking up math better (meaning I don't have to try to teach him). Heels? No, I couldn't. I wouldn't! I was a 5 day a week platform heel junkie. It was my rep. My identity!! But I had worn flats to work that day due to something that I am sure is probably a ligament/tendon/internal thingie related to my Olympic training for the sitting-on-your-ass-at-a-desk-all-day competition. So the shoes were still an option. And it was a huge challenge, so I took it. How many pairs of flat shoes did I have to buy to make it through? 6. Black, bone, fuchsia, royal blue, burgundy (that my boss thought were Ninja slippers) and some weird green/khaki color that matched nothing but had rhinestones and were on sale. Some of the guys believe this was my ulterior motive. People I didn't even know the name of at work asked if I had hurt my foot or something. Someone that I know but don't see frequently had heard the rumor that I had given up heels - but I believe she misunderstood why as she thought it was "for Len" and was under the impression that I had a new short boyfriend. So, why did flat shoes depress me? Because for every inch of heel I lost, I appeared to have gained 5 pounds. Since I was prone to 5" heels, that was a significant weight gain. And, that 25 pounds was on top of real weight that I gained since I had not stopped eating since last year's vacation to Virginia Beach. I felt ugly and fat and old and short. I started shopping in old lady stores and my friends openly mocked me. After 40ish days of feeling ewww, I was vulnerable.
Cut to Virginia Beach. We had made a few alterations from our trip plan from the year prior in hopes of saving a bit of sanity. We got a hotel room that had the beds in a separate room from the living space (for the expected time outs and "JUST GO TO BED NOWWWWWW" moments) and had a mini fridge and microwave (for the oops, we forgot to eat and it is 2pm and we are all starving and crabby now issues). And, we secured a hotel room on the boardwalk and near the interesting stuff (to save ourselves from the imminent 5 year old collapse tantrum on the sidewalk and refusal to go one more step back to the hotel). All of those were successful strategies by the way. As was bringing the Wii. The only issue came when I went with my 9 year old to the bodega (aka little grocery) across the street to stock the mini fridge. It was going fine. Perfect. I mean yes, I was buying bread, bologna, cheese, peanut butter, and water for $40, but generally it was going fine. And then, out of nowhere, the friendly man behind the counter dropped the straw that broke the ego's back. His words hung in the air while I tried to absorb what he had asked... "Is he your Grandson?"
What did he say? Is he talking to me? My what? HE THINKS I AM A GRANDMOTHER????? OF A FRIGGIN' 9 YEAR OLD??????? Through my endless obsessing with this conversation, I have developed some awesome comebacks that I wished I had used. But I am horrified to tell you that the best I could come up with in my shock was "Uh, no, he's mine." I'm embarrassed to tell you that because my friends clearly thought that I would have either threatened his life or stuffed his corpse into the ice cream cooler. But I did not. I quietly let my son look at redneck rodeo belt buckles on the way out with the enthusiasm of someone who has had her walker pulled out from under her. And we went back to our room where my Husband got the best laugh of his calendar year. I tell everyone who will listen so that they can tell me the man was clearly crazy or blind...after they stop laughing.
We will probably go back to Virginia again sometime and might even stay at that same hotel. And I will go alone to that bodega and I will be skinny and wearing 7" heels and new gravity defying boobs that came free with my facelift. I will be there to stock my fridge. And that night, I will eat his liver with some fava beans and a nice bottle of Metamucil.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Potty Rules for Grown Ups
Today's post comes after another long long long break and is inspired by a glob of ick that I witnessed today! Ladies!!! Listen up!!! It is time to go over some rules that you learned when you were 3 but many have cleeeeeeearly forgotten. How to use the potty. More specifically, how to use a public potty. Let's go over some rules of engagement here...we can categorize these using the 5 senses.
- Smell. Some people would rather die than actually use a public restroom, particularly if they have to go #2. They are appalled by the knowledge that other people DO, in fact, use the public restroom for this act. They will make comments about the stench and hold their nose and pretend to faint. They will make sure you know that THEY did not create that horrendous stench eeking out of the stalls if you are walking in when they are walking out. But you know what? It is a restroom and stomach issues don't always wait until you are conveniently in the privacy of your own home. These people do not need to hear you make gagging sounds and they don't need you to stick around outside the restroom to find out who made that smell happen.
- Sound. Ladies, there is no need to laugh when someone has a minor or major gaseous explosion. Chances are that the reason you heard that outburst was because you were sitting in a stall nearby waiting for the other person to leave. That's right - you were waiting for them to leave so that you could fart yourself. So as a rule, if you are both in the bathroom for more than 5 minutes and neither of you is making a sound, the odds are high that you are both trying to wait each other out. At this point you should both just let it go (figuratively and literally). Since we are on the topic of sound, let's go over my #1 pet peeve in a public restroom. GET OFF THE @)$(*@_%! PHONE!!!! This is NOT the time to go over your grocery list with your spouse. It is not time to chat about dinner. It is not the time to ask your kid how his/her day was. It is time to friggin' pee or crap, wash your hands, and leave. The BEST was when I walked into the restroom and saw a colleague was on speakerphone with her Husband. I walked in and yelled my "hey, how you doing, this is SaltLizard - who is this" to the phone. She laughed and called me ignorant and continued with her call. I then announced to her Hubby that he was about to hear me pee and I hoped he enjoyed the show. At this point I believe she took it off speaker. I don't care if you play words with friends for an hour or facebook chat with half your high school in the stall, just don't field your damn phone calls in there.
- Taste. Taste you are saying? Ewwwwwww. All I have to say is this. You are in a room where people you know, sort of know, and don't know at all are pooping. I certainly appreciate your rigid oral hygiene, but I cannot comprehend how you can brush your teeth in there. Can't you almost taste that smell? I would rather have a root canal than do that. WHY?
- Touch. Again you may be confused. But let me spell it out. There is NO WAY that my ass should touch anything that came out of you on the toilet seat. I should also not be standing in a pool of oops, you must have had a power surge of pee on the floor. I have close friends who are hoverers. I am first, very impressed by their thigh muscles. And second, I am horrified that they are not willing to touch their own pee with toilet paper to prevent someone who does not maintain a squat from getting wet. This is disgusting. STOP IT.
- Sight. This is where it all comes together. A few things on this topic. If you walk into a restroom with 5 stalls, and someone is in stall 1, where do you go? STALL 5. The next person should enter stall 3. The 4th and 5th people are going to get too close to 2 people, and it cannot be avoided, but because it cannot be avoided, they can be forgiven. If I am sitting in stall 1 in an otherwise empty restroom, don't you dare go into stall 2. I don't care if your name is engraved on the seat - move it down the line! You must attempt to leave at least 1 stall between you at all times. Men know that - think about urinals. No one should be that close. OK, so now you've done your business (at least a stall away). When you stand up and flush, turn around. Take a look at that bowl. Do you see ANYTHING red, brown or yellow that came out of your body laying in the bowl? Yes? FLUSH IT AGAIN! Unless it is something that was not supposed to be flushed in the first place and then reach your dumbass hand into that bowl and get it out. Use a pen to pick it out - I DON'T CARE. Your rudeness is no reason for me to have to look at that. Oh, and while we are on that topic, check the floor too. Apparently some of you don't notice when objects fall out of your body onto the floor either.
Well, I do believe this concludes my tirade. I know that there will be points that you agree with and disagree with. I highly doubt that anyone will be reaching into the bowl to retrieve something they shouldn't have flushed. And I'm pretty sure that you will still walk out and warn the people going in that it smells bad and that you are not responsible (hell, I do that too - I'm not taking the heat for something I didn't do). But if my little outburst has done anything, I hope it has made you think twice about your restroom manners. And I hope it made you laugh. But not so hard that you peed.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Girls' Weekend and the Craaaa-zy Innkeeper (Almost sounds like a Scooby episode)
Girls weekend. The phrase that women cheer for and that we think strikes fear into the heart of the men we leave behind to care for the kids. I think in many case its really quite the opposite and that the men call each other as soon as we're out of the house to say "she's gone!! PEACE for TWO DAYS!"
So what exactly happens on a girls weekend? I guess there are a lot of different versions. Some with lots of debauchery and others with knitting or going without deodorant or something. My girl's weekends generally fall into the low to moderate debauchery within the acceptable bounds of married life. There is non stop talking, laughing, wine, good food, shopping and generalized obnoxiousness. And on occasion, there is an attempted friendly hostile takeover of a sunset cruise ship, but I digress (technically this has only happened twice and only once was it on a girl's weekend).
This year I have had TWO, count 'em TWO girl's weekends, and they were both great. They were as expected with two shocking exceptions. On the first weekend, they friggin' turned on the basketball game. What the heck, really? I mean if it was college ball, I could understand, but no. They needed to watch the Celtics. That is because Boston has eaten their brain. FYI, I am the only non-Massachusetts/non-Connecticut resident in the whole batch of them. The second exception was for my most recent excursion. Every time I spoke longingly about the quaint stores I would visit, my friend suggested bicycling/ kayaking/ sweating of some sort. Please do not get me wrong - I love nature. I particularly enjoy relaxing in its midst. And even though I bought a (very cheap 12 year old girl style) bicycle JUST for that occasion, I realized after 3 trips up and down my driveway that I would have a heart attack within minutes of getting on the trail. Luckily, my athletically inclined friend took not one, but two for the team. She did not force exercise AND she put up with a lot of shopping.
I will call her Barbara, but it is not her name. Why the anonymity? Because I believe her reservation confirmation stated something along the line of saying she would sue my ass off if I wrote any kind of review without her prior approval. FYI - I did not agree to this, but I'll try to be good nonetheless. I don't imagine she was worried about a poor review of her B&B - the place was really awesome. I think she is most likely concerned about any statements to the fact that she is bat shit crazy or of photos being posted of her walking down the path with two 1 gallon bottles of Absolut Saturday afternoon. No wonder she was napping when I arrived. Anyway, Barbara works for me since I couldn't remember her name any of the 27 times my friends reminded me, and that was what I called her.
Barbara apparently didn't know that I had arrived, so she told them she needed credit cards from both of them. And when they gave them to her confused, she asked why they gave her 2 credit cards because that was just ridiculous. So Jenn left hers on the table and Barbara had her sign 2 credit card slips - one for my card and one for her own. Jenn asked why she was being charged for 2 nights when I had already paid for one. She got frustrated and drew angry lines and arrows on the documents to explain it all. Then she asked which one of them was Salt Lizard! They told her neither, which she would know if she had paid attention when she asked them their names. And then it just went bad. Eventually Debbie 1 had to explain that they were both pretty intelligent people and that neither of them had any friggin' idea what she was trying to say. They were directed to our room.
There was a 3rd friend (and a 4th actually) who was unable to make the trip and as such, her photo was printed out and put on a stick. She was our traveling companion. We put her in the car seat, and we gave her a seat at the table when we ate that night. We had conversations with about 1/2 of the outdoor patrons of the restaurant we were at and some of the people inside the restaurant got our attention too. Sandy had pictures taken with a lot of people that night. She enjoyed some chardonnay, got felt up by some guys walking their dog, and she was even seen in the window of the sheriff's van. Hell, by the end of the weekend, she was even found in bed with a horse head (but who wasn't).
At breakfast the next morning, we asked if we could sit anywhere and were told yes and then told to sit exactly where we were told. Debbie tried to get herself some coffee and was told to sit down and they would get coffee for her. Then Jenn went and f'd it all up by asking for ice coffee. It was as if she had asked for the gold from King Tut's tomb be air mailed to her Swiss Bank Account. Ice coffee? Do you know how long it will take to make ice coffee? I wish I had known, I just threw out some cold coffee. Oh, it will take all day to get your coffee cold. #2 brought Jenn some coffee with steam coming off of it "is this cold enough?" I suggested (because I am a crazy out of the box thinker) some ice cubes. "We're out of ice cubes." OH, well at least that explained why it would be hard to make ice coffee. About 4 minutes later Barbara came over and asked how the coffee was and realized it was warm, so she bellowed something about putting some ice in it. #2 came back with legit ice coffee and said she didn't realize that Babs had purchased some ice the day prior. Um, okay. We finished breakfast, while trying to figure out what the H it was along the way.
Barbara asked us what we were doing. Are you going here? Yes, you should go here. I'll draw you a map! She finished accosting the British couple with comments about how much different this was than Jolly Ole England and off she went. Then I heard #2 giving another nice couple directions... "You go to H-A-Y Cock Road." "Haycock?" the guy said? "Yeah, HayCOCK." Can someone please tell me why she felt inclined to spell the "Hay" and leave the rest alone? Anyway, around then Barbara came back with her hand drawn map (aka she hit print on a document with directions and no map). She explained her document while Jenn tried to follow along with it on an actual map that she had brought herself. Barbara smacked her hard in the arm and told her that map wasn't going to get her anywhere. Then she smacked me in the back as she asked Jenn if she had signed up for her horse chores yet. Then she called to #2 in the kitchen to tell her about the funny she had made.
Other than that, I eavesdropped on everyone else's conversations and joined in where I felt like interjecting something (if you ask my travel companions they will say that this happened ever 3 minutes and that I have the attention span of an ADHD gnat). I also spent some quality time shushing Debbie and Jenn as they openly mocked Barbara at the table while she was still in the room. They said she couldn't hear, but I was not convinced. People like that don't need hearing, they just know. I was determined to make Barbara love us (me) by the time we left. And if that couldn't happen, I wanted her to smack Debbie (1) just to see how that played out. That was the best of Barbara as we didn't see her that much the rest of the trip.
But I know we're buds now, for 3 reasons. #1 - She killed a hive/colony/swarm/whatever of hornets that stood between me and my safe return from the pool. #2 - Debbie was allowed to get her own coffee and Jenn was handed a perfect goblet of ice coffee the second morning. #3 - When I told her that the soap dish in our room broke, she merely told the British man that we had a wild night and she did not hit any of us. Though I did awaken to an odd bed companion...I wonder how that got there...
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Rock of Ages...Was it Supposed to be Funny?
OK peeps, STOP READING NOW IF YOU HAVE NOT YET SEEN BUT PLAN TO SEE THIS MOVIE!!!! Eh, you know what? I won't give it all away so read. Of course this post will only get like 3 hits because according to the press, no one except the 10 people in the theater and most of Hollywood have seen the movie. But a lot of my "demographic" still wants to see it.
My boss was pretty funny today as he said this movie had (SaltLizard to you) written all over it. He also mentioned that he expected I would see mainly my "demographic" at the theater. And finally, he predicted I would come to work tomorrow holding a Tom Cruise bobble head. Let's see how right he was...
First off, I should have paid a little more attention to the whole "musical" aspect of this movie. For some reason I did not expect them to break into song every 2 minutes like Danny Zucko when he was stranded at the drive in (feeling like a fool). But within the first 2 minutes...the bus scene. WHO doesn't like Sister Christian? No one...until random people on the bus begin singing it together while at the same time, not fully aware that the others are singing. It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that I was hyserically laughing, like please tell me the whole movie will not be like this... Well, there were similar scenes, but eventually you get into the groove of the thing. That does not mean it was great cinema. But it does mean that I blasted 80s hairbands all the way home.
The Actors
Julianne Hough. Perfectly cast as a young innocent big haired Oklahoma girl who moved to LA to pursue singing. Absolutely miscast as a singer of 80s hairband songs. We needed someone with a raw edge to her voice. Lita Ford will choke when she listens to Julianne's pretty 12 year old asking Daddy for a Library card voice. Her voice is beautiful, but a rocker she is not.
The guy who plays her love interest. We'll call him What's his Name. He should not have been allowed to sing rock ballads because he f'd them all up for me and I will not be able to even pretend that I can buy the soundtrack because of this. His best features were his eyelashes which appeared to have been locked in an eyelash curler and permed in place. He was sweet and syrupy and had value only when singing angry. He kind of reminded me of the little boy that they introduced late in the Little House on the Prairie.
Alec Baldwin. Owner of "the Bourbon" (bourbon...whiskey in LA, get it?). I am a little surprised that Alec made it all the way through filming while 9 months pregnant. Luckily he did not have to exert himself acting much. You know, that was really mean girl. Perhaps he was getting into character. I have no idea what the owner of the Whiskey looked like, so who knows. Alec was clearly on set for comedic value and he and Russell Brand supplied the hardest and longest bout of laughing thatI recall ever having at a movie. Though I am still not sure it was intended to be funny. Congratulations gentlemen on a hysterical REO Speedwagon duet which you probably could not take any more serious than I could.
Russell Brand. No idea who the F he was supposed to be in the movie, but he was by far my favorite character in the movie. He did what Russell does best. As far as music goes, I preferred him in Get Him to the Greek where "when life hands you a Jeffrey, stroke the furry walls."
The dude who played Tom Cruise's manager. Another What's his Name, but a much more recognizable one. The dude that was in Sideways with the Dude that played Lowell on Wings. I think he has won a bunch of awards, but I am not going to look it up. He was great in this slimy role. Paul Giamatta (sp?)- that's it!! Thank you for coming back to me old brain cells.
The chick that played the Rolling Stone reporter. I thought she was J Hough with a perm or someone from college or someone famous I should know, but she wasn't. Her character had a name that reminded me of Pussy Galore from Bond fame. She was there. Guys will like her and they can see her panties.
Catherine Zeta-Jones. Think Tipper Gore on the outside with a little Grace Jones under the prissy exterior.
Mary J Blije. Best voice in the show and some damn fine 80's pantsuits.
Tom Cruise. Somewhere out there, Axl Rose is gonna be pi-issssssssed. At least if he sees the beginning of the movie he will be bring a shotgun to the theater to shoot the screen and will likely ban anyone who looks like Tom Cruise from attending his concerts. The ONLY hope that Tom will have in escaping the wrath of Axl is if Axl is as late to the movie as he is to his own shows. That said, there might be a good chance Tom is off the hook. It physically pains me to tell you how good Tom was in this role. After that phase he went through (you know, where he went batshit crazy on Oprah and the Today show and on Brooke Shields), I did not think I would ever respect my little Joel Goodson again. But he did himself proud as both egomaniacal crackpot rock star (aka Axl) and singer. My only complaint about the singing was that he ennunciated the words too much. Enough so that I now know the correct words to songs I have apparently been singing wrong for 25 years. He was rated "doable" by both my movie companion and myself.
Sebastian Bach. Sigh. Yes, he is not a brain trust from what I can tell from his desperate for attention reality show participation. But I do not care! I was so excited to see his face in the movie cameo that I kept trying to use my invisible remote control to pause the screen. I also wanted to try to figure out who the other cameos were. Have I mentioned before that I saw him in Jesus Christ Superstar? My Husband made me see the play and I was miserable up until I realized that the Captain of Skid Row was playing Jesus. At that point I began trying to score front row tickets (unsuccessful). I probably should have attended confession after the play to repent for my disgraceful thoughts and I am not even Catholic. Anyways, it was 2 minutes but still worth mentioning to me.
The last thing that was worth mentioning was that I got to see a preview for Magic Mike. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but you have probably learned how shallow I am by now, so I do not give a rat's ass if it is stupid, I will be there to see my imaginary boyfriend, Channing Tatum, take his clothes off and gyrate for the audience (me. All for me.). Matthew McConahy looked creepy in his role at best.
Well, it is time for bed now. I will have sweet 80s band dreams tonight where my imaginary boyfriend will dance to Sweet Child of Mine as Axl strokes out in the background and my spiral perm will shake as I bang my head.
My boss was pretty funny today as he said this movie had (SaltLizard to you) written all over it. He also mentioned that he expected I would see mainly my "demographic" at the theater. And finally, he predicted I would come to work tomorrow holding a Tom Cruise bobble head. Let's see how right he was...
First off, I should have paid a little more attention to the whole "musical" aspect of this movie. For some reason I did not expect them to break into song every 2 minutes like Danny Zucko when he was stranded at the drive in (feeling like a fool). But within the first 2 minutes...the bus scene. WHO doesn't like Sister Christian? No one...until random people on the bus begin singing it together while at the same time, not fully aware that the others are singing. It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that I was hyserically laughing, like please tell me the whole movie will not be like this... Well, there were similar scenes, but eventually you get into the groove of the thing. That does not mean it was great cinema. But it does mean that I blasted 80s hairbands all the way home.
The Actors
Julianne Hough. Perfectly cast as a young innocent big haired Oklahoma girl who moved to LA to pursue singing. Absolutely miscast as a singer of 80s hairband songs. We needed someone with a raw edge to her voice. Lita Ford will choke when she listens to Julianne's pretty 12 year old asking Daddy for a Library card voice. Her voice is beautiful, but a rocker she is not.
The guy who plays her love interest. We'll call him What's his Name. He should not have been allowed to sing rock ballads because he f'd them all up for me and I will not be able to even pretend that I can buy the soundtrack because of this. His best features were his eyelashes which appeared to have been locked in an eyelash curler and permed in place. He was sweet and syrupy and had value only when singing angry. He kind of reminded me of the little boy that they introduced late in the Little House on the Prairie.
Alec Baldwin. Owner of "the Bourbon" (bourbon...whiskey in LA, get it?). I am a little surprised that Alec made it all the way through filming while 9 months pregnant. Luckily he did not have to exert himself acting much. You know, that was really mean girl. Perhaps he was getting into character. I have no idea what the owner of the Whiskey looked like, so who knows. Alec was clearly on set for comedic value and he and Russell Brand supplied the hardest and longest bout of laughing thatI recall ever having at a movie. Though I am still not sure it was intended to be funny. Congratulations gentlemen on a hysterical REO Speedwagon duet which you probably could not take any more serious than I could.
Russell Brand. No idea who the F he was supposed to be in the movie, but he was by far my favorite character in the movie. He did what Russell does best. As far as music goes, I preferred him in Get Him to the Greek where "when life hands you a Jeffrey, stroke the furry walls."
The dude who played Tom Cruise's manager. Another What's his Name, but a much more recognizable one. The dude that was in Sideways with the Dude that played Lowell on Wings. I think he has won a bunch of awards, but I am not going to look it up. He was great in this slimy role. Paul Giamatta (sp?)- that's it!! Thank you for coming back to me old brain cells.
The chick that played the Rolling Stone reporter. I thought she was J Hough with a perm or someone from college or someone famous I should know, but she wasn't. Her character had a name that reminded me of Pussy Galore from Bond fame. She was there. Guys will like her and they can see her panties.
Catherine Zeta-Jones. Think Tipper Gore on the outside with a little Grace Jones under the prissy exterior.
Mary J Blije. Best voice in the show and some damn fine 80's pantsuits.
Tom Cruise. Somewhere out there, Axl Rose is gonna be pi-issssssssed. At least if he sees the beginning of the movie he will be bring a shotgun to the theater to shoot the screen and will likely ban anyone who looks like Tom Cruise from attending his concerts. The ONLY hope that Tom will have in escaping the wrath of Axl is if Axl is as late to the movie as he is to his own shows. That said, there might be a good chance Tom is off the hook. It physically pains me to tell you how good Tom was in this role. After that phase he went through (you know, where he went batshit crazy on Oprah and the Today show and on Brooke Shields), I did not think I would ever respect my little Joel Goodson again. But he did himself proud as both egomaniacal crackpot rock star (aka Axl) and singer. My only complaint about the singing was that he ennunciated the words too much. Enough so that I now know the correct words to songs I have apparently been singing wrong for 25 years. He was rated "doable" by both my movie companion and myself.
Sebastian Bach. Sigh. Yes, he is not a brain trust from what I can tell from his desperate for attention reality show participation. But I do not care! I was so excited to see his face in the movie cameo that I kept trying to use my invisible remote control to pause the screen. I also wanted to try to figure out who the other cameos were. Have I mentioned before that I saw him in Jesus Christ Superstar? My Husband made me see the play and I was miserable up until I realized that the Captain of Skid Row was playing Jesus. At that point I began trying to score front row tickets (unsuccessful). I probably should have attended confession after the play to repent for my disgraceful thoughts and I am not even Catholic. Anyways, it was 2 minutes but still worth mentioning to me.
The last thing that was worth mentioning was that I got to see a preview for Magic Mike. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but you have probably learned how shallow I am by now, so I do not give a rat's ass if it is stupid, I will be there to see my imaginary boyfriend, Channing Tatum, take his clothes off and gyrate for the audience (me. All for me.). Matthew McConahy looked creepy in his role at best.
Well, it is time for bed now. I will have sweet 80s band dreams tonight where my imaginary boyfriend will dance to Sweet Child of Mine as Axl strokes out in the background and my spiral perm will shake as I bang my head.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The Anti Mom
Since the time of my last post, a lot of things have happened. Apparently my blogger zone has changed, so I had to guess how to log in and write a new post. But I'm modern, I'm intelligent, I figured out that the giant pencil was somehow related to "WRITE." So here I am. No no, stop cheering, I don't know how good my post will actually be. Why? Eh, I'm a little pissy right now. And I just got my finger stuck in a bottle of wine that was supposed to relieve my pissiness. How? Because when I am annoyed/stressed, apparently I forget which way I am supposed to pull the handle of my very cool wine opener. I chose poorly tonight and got my finger stuck while trying to push the cork the rest of the way in. Alas, my story is not about being stupid or getting my finger stuck in a bottle. Tonight my story is again, about momhood.
There are people in this universe who were MADE to be the neighborhood Mom. They were born to it. My Sister in Law has had like 20 kids at her house at once at some point. And only 1/2 of them were there because they just put a pool in. My nephews are the entertainers - they invite everyone over, and I am in awe that she will occasionally feed several children who did not spew forth from her body. As I recall the stories, her (my Husband's) Mom was the same way. I am not that woman.
I love everyone's kids. I really do. I recall wondering if another daycare Mom hated me because every time she got to daycare to pick her daughter up, she was sitting on my lap in the baby room. I'm happy to say she did not hate me and we are friends to this day and our kids get together every once in a while even though they are not in the same school. But this love of children kind of came as a shock to me.
Specifically, I refer to being 16 and forced to begin seeing the GYN. Ewww. I believe I may have waited until the second visit to ask for a hysterectomy because "I am never going to use it, so can I just get rid of it now?" A) I did not want to have to endure 40 more years of periods. (I had calculated the amount of blood lost in the average gunshot wound sustained in the military against 45 years of periods, and deduced women got the short stick in that deal.) And B) As I stated, I had NO intent to use my uterus, so why did I really need it anyway? I did not like kids, they were loud and annoying. I did not like playing with baby dolls as a kid - I was much more interested in seeing Barbie go to 3rd base (or home) with Steve Austin (the 6 million dollar man) in the Barbie Camper at the drive in movie. So c'mon doc, let's you and I just make sure we don't have any "accidents" along the way please. He would not bend to my will.
When I was engaged, my future Husband and I had dinner one night and had the baby talk. We both stated our ideal number of children. Me "Zero." Him "Two." In my mind, even one was not a compromise. But I loved him, and I was old enough already, so I decided that we should not discuss the subject any further. Until one day on April 15th when my Husband and I were driving around to find a post office that was still open to mail our taxes (fyi - that is his fault because he delays until the last day, but it is my fault because I detest trying to figure out taxes so much that I still make him do the taxes). I said "um, I guess if we are going to have a baby, we should probably start soon because I'm not getting any younger." When he agreed, I asked him to pull over so I could throw up.
We never actually started "TRYING" per se, but we occasionally DID IT and I was no longer on birth control. It took all of 2 months. I peed on a stick. I cried. I apologized to the pets because I knew we would not have as much quality time in 9 months. I bought an "I'm sorry" card for my Husband and said we cannot go on the cruise with our families because I will be 9 months pregnant. I cannot recall, but I think I had the pee stick in the card? I handed it to him after softball and before we walked into the after softball bar...where I could not drink, but tried really hard to throw people off the scent.
I have funny birth stories (my opinion at least), but I'll save those, because once again, I've strayed FARRRR beyond my actual point here. Fast forward 9 years to now. We are a family unit. My Husband, my 2 awesome boys and me. I schedule play dates, but I do not schedule a ton. And the kids we see most are my college friend/NYC roommate and her kids. Why? Because that is equally a play date for me. I know, selfish.
Well at some point, I realized that most of the kids in our town are friends with the kids in their neighborhood. But we live on an older cul de sac and there are not really that many kids their age on the street. So I started thinking "maybe we should move to a development?" About 2 days after I considered looking for a new house, my children found 3 children who lived like 2 yards away. We had not met them before, but we have some decent land acreage, so I'll pretend it wasn't a shock that they had lived there for the last 3 years. There was a girl 1 month older than my oldest son. And there were 2 brothers, 6 and 5 that were perfect for my baby. Voila! Problem solved!!! And their Mom, on day 1, did not even FLINCH when my nearly 5 year old at the time announced, as he brought in their drinking cup, that he had peed in it. Lucky for me he told us her daughter had suggested it. We threw the cup out and never spoke of it again.
It was all great. Until last Thursday. Last Thursday I did not have a banner day. I pretty much wanted to come home and drink a glass (vat) of wine. 2 minutes after I arrive, the kids were in our yard. I went from not wanting to watch my own kids, to watching 5 kids in 120 seconds flat. I opened a Corona and considered behaving loudly irresponsible so that someone would retrieve the children. But they are good kids, and my kids love them, so I shut it and let them play. And we didn't eat until 7:30 as a result.
But then Monday? Camp started for one of mine, but not the other. So I now had two pick ups and karate night. I FLEW home to get the do pak (aka - UNIFORM and likely spelled wrong, though I don't care karate masters of the blogiverse). I fed the animals and was preparing to tear out of the house after peeing to my still running car when...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!! SERIOUSLY???? "They are not here. I have to get them (in 4 seconds after I friggin' PEE). No, no they cannot play tonight because they have to eat and then go to karate. I promise. I promise we will have you over." I know she likes the boys, but she really just wants to go in the pool.
Tuesday rained and we got a reprieve. I got a text from her Mom on Wednesday. Her Mom is very nice - SOO nice. It is a three screen text with disclaimers. Basically her daughter said that I may have said they could come over to go in the pool. No, karate night is Wednesday too (don't get me wrong, the karate schedule also bugs me). Maybe Friday.
I could go on. In reality, I now find myself making SURE to schedule myself and the kids for the weekend because I am getting irritated that kids are automatically at my house? Why? I DON'T KNOW!!! THEY ARE GOOD KIDS!!! I start opening the garage door when I am up the street hoping that I can sneak the car in and close the door before anyone sees it open. Why? Because my day today did not bring me joy and I do not want to watch 5 kids when I'm already miserable. I want to BLOG and let my kids watch...something...on tv! Somehow I made it in the door tonight without incident.
Today is Thursday. I know they're coming tomorrow and I'm okay with that because I was the one who suggested Friday. I bought 3 more sets of swim floaties because I don't think any of them are comfortable in the water in which they want so desperately to swim. But I want to know what genetic code exists in people like my Sister in Law who are perfectly cool with entertaining and feeding a neighborhood. I don't have that gene, and I feel evil for not having it. Does it come easier when the kids get older and you don't feel like you have to watch every move? Can someone please explain this to me? I know you Jennifer Hunt ARE a good community/neighborhood Mom. I know that YOU Julie Cohn ENJOY entertaining all of your son's class. Were you always like that? Did it take some kind of epiphany to bring you to this point? Why am I so protective of my space and time? And WHY, WHY did I get my finger stuck in a bottle of wine? Seriously, how stupid is that?
There are people in this universe who were MADE to be the neighborhood Mom. They were born to it. My Sister in Law has had like 20 kids at her house at once at some point. And only 1/2 of them were there because they just put a pool in. My nephews are the entertainers - they invite everyone over, and I am in awe that she will occasionally feed several children who did not spew forth from her body. As I recall the stories, her (my Husband's) Mom was the same way. I am not that woman.
I love everyone's kids. I really do. I recall wondering if another daycare Mom hated me because every time she got to daycare to pick her daughter up, she was sitting on my lap in the baby room. I'm happy to say she did not hate me and we are friends to this day and our kids get together every once in a while even though they are not in the same school. But this love of children kind of came as a shock to me.
Specifically, I refer to being 16 and forced to begin seeing the GYN. Ewww. I believe I may have waited until the second visit to ask for a hysterectomy because "I am never going to use it, so can I just get rid of it now?" A) I did not want to have to endure 40 more years of periods. (I had calculated the amount of blood lost in the average gunshot wound sustained in the military against 45 years of periods, and deduced women got the short stick in that deal.) And B) As I stated, I had NO intent to use my uterus, so why did I really need it anyway? I did not like kids, they were loud and annoying. I did not like playing with baby dolls as a kid - I was much more interested in seeing Barbie go to 3rd base (or home) with Steve Austin (the 6 million dollar man) in the Barbie Camper at the drive in movie. So c'mon doc, let's you and I just make sure we don't have any "accidents" along the way please. He would not bend to my will.
When I was engaged, my future Husband and I had dinner one night and had the baby talk. We both stated our ideal number of children. Me "Zero." Him "Two." In my mind, even one was not a compromise. But I loved him, and I was old enough already, so I decided that we should not discuss the subject any further. Until one day on April 15th when my Husband and I were driving around to find a post office that was still open to mail our taxes (fyi - that is his fault because he delays until the last day, but it is my fault because I detest trying to figure out taxes so much that I still make him do the taxes). I said "um, I guess if we are going to have a baby, we should probably start soon because I'm not getting any younger." When he agreed, I asked him to pull over so I could throw up.
We never actually started "TRYING" per se, but we occasionally DID IT and I was no longer on birth control. It took all of 2 months. I peed on a stick. I cried. I apologized to the pets because I knew we would not have as much quality time in 9 months. I bought an "I'm sorry" card for my Husband and said we cannot go on the cruise with our families because I will be 9 months pregnant. I cannot recall, but I think I had the pee stick in the card? I handed it to him after softball and before we walked into the after softball bar...where I could not drink, but tried really hard to throw people off the scent.
I have funny birth stories (my opinion at least), but I'll save those, because once again, I've strayed FARRRR beyond my actual point here. Fast forward 9 years to now. We are a family unit. My Husband, my 2 awesome boys and me. I schedule play dates, but I do not schedule a ton. And the kids we see most are my college friend/NYC roommate and her kids. Why? Because that is equally a play date for me. I know, selfish.
Well at some point, I realized that most of the kids in our town are friends with the kids in their neighborhood. But we live on an older cul de sac and there are not really that many kids their age on the street. So I started thinking "maybe we should move to a development?" About 2 days after I considered looking for a new house, my children found 3 children who lived like 2 yards away. We had not met them before, but we have some decent land acreage, so I'll pretend it wasn't a shock that they had lived there for the last 3 years. There was a girl 1 month older than my oldest son. And there were 2 brothers, 6 and 5 that were perfect for my baby. Voila! Problem solved!!! And their Mom, on day 1, did not even FLINCH when my nearly 5 year old at the time announced, as he brought in their drinking cup, that he had peed in it. Lucky for me he told us her daughter had suggested it. We threw the cup out and never spoke of it again.
It was all great. Until last Thursday. Last Thursday I did not have a banner day. I pretty much wanted to come home and drink a glass (vat) of wine. 2 minutes after I arrive, the kids were in our yard. I went from not wanting to watch my own kids, to watching 5 kids in 120 seconds flat. I opened a Corona and considered behaving loudly irresponsible so that someone would retrieve the children. But they are good kids, and my kids love them, so I shut it and let them play. And we didn't eat until 7:30 as a result.
But then Monday? Camp started for one of mine, but not the other. So I now had two pick ups and karate night. I FLEW home to get the do pak (aka - UNIFORM and likely spelled wrong, though I don't care karate masters of the blogiverse). I fed the animals and was preparing to tear out of the house after peeing to my still running car when...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!! SERIOUSLY???? "They are not here. I have to get them (in 4 seconds after I friggin' PEE). No, no they cannot play tonight because they have to eat and then go to karate. I promise. I promise we will have you over." I know she likes the boys, but she really just wants to go in the pool.
Tuesday rained and we got a reprieve. I got a text from her Mom on Wednesday. Her Mom is very nice - SOO nice. It is a three screen text with disclaimers. Basically her daughter said that I may have said they could come over to go in the pool. No, karate night is Wednesday too (don't get me wrong, the karate schedule also bugs me). Maybe Friday.
I could go on. In reality, I now find myself making SURE to schedule myself and the kids for the weekend because I am getting irritated that kids are automatically at my house? Why? I DON'T KNOW!!! THEY ARE GOOD KIDS!!! I start opening the garage door when I am up the street hoping that I can sneak the car in and close the door before anyone sees it open. Why? Because my day today did not bring me joy and I do not want to watch 5 kids when I'm already miserable. I want to BLOG and let my kids watch...something...on tv! Somehow I made it in the door tonight without incident.
Today is Thursday. I know they're coming tomorrow and I'm okay with that because I was the one who suggested Friday. I bought 3 more sets of swim floaties because I don't think any of them are comfortable in the water in which they want so desperately to swim. But I want to know what genetic code exists in people like my Sister in Law who are perfectly cool with entertaining and feeding a neighborhood. I don't have that gene, and I feel evil for not having it. Does it come easier when the kids get older and you don't feel like you have to watch every move? Can someone please explain this to me? I know you Jennifer Hunt ARE a good community/neighborhood Mom. I know that YOU Julie Cohn ENJOY entertaining all of your son's class. Were you always like that? Did it take some kind of epiphany to bring you to this point? Why am I so protective of my space and time? And WHY, WHY did I get my finger stuck in a bottle of wine? Seriously, how stupid is that?
Friday, May 18, 2012
Happy Birthday to Me...Not You...OK, Fine You
Tuesday my baby turned 5. I took the day off because I took the day off for his brother's birthday. Around the time I woke up I realized that the reason I took his brother's birthday off was to panic clean our house because we were having the party here. THIS party is at Mr. Chuck E Cheese's house, so why exactly did I take off. Technically I COULD spend the whole day with the 5 year old, but that wouldn't be fair since I didn't do that for the other one?! And TRUST ME, the 8yo would NEVER let me live it down. Plus, if the 5 year old didn't go to preschool, what the heck were we going to do with the 18 cupcakes that I squeezed out of that box of cake mix (Betty Crocker is a big fat liar - 24 cupcakes my ass). So, I sent him to school and promised myself I'd pick him up early.
Now that I had figured that out, what was I going to do? I should log on to work from home or I could...MASSAGE! I drove to a shopping center that had a massage place. I Walked in and asked the 23 year old Adonis behind the counter if there was room for me on the schedule. During our debate as to whether or not the massage chick could take me for the 80 minute hot stone instead of the 50 minute hot stone, he finally said shyly, "well, would you be okay if I did your massage?" Quick pause, quick pause, casual response "oh, sure, that's fine, either way"...do not jump up and down, am I smiling too much? In reality, I don't care either way as long as my back gets rubbed. I've had massages from men and from women and from women who look like men.
So, I take off to run my errands (shop for pretty things I don't need) until it's time to return for my noon(er). I shop...I try on...do I look fat in this? A little, but will I look fat the second time I put these shorts on after they've stretched out? Not as much, okay. I'll probably have to donate them after I wash (shrink) them. When did I start wearing Grandma underwear? Buy a thong - I'll wear it once and remember why I stopped wearing thongs. A few unnecessary items later and one long stroll through DSW and it's time to head back.
The massage was good with the exception that hot stone turned into his person quest to rid me of the 2 enormous knots in my back. I was neither embarrassed nor excited when he threaded the sheet in the crack of my ass like dental floss so that he could free my leg to massage it. The next day my back felt like I was hit by a baseball bat, but it was worth it. His name was Chris. I'll pretend that it is short for "Christian" for those of you who know all 50 Shades of what I'm saying. I know that it isn't - he was young and innocent looking enough to probably still be snuggling with a teddy bear at night.
I return to daycare to pick up the birthday boy. I walk into his classroom to find him sound asleep along with all the other "Friendly Frogs." They tell me that he just went down but they can get him. "No no no" I say. How long before they get up? An hour you say? "Let him sleep, I'll come back in an hour." What should I do now...PEDICURE! OK, I'm probably not kidding you, I had already been thinking pedi but maternal guilt made me drive to pick him up. It was merely a sign from above that I was supposed to get the pedi.
It was a wonderful pedi. And this woman was not trying to work knots out of my feet, so the massage part felt wonderful. I would have preferred that she did not keep my big toe in direct contact with her right breast throughout the leg massage, but hey, I was getting a rub, so who cares. I mean I preferred when Chris was half laying on me to stretch my muscles out and my hand was trapped by his chest, but I digress.
As soon as the polish was on, I bolted out the door to go get my baby. I got him and then we both went for his big brother. Then I announced my big surprise, "we're going to see the Avengers!" I reminded the little one that this meant Hulk, Thor, Iron Man... What I heard was "After that can we go to the children's museum?" from the 8yo and "Avengers is BORRRRRING" from the 5yo. But it's raining, and the museum will be closing 5 minutes after we get there. Hulk? Iron Man? Thor? I throw a mommy tantrum and say FINE WE AREN'T GOING! I am really only pissed b/c I don't have a plan D. So I keep driving toward the theater thinking the little one will come around. Um, no.
Lightning strikes and I suggest bowling. Victory. So we drive there, pay our $23 for friggin shoes and one game, oh yeah, and another $3 for socks for me since I was wearing sandals. That would have been a good time for me to remember that I had just had a pedi that I did not let dry 40 minutes prior. I did not. After shrieking at them to stop running back and forth across the room screaming, and threatening them twice. we all got ready and headed to our alley.
After 6 frames and 37 requests for a snack by his Brother, the 5yo had to pee. I finished bowling my frame and then he finished bowling his frame and I took him to the bathroom. I think I went to get a new ball, but it gets blurry here. I hear him calling for me. I go back to the bathroom and look at him crying "I PEED IN MY PA-ANNNNTTTSSSS!!!" I triaged the situation. How wet. You have to be kidding me wet. SOAKED. I mopped up the lake under him with toilet paper and then found a pond right in front of the toilet. He was THAT close. I took his pants and brought them to the car (as the bowling guy watched my rented bowling shoes walk out on my feet) where I found no other pants, but I did find zip up sweatshirt. I went back and put it on him like a kilt. I threw out his socks and we finished our game with only a few weird looks from a kid that wondered why my son was wearing a skirt. Then I put the (wet) shoes back up on the desk and ran.
I removed his underwear in the car and we hit up TJMaxx for some underwear, shorts and socks. He was sitting in the cart as instructed, but chose to do so with his knees up and his nuts hanging out. I put my purse in front of him to block the view, bought our merchandise and changed him in the women's dressing room. From there we went to dinner at his favorite (adult) restaurant. It was a friggin' Tuesday and they told me that there was a 10 - 15 wait. I told her I was going to put a gun in my mouth. She asked if that meant I wanted to be put on the list. Since threatening to shoot myself had not moved us up on the priority list, I gave her my name.
In the end, dinner was delicious and we left happy even though I failed in my attempt to buy a few bottles of Greg Norman Chardonnay (which my local wine store has stopped selling) off their wine wall. All in all, his birthday was fan-freakin-tastic. Well, you know, until I had to pick him up. Tomorrow we will celebrate again - this time with Chuck the Giant Rat. I wonder if I can put Dad in charge and go grab myself a massage.
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