Friday on my mind

so here I am, in the middle of another nap time that took waaaaay too long to get here today.

wait... did I just say that out loud? yeah. I did.


my darling sweet lovable kids were terrors today. Danny threw a full-on tantrum that STILL has my ears ringing, and it's possible one of the kids bit the other one during a fight over dress shoes at one point. I saw no teeth marks, and given Rhena's tendency to exaggerate, this could be a fabricated ploy for sympathy... but who knows.


at any rate, the winds shifted and the kids were nothing but sugar later and we did get to spend some time at the park and do some food shopping. win-win. you know, except for that whole screaming terrors routine they were working earlier. can't forget that part.

So y'all know I love me some TV. I have a few shows that I watch regularly, and I do enjoy the escapes they provide. I like to be entertained, I really do. I mean.. who doesn't, right? the FORM of entertainment may be different for different folks, but nonetheless... we all like to be entertained in our own ways.


Troy doesn't like watching shows with me sometimes. you see.. I have this horrible habit of pausing whatever show we're watching to give him my prediction of how the show/movie/story will turn out. like the minute I think I've figured it out. I know, I know.. I'm one of THOSE people. seriously. don't ever take me to a movie. I'll just ruin it for you.

I will do the little 'blow-on-the-knuckles-and-polish-them-on-my-chest" move and say that I've got an about 90% accuracy rate when it comes to my guessing, too. which of course makes shit even THAT MUCH MORE annoying to others, cause then what's the point if there's no mystery to watch unravel.

I tease Troy and say it's cause I'm a gypsy (Hungarian heredity, thank you mom!) but the truth? how can I NOT figure out shit? does he not REALIZE how many MINI-DRAMAS I watch unfold like EVERY DAY with our kids??? I'm sure I have seen enough character development, plot building and rise and falling of main characters just in the morning we have to get Rhena ready for PRESCHOOL that we could surely open a summer theater camp. never mind my teaching days and Rhena's dance days where they are allowed to do free-play til like TEN in the morning (oh yes.. the extra half hour always allows for a few more storyline twists.)


I'm still trying to figure out how I can make a profit on this. I'm SURE if Steven Spielberg or Ron Howard were to sit with my kids for a week of mornings, there's be some fantasmic movies the following summer as a result. especially if special effects were added. and a soundtrack. PLEASE a different soundtrack. cause really? Rhena's made-up dance routines are fun; but watching her dance to "margaritaville" with a large fake plant are starting to border on 'concerning behavior'.

oh and while I'm at it.. James Patterson, if you're reading?? I have a GREAT idea for a novel for you. it involves a stay at home mom who loses her shit. really. call me. we could be fabulous together. just ask my kids.

something

some times i feel like I just want to write. about anything, nothing.. the same shit, different shit, the fact that I took THREE shits yesterday (true story), but just SOMETHING.

other times.. which is usually MOST of the time... I've got nothin'. well, no.. that's not true. there's ALWAYS something going on.. this is the "apollo" after all....

but who wants to hear my dribble? especially when i should be folding laundry? or finishing up the shit I owe Troy for my Stepford site?

I suppose if you're reading this, there's some part of you that IS interested in my dribble. or you're looking for a reason to laugh at me. there's usually a few morsels of asshat behavior to go around in here, so i can understand that.

but yeah... I've been blogging more or less now for what.. 5 years? still don't consider myself a BLOGGER. and apparently i still wonder why people even read this here page. (again.. the occasions to point and laugh not withstanding.) hate all the blogitics with kissing this one's ass and being that one's reader. screw that! I don't even follow TV celebrities.... forget about following normal people who blog!

nonetheless... I still hear about things. call it third party exposure, background noise, or just perhaps newsworthy shit comes your way. like that whole brad-jennifer-angelina mess. like.. i don't even know who's with who or why or even CARE.. but i know enough to know they're all connected.

so needless to say, I've been at a loss lately now even with twitter. apparently, there's been a slew of babies of people who twit that have died within the past week or so. FUCK ME RUNNING. seriously. I can't go there. I mean.. I'm still trying to function from an ADULT dying... never mind take on the emotional hell of thinking about babies passing away.

don't get me wrong.. I find it horrible and tragic and gut-wrenchingly sad... I appreciate and respect the sentiments that are going around, and the visual displays of empathy and support are more than likely very healing to those hurting the most. I have already said a few prayers for the families that are suffering, and they will most likely not be the last ones I say.

but I'm just not strong enough to take that on. And maybe that's harsh, but for the pure simple sake of our family's financial state, MY emotional state, and wanting to have SOME semblance of HAPPY left in me to give to my own children... I gotta put the blinders on.

and I KNOW that's the right thing.. the blinders... cause again... how much can I take on before it begins to take away from the ones who need me the most??? but then I feel a little guilty. like I SHOULD be doing something. as a mother! as a Christian!! as a decent person who has a moral sense!!!

so yeah.. there's a TEENY bit of guilt there that I'm not leaving comments and turning things purple in memory of someone's dead child. but my truth remains that if Rhena or Danny were to die? the entire fucking WORLD could turn purple and it wouldn't matter to me.

it just wouldn't. it would be too late.


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my prayers go out to those of you who are suffering from the loss of a loved one. my only hope is that those of my readers with whom I have a personal relationship with will always know in their hearts the love and support I have for them.

FOR YOU, I will dye my entire body a color to ease your suffering. I will make my daughter stay dressed for once, I will make donations, I will bake cookies and ask strangers to do strange things. I would most likely do much more, but don't want to make suggestions cause a good percentage of you may actually make me follow through on these offerings.

for my own family, I would define the word limitless.

but I will not... CAN NOT... allow death to be a starting point. forgive me for that, but I prefer to be part of your LIVES.

TOTALLY one of those days

This morning was one of those perfectly stepford mornings.

Both kids were up, fed, dressed and ready (as well as in the car and buckled!) 15 minutes before we typically fly out of the house to get rhena to school only a few minutes late.

I was wearing my contacts! and a skirt! the sun was shining, and with LESS than 50% humidity.. we were ready for another day in the mid-80s.

Came home, hand-washed some dishes, and began making a pumpkin spice cake. Boy child was happy! music was playing! and yes... the sweet smells of pumpkin were beginning to make their way through the house.

I said something on twitter that I half expected to see a cartoon woodland animal show up and start singing to me. kinda like this:

I know.. Blame Rhena. all these damn Disney princess videos I'm having to watch are starting to creep into my everyday thinking. it's freaky.

So I KNEW all was too good to be true... the cakes? came out perfect. There was even a little extra batter to make 6 muffins/cupcakes.

Then... then I started the cream cheese maple frosting. And danny came and hugged me. (hear the birds? c'mon.. I know you do!)

screeeeeeeeeeeech!

yes. this is where my perfect morning came to a shit-assed stop.

literally.

Danny took a MAN-sized crap, and the smell not ONLY overpowered the once-delightful aroma of pumpkin spice in my kitchen.. but kinda crept up my nostrils and CHOKED ME. like JOLT TO THE BRAIN make you GAG CHOKING!!!!

fine.

we have perfection in cake form... this will not stop me.

change Danny's diaper, SCRUB hands in antibacterial.. and resume.

cream cheese. butter. maple syrup. powdered sugar... mmmm. mmmmmm. uh... HUH! ACK! what the??

GAAAAAH!

Danny crapped again.

seriously. I KNOW!

so anyways. take him upstairs... get him all cleaned up... come downstairs, SCRUB HANDS.. get back to my frosting.

hmm... frosting is just about filling up the kitchen aide (decided to do a double batch, cause mmm.... cream cheese frosting! with 100% pure maple syrup!).. but the frosting is... runny. hmph.

maybe add some more powdered sugar. taste. ok.. a BIT sweet.. but not bad. still runny... still runny. holy what the.. DANNY!

again my boy shits.

go upstairs AGAIN and get the boy cleaned up. At this point.. my nose feels permanently STAINED with poop smell. I'm verging on gagging, and crap smell has taken over both floors of the house. SCRUB hands again (getting slightly raw now) and get back to frosting.

I decide to let it sit in the fridge for a bit while I slice one of the cakes and chop pecans for garnish. sure enough, it firms up a bit... only to turn into a sloppy mess when I put some on the cake.

it was ugly, people. and at this point.. Danny, who apparently is now like 6 pounds lighter, decides he's HUNGRY and will not let go of my leg.

Where are my birds? where are my cartoony woodland creatures that will bring my prince and make my feet look cute? I'll tell you where they are....

thank you. thank you very much. Now.. for your information.. I'm going to go eat my perfect spice cake and wash it down with a shot of cream cheese frosting.

outside.

where it doesn't smell like poop.

of Packages and Packages

Hänni!! you're so fresh! I wasn't talking about THAT kind of package!

sheesh!

naaah. I'm talking about good old fashioned packages. as in mail.

first up.. I finished up the contents of one very special MONSTER TRUCK PARTY package. Two dozen cookies decorated with monster trucks.

I KNOW.

no really.. that monster truck shit is crazy. it's like NASCAR or something. like some entire WORLD of rednecks and just.. STUFF.

CLEARLY my little boy is neither of the monster or truck having age yet... cause this shit was NEW to me. (which side note.. how am I living in the deep south literally a stone's throw from the redneck capital of the world and not know a thing about monster trucks??? I mean.. I'm not complaining... but some level of me feels like I should know about this kind of stuff. at least insomuch as to protect myself from it? I mean.. I've never seen a vampire, but I know the garlic and cross and silver steak tricks. what's it gonna take to keep the monsters (trucks) away? Do I need Obama quotes on hand? perhaps a picture of Hillary? just sayin'....)

But alas... as any mother of an about-to-turn-four year old can attest... sometimes you just take one for the team (see "near future, as I put on a princess gala party for rhena's benefit")

And since I DO love this particular 4 year old OH so very much.... I researched the monster trucks and piped til my hands hurt. Check out the Crumbles blog for more pictures of these 'rockin' cookies.

so THAT package got done and has been sent out. Now.. I'm just sitting back and waiting for some packages to arrive to ME.

yup. I noticed that amazon is now like a mini FOOD STORE, and I was able to order some of my newest most favoritest coffee (for our snazzy jazzy coffee machine). Given that on any day I'm only going on about 4-6 hours of sleep.. you can imagine how I NEEEEEED my morning cup of coffee. So I'm TOTALLY waiting for that.

also.. cause I'm ghetto like that and appreciate free shipping... I added in a new book I've been eyeing up. It's called Hello, Cupcake. I flipped through it one afternoon when my folks were here and I was able to leave the house without the kids for a few hours.

it is THE most adorable book. inside features some cupcakes that look JUST like corn on the cob. and one page features some tv-dinner looking creation. I TOTALLY want to work that shit. I'll share more when I get it. but let's say I'm looking forward to that package.

anyways.. in other news... I was flipping through yet ANOTHER oriental trading catalogue. I need to stop looking at shit and just ORDER the stuff for rhena's party already. (or at the very least make some damn invitations) but I have to say a big hearty WTF to one page I saw recently. It was for some crafty things, and this 'page' featured frames and banners boasting that said child is DRUG FREE and PROUD OF IT.

uhhhh... is it ME, or does that image make you wonder how BAD shit must be when claiming to be drug free is a good thing for a kid that can't be more than FIVE YEARS OLD???? Makes me wonder just what and with WHOM the Oriental is trading. just saying.

ok. I'm off to make some new confections. if all goes well I'll have yet ANOTHER post for crumbles before the weekend is through.

peace out.. oh, and check back tomorrow for what I think will be the FINAL week/topic of the mix tape game.

Sticks and Stones

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reminder!! you have until SUNDAY NIGHT to submit a song for this week's mix!!

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ok. so I'm sure everyone that has a SEMI-PULSE on current affairs is aware of the recent hub-bub regarding the N-word discussion on the View lately.


hmph.


so the SMART thing for me.. a white Christian woman living in the south... the SMART thing would probably be to not say anything at all... but I never claimed to be smart. so let's chat about this for a minute, shall we?

Whoopi says she uses the N-word as a way of taking back control of oppression that she and her ancestors have felt since coming to America.

Other chick (Sherri, is it?) says she grew up using the N-word, so she uses it as a term of endearment.

Both Whoopi and Sherri say that they as African-Americans may use the term, but anyone NOT of African American decent may not.

Crying chick (Elisabeth) got fired up and in my opinion did a POOR job of expressing whatever in hell she was trying to say.


I mean.. we ALL get the point. the N-word is historically a derogative term. But no, now it's ok and socially acceptable to use it as a term of endearment... that is if.. and ONLY IF you are an African American using the term. Webster's take can be found here if you really HAVE been under a rock for the past 20+ years.

Arguments can be made in the case FOR using the n-word as one chooses (provided that choice is only used exclusively by African Americans) because we as a society have allowed the term "bitch" to be used as a term of endearment... endearment, that is, when spoken by a woman. Because a MAN saying that someone is his bitch is bad. except sometimes when that man is gay... cause apparently gay men are allowed to be bitches, too.


And lest we forget the homosexuals!!! While it's apparently very allowable for one homosexual to call another a faggot... it's a bit low-brow for anyone else to do so. This makes me wonder if the mentally handicapped of America have a secret handshake or call each other 'retards' when in the presence of other mentally handicapped Americans. Do overweight people get to call each other 'Fatties'?

again.. I say hmmm.


Now don't get me wrong.. I have for SURE called my friends bitches and meant it in a good way. I've even called TROY my bitch a time or two. So I for sure am guilty of partaking in the double-standard. For my own participation in finding exclusivity of name calling, I can say that I do understand where Whoopi and Sherri are coming from.

but if I think about it.. and I mean REALLY think about it... what good has come of me calling anyone a slur? Do my girlfriends feel CLOSER to me because I call them my bitch? would calling them a bitch be better than just saying out loud how I love someone and value and understand them? Because really.. my girlfriends AREN'T bitches. sure, like anyone, each of us CAN be BITCHY... but they are not bitches. they are beautiful, complex, passionate, strong and intelligent WOMEN. all of them! in their own ways!


I even noticed that when I have USED the term 'my bitch' in the past, I say so with such a rough-and-tough demeanor and gusto... like I'm hardcore or some shit. uh... look in MY mirror lately, and I am anything BUT hardcore, folks. but yet... I call someone my bitch, and I'm all gangstah and shit. what is this facade, and why in hell do I need it?

I DO feel that EVERYONE in America (regardless of cultural background) has had to deal with some type of prejudice or hatred at some point in the history of the United States. Ask ANYONE, and I can pretty much bank on them being hated/ostracised/segregated for something at some point in their or their family's life. Religion, skin color, money, size, gender, sexual preference, physical limitations, or any category lacking thereof... there's ALWAYS going to be someone who has been left out or oppressed because of something they just are. Perhaps it is the fear of rejection that continually pushes many of us to try to be something we are not.

Anyways.. I'm not going to go down any road that would suggest what other people should or should not do. I can only speak for myself... and of course.. the ever-important example I will try to set for my children.


This week was a FINE (pun intended) exercise for me in exploring the use of words and how they can be interpreted many ways. I think that at the end of the day.. or at least here, now, and going forward for me... I'd like to make a better effort to choose my words more carefully. After all.. there ARE so many words out there TO USE to describe exactly what it is I think and feel... and if my intention IS to hurt? well.. there's always sticks and stones.

HIS-story repeating

ok.. I KNOW it's supposed to be HISTORY, but in this case, I do mean HIS story.

let me rewind.


as in any girl's life.. I've had my share of relationships that never quite made it. pick a reason as to why a relationship could fail or not even get started, and I could MOST LIKELY give you the name of a guy that fits the bill.

recently, I've come into contact again with one gentleman that coulda woulda shoulda but never quite did.


Ours was a story of young-ness. I wouldn't quite say love, because now that I AM in love, I look back and see that the elements that were present between us were not love. perhaps it was PERCEIVED to be love at that time.. and for some, that's enough. But today, in my world of Stepford, the Apollo, and all that makes the Fever burn like it does... THAT.. THAT relationship I had back then? THAT was not love.


so yes. ours was a story of young-ness. not necessarily YOUTH, though truth be told I was MUCH younger then. but YOUNG-NESS in that we were both so NEW in many arenas. I had recently left New Jersey, and while being thoroughly supported by my family (emotionally and financially).. I had my first taste of Independence. I was on my own. the freedoms and POWER of my CHOICES I recognized make me delirious even now.

I met a boy. I was smitten. (this is a key element repeated in just about every 'boy story' I have... but it's still important to say.) (I SAY it's important to say because there are about 100 other chapters I could tell about boys who were smitten with ME that I either failed to notice or pretended NOT TO because it would have been too much WORK on my part.)

so yeah. me. smitten.

Him?

meh... not as much. Don't get me wrong. he WAS attracted to me. he DID secretly relish in the doting I did on him. (and I knew this then because he would kiss me when no one was looking.) To me.. the chase was on.

For years I chased. I waited. I sought. I cried. I pretended I didn't care. I would get 'over him' until the next time he came around. Then I would start back over again.

everybody knew what was going on... though they pretended they didn't because on paper, he and I were 'just friends'. Hell, even *I* knew what was going on.. that I was seeking acceptance, love and recognition from someone who did not want to give it to me. DUH! oh well.. what's done is done. (where was that damn book 'he's just not that into you' when i needed it???)


a time finally came for him to move on. literally; he was moving. a particular event caused me to hit my breaking point, and when final goodbyes were attempted, he was met with a venomous spew from me that apparently was festering inside for so long and could no longer be contained. it got ugly. it WAS ugly.

it was SO UGLY, as a matter of fact, that I have actually blocked it from my memory. really; I mean, I KINDA SORTA remember being angry when he was leaving for good... but I don't remember what was said or even the year I said it. it's just kinda in this hazy 'grey' time in my memory.

and it's not that I refuse to remember myself being mean to someone. no.. I know I have been QUITE the bitch a few times in my life. some occasions I remember every detail. and perhaps for a while I remembered every detail of that altercation. but now? I just remember that we left things not so warm and fuzzy, and that I received a note from him a short while after from him saying he wished never to hear from me again.

anyways... that was lifetimes ago. really. three, in particular... as the additions of Troy, Rhena and Danny to my life have changed the way I view my present, past, and future.

So, long story short (I know.. too late!) I reconnected with the gentleman I just spoke of.


(cue dramatic music, right?)

I guess maybe because I'm in SUCH a different place than I was back then. I guess because I DON'T remember things as clearly as I could. and, I guess I tried to reconnect because I recognize that everyone FROM my past helped to shape me to be the woman I am today. and yeah.. y'all know I bitch a LOT on here, but I do SO VERY LOVE my life.

Generally speaking? I remember this gentleman as a friend whom I have SO MANY SHARED memories with. GOOD memories! FRIENDS! LIFE!!! MOMENTS! GOOD moments!!!

I thought since "we's all grown up now" that I would be able to say hi, bury the hatchet, and get along famously going forward, and have our kids be friends and play great music together over dinner like they do in the movies.

(this is where I'm supposed to realize that life is NOT like the movies)

So we e-mail a few times, and it would appear that we're both doing wonderfully now, and we are both truly happy for one another, and all past misgivings on both parts are forgiven (though if you're reading this blog, PLEASE feel free to be immature and take my side and say that there was nothing for him to forgive cause he deserved any earful he finally got after too many years of putting up with his shit) uh. yeah. all is forgiven.


So I EARNESTLY put it out there that I would very much like for us (meaning our families) to be friends going forward. but as I was writing the e-mail recently.. it hit me.

history.. HIS story... was repeating. HE doesn't want to be friends with me!!!


well, I gotta tell ya. I must be dumb as bricks, cause I ALWAYS seem to be the last one to catch the clue when someone doesn't want to be my friend. I'm surprised I even finished the e-mail to him.... cause seriously, the concept came on like a damn floodlight in a closet. He already got what he needed from me.. he got some closure on his past, and now thank you.. he'll be going again. but yet.. here I am.. once again.. chasing after his acceptance.


and for WHAT? it's not like I NEED his acceptance. perhaps my inner Martha craves that 'smooth finish' to everything. Perhaps I crave honkey-doriness and happy endings cause it makes ME look good? maybe the friendship.. a REAL friendship.. would be the closure or ultimate reward for my years of feeling artificial and not important enough?

so anyways.. that was my thought process as I was writing the note to him. But a few days later.. I have a different perspective. or at the very least am back to my original perspective before digging deep and rehashing past thoughts and emotions.


my perspective is this. I can't be friends with everyone. I don't WANT to be friends with everyone. and friends (or people or characters or acquaintances.. whatever you choose to label them) come and go in one's lifetime. At any given time, another person can serve a purpose and/or have a place in an other's life.

sometimes people have a place AND serve a purpose.. sometimes people serve purpose despite NOT having a place in one's life.

This particular guy certainly served a purpose in my life. after my time with him, I never dated a guy again that felt he should comment about my weight, and I refused to date men that tried to keep our relationship a secret. Those are two very big things to me because of that relationship. and believe you me.. despite ALL the dumb shit troy says.. he KNOWS not to say a DAMN THING if I go for a second piece of cake... and he will never NOT recognize me and/or our relationship; regardless of the setting. see? purpose.


anyways... I have yet to hear back from the long-ago beau. It's only been a few days, but I don't think I ever will. Which, really.. on one hand is a shame.. cause I DO think we'd get along famously and our kids COULD be friends. But on the other.. how can I not respect someone else that has the courage to recognize when there just isn't a place for someone in their life?

I know for sure I don't want anyone in MY life that doesn't want me in theirs.



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speaking of friends!!! get ready for a new music topic!! Mix-tape theme will be up at midnight (EST) and open for contributions!

A World Named Sue

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don't forget to leave a comment for next week's mix! it's super easy, and more fun when more people play! Just think of a song that makes you feel STRONG, and leave a comment to tell us what the song is!

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SO I know some of the topics I'm about to bring up are already old news.. but MAN.


So last night, Troy and I were watching "Dan in Real Life". It was a very enjoyable movie with lots of elements we like. it had subtle and obvious humor, there were life drama and poignant moments, and at its core, it was a love story.

ANYWAYS. the story features Steve Carell as a widower doing his best raising three girls on his own.


When the movie finished, Troy and I did our usual recap discussion, which, if you've read my blog for any length of time, you'd know those discussions usually end up going down a variety of tangent paths.

Not quite sure how we got on THIS topic, but we started talking about lawsuits, parenting, and today's society. We discussed that case in Canada where the 12 year old girl took her father to court because she didn't like him punishing her. go ahead.. read the article. I'll wait.


uhhh.. can I get a WTF??? Telling your parent that you are NOT happy with them (rhena), you'll hate them forever (me), or that they're a "murderer of love" (the movie) is one thing... but TAKING THEM TO COURT? because you as a child do not agree with your parent? who was disciplining you for doing something WRONG? And lest we forget these are CHILDREN... children whose feelings change every other nano second.

I know I have personally witnessed a child or two talking back to their parent in such a manner that made ME understand why some people choose to spank their kids. I think my all-time jaw dropper has been "What are you going to do? I'm not afraid of you!" (never MIND that the sentiment is driven from a FEAR-based relationship... I completely feel that is one of the reasons why these kids have no respect for their parental figures. the parentals are not CREATING relationships based on love and respect. they're creating environments of fear and obeying.)

And there's the rub... we as adults and parent are not exactly setting the best examples, are we? Like the case in Sweden where parents are suing a child and his family for not inviting their child to a birthday party. I understand the school refusing to hand out the invitations. I don't AGREE with it, as I grew up in a world where kids didn't get the same number of valentines and flowers and invites in class. But I can buy into the principle that popularity games are a distraction from scholastic business, so keep it out of the classroom. the parents could have EASILY requested mailing addresses and sent the invitations properly. But the business of the parents getting their panties in a bunch saying their sons rights were TRAMPLED cause he didn't get an invitation to a party? (a party for a kid that was not invited to his OWN party?) blugh. seriously.


anyways.. those were only two of the things we were talking about last night. I'm not saying I would prefer to hear that my kids are going to hate me forever... but I'm ALSO not going to bend over backwards every time my child doesn't agree with something or has to face some disappointment in life.

I mean, SURE, I would love to think that my kids can go through life with no disappointments, but without those moments of lows, how can one truly appreciate and see the good when it around them the rest of the times?

House of (not) Representing

so this is just a quickie.. or actually, I suppose it's the OPPOSITE of anything associated to a quickie...


so you KNOW you're married for a long time when you walk from the bathroom, across the room, across the tv and to your bed bare chested, and your husband doesn't look up from the tv..


you know you're married to a republican when you realize the reason your husband didn't look up is because he's watching the O'Reilly Factor.



sigh.

"Miss" Communication

I'm not sure if I've blogged about this before.. so if I HAVE.. just stop reading and leave me a comment to let it go already.


ANYWAYS. y'all know we live in the south. There's many things about the south that I love (lower cost of living, mild winters, slower pace.. to name a few) and y'all KNOW there's things I DON'T like (that whole rebel-flag-the-south-will-rise-again mentality, general accepted belief of women's places, subtle and unspoken prejudice (as well as NOT so subtle) towards people not male, white, christian, and of certain pedigrees... to name a few)


But the south I live in is a self-proclaimed NEW SOUTH. One where 'that' kind of behavior is no longer acceptable and one of a melting pot which welcomes northern transplants for reasons extending beyond culture and economic infusions. Still.. some old habits die hard.


One habit in particular (that I thought was once a VERY southern tradition) seems to be popping up all over the place in our society. and it irks me.


Hi. My name is Carrie Johnson. I'm married, so I ALSO go by Mrs. Carrie Johnson. but apparently, to any child under the age of 20, it has been deemed socially correct to call me MISS Carrie.


not Mrs. Johnson... not Ms. Johnson... MISS Carrie. (and let's not even get me started about how creepy "MR. Troy" sounds to me. seriously.)


again.. I GET the whole nod to southern culture and the Driving Miss Daisy and that really, it IS a way of showing respect... but still. enough already!


The problem, too, is that I'm seeing it happen in other states as well. I guess I just don't understand why.. if you CAN teach a child to say Miss or Mister... followed by a first name... why can't you teach them a last name? and MRS? what's so DAMN hard about Mrs.???


Don't get me wrong.. I've allowed Rhena to use Miss So-and-So when addressing someone. and we have our own little system that we call certain friends "Aunt" and "Uncle" when they are every bit as close as family. Let's face it.. if you buy my kids better presents than *I* do most times, chances are they call you their aunt or uncle. but that's another subject.


I DID begin rhena's playgroups with allowing her to call people by Miss or Mr. "First Name Here". but that was when she was Danny's age and understanding words but not saying them. However, when she began school, THANKFULLY, her teachers and the staff at the preschool go by Mrs. or Ms. "Last Name Here". It opened the door for me to start teaching Rhena the proper way to address adults.


Now that the door is open, I'm keeping it open, and have been teaching Danny from the get-go to use Mr., Mrs. and Ms. "Last Name Here". and SURE there are certain names that a child just simply can NOT pronounce or come close to being able to remember. I should know! My last name was Czernikowski! In those cases, a "Mrs. C." would suffice.

Of course.. it's tough when a dance class uses Miss "first name here" and our friends have their children call us Miss Carrie and Mr. Troy. (cringe!) but given the chance and choice.. I present myself and insist my children use last name addressing.


I suppose my big question is WHY? WHY do we as a society find it necessary to drop the formality? Are we as adults trying that hard to be more approachable to children? Are we afraid to command respect AS adults? Maybe it's just me?


Again.. it doesn't bother me AS much when a 2 or 3 year old who is barely understanding sentence structure calls me Miss Carrie. but a 5 year old? 7 year old? 13 year old? I'm not your friend, kid. I'm your neighbor, your teacher, your babysitter, and quite possible a stranger. Without a DOUBT I'm at least 2 decades your senior, so how about you treat me with some respect? I really do think I at least deserve that.


One final note for my stepford lurkers... if your kids call me Miss Carrie.... that's fine. well, I mean.. I'll still cringe inside a little... but chance are if I didn't think you were raising your child to understand what respect is, your kid wouldn't GET many chances to call me "Miss Carrie". So don't take it personal. I'm just talking about a pet peeve of mine, ok? in other words.. we're still good. oh, and one more thing? just, uh.. don't get mad at me if I correct your kid in a year or two. ;)


.

I just can't make this stuff up

I hurt my foot again.

I KNOW!!!!


the GOOD news is that the injured foot to which I'm currently referring to is NOT the foot that sustained the broken toe. no... I'm an equal-opportunity klutz, and jacked up my LEFT foot last night.


so it goes like this....


last night the kids and I went out to eat with my folks. being that Danny was a bit skoodgey the whole day... it seemed like a good idea to bring the kids home, toss their asses in the bath and put him down for the night. He's a happy boy in general.. but when the happy boy does not get enough sleep or naps too early or doesn't poop for a day or so (or even worse.. ALL of the above!) well... happy he AIN'T.


so blabbity blah... baths are done. awesome. their daddy is called, messages are left, kids are donned in their pjs, and I see the light at the end of the tunnel.


I bring the kids downstairs so my mom can watch them while I assemble the bathroom back to its original pre-bath condition. To do so requires mopping up the water that had been splashed around, collecting the bath toys, removing the bath mat, then putting the shower doors back on their tracks.

so whatever.. I mop, I collect, then I get one door on. crap. forgot the bath mat. ok. remove the bath mat, time for the final door.


hmmm. hands are wet from the bath mat. I pause for a moment cause (here's the real kicker) I thought that since my hands were wet, by holding the shower doors on the sides like I normally do.. my wet hands would cause the door to slip. SO..... I look at the towel bar; debate its strength, lift it a few inches with a little shake... then figure it'll be ok, and begin to lift it the 2 feet needed to put it back on its track.


it wasn't strong enough.


faaaaaaaaaahck!!!! big plexi-glass-framed with metal door came sliding down on the bridge of my left foot. oh, I saw light; it just was different than that end-of-tunnel one. I also saw a LOT of curse words fly out of my mouth and fill the bathroom like speech bubbles on the old-school batman fights.


please do not think that I have missed the irony that I spent more time FALSELY debating the strength of the attachable towel rack to support the weight of the door than doing the SMART thing which would have been to just DRY my hands first. dumbass.


also not missed is that the jacked-up toe was finally starting to feel better (notice I did not say LOOK better) and I have been able to wear shoes for more than a few hours at a time without being in pain. and now I can't wear shoes again.


another funny point to ponder in my world of humor is that the reason why my hands were wet was from removing the BATHMAT... created, purchased and USED to make bathing the children more SAFE.


oh well. and so it goes. on a good note, the towel bar probably slowed the door enough such that I didn't actually dismember half of my foot. so yay for still having my foot. my bruised, swollen, sliced, and in-pain foot.



.

In the name of Love

being here at my folks', I've actually had extra time to relax. I mean, sure.. I'm still being 'mommy' and such, and bedtimes have taken a bit longer to accomplish... but when the kids nap, I have time to veg. No guilt looming overhead that I should be cleaning instead of trolling the internet, no pressing need to do laundry, prep dinner, call insurance companies or plan appointments.


During this time of relaxing, I've taken naps. I've watched lots and lots of food network. and I've done some thinking.


Mostly I've been thinking about my family. (you know.. when in rome and all) I was thinking about the things I and they do, just in the name of love.

For example, just driving up here. Now... anyone in their right mind would not typically VOLUNTEER to drive 10+ hours with 2 kids in a car just for the sake of a drive. BUT... our family and friends are here, and out of love, we come. Out of love, my folks drove slower and took more stops than normal so they could be near me on such a drive in case I needed them.

Out of love, we might take our kids completely off their schedule to attend an important function where their attendance would be appreciated. Out of love, we show our children compassion when we would rather strangle them. We bite our tongues, we hold back, we plunge forward, or say the words no one else will.

We open ourselves up, and show a side of vulnerability. We wait; either for that phone call or for the sound of the front door. or for a ring. or for them to finally be ready, whatever capacity may be.


We do things we don't always like, despite our better judgment sometimes. and there's a fine line between doing something in the name of love and just plain allowing ourselves to be walked on... so fine that we're often WAY beyond the line before we even realize it.

but yet... love presses on. not always recognized, not always reciprocated, but valid and with good intentions, we do things in the name of love. From the big to the little (like drinking DECAF on a morning after very little sleep), when the root of our actions are entwined with love, why is it that we all BITCH so much?

Whether it's love for a person, a country, a job, a cause or a team... it's so easy to START OFF nobly, but often it ends with gripes, moans, snide remarks or boasting. Is that a symptom of our society? or is it just me who does it?


Recently a young man here in my parents' town passed away after battling cancer. He was only 29. It got me to thinking. If I knew NOW that Rhena and or Danny (or anyone I love for that matter) would die at the age of 29 or at any known point in the immediate future... would I think I'm doing enough? and of what I AM doing... well... perhaps I could make it a little less about me, and more reflective of its love-filled intentions.


What do YOU do out of love? how can you make it better?

Please take a minute and share; not only does it help to remember why and for who you do things, but you may inspire someone else in the process. Let's start this week off on a good note.



.

I see you!

boo!!

I took this picture of Danny last month, but only am just now going through my files and figuring out what needs to be uploaded and such. My inlaws probably think I'm the worst cause I haven't sent a shutterfly link in like 100 years.

oh well. in due time. Actually, today was productive. first.. the kids NAPPED. and since I wasn't you know.. driving a car for 10 hours or trying to clean or cook or wrap presents... I was able to plod around on my laptop during the silence. the sweet sweet BLISSFUL silence.

Anyways.. got a few more entries up over at Crumbles. I still have another I need to post; the one of my gourmet apples I did for the May bake sale a few weeks ago. but at least there's finally some new pics to look at.

Trying to figure out dates of when I can go see my friends. On the agenda is Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Brooklyn. you know.. in between the family stuff here in town. (by the way.. RACH... you're on my list!!! let's figure out something, yes??)

I was looking at my stats for this blog, too.. been a while since I was checking out who's been reading. granted, I went a while without posting much, so I suppose it didn't make much sense to see who was seeing.

I've been getting a few hits because of my facebook page. which is great.. I have been enjoying getting in touch with friends I went to college with. Having them look at my blog is MUCH easier than me re-typing all the stuff I've been up to. or rather, HAVEN'T been up to, what with taking care of the kids and all.

I AM a little (just a little.. not TOO much, but definitely enough to warrant a mention) irritated that I've sent notes-slash-friend requests to some people that either ignored me or (maybe?) denied me, but are looking at my blog. what's THAT about?? oh well. maybe I curse too much?

I guess I just don't get it. if you go out of your way to google me, troll through my blog, and even received a note of hello from me... just SAY HI!!!! I guess stepford is just a bit bigger than I thought.

anyways. it's 4pm. time to wake the kids up from their naps and get our second half of the day going.

happy hump day, gang.

.

Dear Victoria's Secret

To Whom it may concern-


thank you so much for sending me your recent swimsuit catalogue. You must have heard that I have lost a lot of weight recently and thought I might be interested in resuming my purchasing habits from your company.


While I appreciate the regard you have for my purchase power, I assure you that someone made a critical error when including me in the distribution list.

Perhaps you did not get the memo.



I HAVE KIDS.


Kids that like to be carried, that like to pull and tug and grab on to just about anything attached to me so that they may get a better position somewhere within a half-inch of my body.


your teeny-tiny suits showcased on the teeny-tiny models are indeed NICE... but pretty fucking impractical for my life. perhaps some day, in some alternate universe, where I, too, can stand alone with beach tousled hair ... not a soul to be seen near me pawing at me for some form of snack... I may just purchase one of your patches of fabric. I mean swimsuits.


oh... and the jeans on page 60? yes.. I do have an ass that could rock them bitches. but alas.. I have to do silly things like MOVE and BEND OVER and I dunno... WALK!!!!

so no thanks.

I don't think I'll be ordering anything today.

Valley of the Dolls

so last year I posted about something I find to be UBER creepy.


tonight.. I see that life has come full circle.

no... I didn't break down and buy one of those freak-tastic dolls. please. I don't even frigging want a DOG.. you think my icy black heart wants a DOLL? or one that looks like THIS???




Christ Almighty.. just LOOKING at that thing makes me feel like I'm in a bad slasher film from the 70s. seriously.. cue the music... EEEE EEEEE EEEEE!!!!


ANYWAYS....

tonight... I'm looking around my room... and messy as it is, I count no less than four.. yes, count them FOUR dolls laying around in make-shift beds. Rhena felt the urge to put her 'babies' to sleep tonight.


in my room.


the creepy, naked, "head/hands/feet made of plastic, body stuffed and soft" babies are all laying about my room, mixed with laundry piles.

It's half creepy... other half MASH tent. bodies haphazardly located in open spots of my bedroom floor, complete with pillow, blankets, and other assorted sleep accessories.

I guess that's what I get for making fun of people who like that shit, though. I get a daughter who inadvertently shoves my fears in my face.


damn good thing Troy's not working late.

and that rhena also finds clowns creepy. seriously. there's just no way I could handle clowns.



.

Cookie

so as I was telling a friend today... the SHORT story is that we do not have a dog.


the LONG story SHORT is that we did for a few hours today.


seriously, people.. I just can't make this shit up.


So I was talking on the phone with my mom (which, btw.. the visit with the inlaws was very nice. they had left this morning, and I was getting caught up with my mom and the events of recent NJ, including my niece Delaney's birthday party (which I still haven't sent her gift for (but last year she was the only one who got her gift on time, so I don't feel THAT bad)))

so I'm feeding Moosey his lunch, and I hear Troy asking me if we know of anyone that just got a puppy.. apparently one was walking down the street. Rhena wanted to see what was going on, so she headed up to the front door with Troy.

next thing I know.. a dog came streaking through our kitchen.


I immediately hung up the phone with my mom (which, btw.. if you ever are feeding your child while talking to your mom, it's probably not polite to hang up suddenly without calling back soon to let her know your child was not in danger of needing Heimlich or CPR or poison control or something)

streaking brown small dog then proceeded to jump up on my lap and lick me.


Thankfully rhena did not pee herself.. though she was so nervously excited that it's not a far stretch to think a tinkle or two may have come out. it was as if all the gods and santas had a meeting and decided she really WAS the prettiest girl and bestest kid and deserved a doggie. and had it delivered.


The dog had a tag, thankfully. Cookie was its.. uh, oh! make that a HIS name. no address, though.


so we 411'ed the animal hospital listed on his tag. hmmm. no answer.


hmph.


dog.


in my house.



So... Troy finished up with the kids and loaded the thing.. I mean Cookie... into my car and we headed to the Animal hospital.



it was closed.



There was an emergency number listed on the door... so I called it. (listen.. I don't know how YOU roll, but me having a dog in my house constitutes an emergency)

apparently, the number was to a state-run organization, and they were unable to link into the particular Animal Hospital's records to find out the owner's information.


"you should just keep the dog and bring it back to the hospital in the morning" said the person on the emergency line.


I hung up.



At this point, Cookie was nestled into Rhena's car seat, and was making no overtures to leave my presence. oiy.


so what could I do? I mean.. I couldn't just let it go. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of bringing it HOME. one.. because it's a dog, and dogs do what dogs do, and I don't want no do in my house, if you catch my drift. TWO--- Rhena. ok.. Rhena and TROY. Troy has mentioned on several occasions his interest in getting a dog.

Let me be clear.. I LIKE dogs. I HAD a dog. TWO of them, actually. but I have kids now, and fuck me running, kids take WORK. and dogs??? ugh. I really, and I mean REALLY don't want to have another thing to clean up after.

and damnit.. Rhena had that LOOK when the dog was in the house. TROY had that look. For all I know DANNY would have had that look, too, if he wasn't too busy being worried that the thing might eat his snacks.

and I'll admit.. the little bugger was cute. SMALL. I like small. and the whole time it was in our house it didn't bark. I LIKE not barking. but NO. do NOT need to go there.


ok. so. dog. in the car. bleh. stupid dog! walked right in our house. I mean.. seriously!


I called someone I knew who has a small dog and asked if I could swing by and have some food. She laughed at the situation, but welcomed me to come by and pick up some stuff. She made no bones about reminding me that sometimes when dogs ate food different than what they're used to that they will have the runs. and she didn't mean a fast jog. AWESOME.


so Cookie and I went to get it some food. our friends suggested that we let it stay outside.. but of COURSE right then it started to rain. OF COURSE.


but this time, cookie had been part of my life for about 2 hours... and now HE was giving ME a look. seriously. I was wondering if this was some bad joke that Troy was trying to pull.


I canvased stepford on my way home from our friends'... stopping to talk to anyone that happened to still be out in the sprinkling rain. on my last-chance-saloon-hail-mary-let's-go-this-one-last-street, I found two men gabbing out in their driveways. while they had not seen anyone looking for a dog, one asked what kind of dog it was.

I described my little castaway, and the man knew who the owner was. he gave me the address/description of the house... and off we went.


Thankfully, I was able to return Cookie to his rightful home. They were appreciative, as was *I* that I did not have to bring home Cookie, only to have to take him away from Rhena once more.


Naturally, when I returned home, dog-less... rhena asked if she could get a doggie like that someday. I told her maybe.. when she was older.


what I did NOT say, however, that by 'older', I mean when she's 20, and not living here.


I guess I'll cross that bridge another time.

Point of Interest

I have a friend that jokes about how she's more interesting online than in person. I think I get what she's saying.


NOT that I prefer my friend online over in person. in the contrary. between her spontaneous humping, honking, eye rolls and wry wry humor.... oh, and her husband's home-made cookies... I do love being in her presence SO much more.


no.. I'm talking about me, here. (duh! I'm my favorite subject!!)


I've found recently that I have a LOT of visits here to the blog from people in stepford. No increase in phone calls... no extra invites to lunch.... just lots of observing of me at night. I'm wondering if I'm missing something. I was getting worried that maybe there's going to be a planned shanghai attack on my ice cream delivery.... then I thought maybe the homeowners' association was looking for new ways to cite a violation on the residents??

Maybe I'm too happy these days? I mean.. the toe is a set-back, but mostly I'm happy. And that's the kicker about Stepford. everyone here wants everyone else to believe how happy they are, but the majority of people here revel in other people's misery. oh well. maybe some day I'll TRULY give a shit.


in other news... on the subject of visitors and people reading my blog... Apparently, I'm a BIG ringer for people looking for the definition of a clusterfuck. Check that out!!! page ONE!! entry #5!!! on some levels I almost feel proud. Good to know I'm an authority on the important things in life.


also another oddity is that I get AT LEAST 2 hits A DAY on this post. oddly enough, it tracks back here through an image on google images, and like I said.. at LEAST 2 hits a day on that post. I'd like to think that the world is evolving into a bunch of fly-killers, but I think there's just a bunch of movie-nerds who like to have figurines. LAME!!!


anyways.. other than that.. just hobbling along. waiting for my ice cream. I made some espresso brownies yesterday, and they truly are delicious. I'm also going to make some cupcakes today to bring to our afternoon playdate. if I can keep the kids at bay long enough, I MIGHT finally try the gumpaste decorations... but they need a while to dry, so maybe not.

but at least I'll have a new post for the Crumbles blog. maybe. depends on when the ice cream gets here.

Happy Friday, gang! may all your weekends be "interesting!"



.

It's a Wrap!

ok... not sure if any of you know this, but I LOVE a nicely wrapped present. I mean... don't we all? but really. the art of gift giving is one I embrace like a toilet while preggo.


wait.. that didn't sound good.


what I mean to say is that I LOVE being able to find, give and/or GET the right gift. from the off-the-wall to the sentimentally long-lasting... I cherish when the moons align and I find IT.


most of the time I'm a cheap.. sorry.. FRUGAL bitch. but I have also been known to be generous, too. but it's not even about money spent.. and anyone who has gotten something.. ANYTHING that was just SO special can attest to that.

to that point, I'm always on the lookout for the right gift for my loved ones.


today.. I found a small-scale moment of bliss when I came across a deal in my local hallmark store.


I had to go in there to get the 15+ cards for my students' upcoming First Holy Communion. and cause they're just students.. you KNOW I want to get the 99 cent jobbers. cause yeah.

ANYWAYS... while I was in there, I was thinking about trolling the wrapping paper and ribbons, cause you know.. school's year-end is coming up, and I like to have something OTHER than child-themed birthday wrap in my closet. Turns out they were having a promotion that if you purchase $5 worth of wrapping products, you could get a roll of their new self-adhesive wrap for free. ($4.99 dollar value.. sweet!)

so I picked out stuff I needed for teachers, upcoming babies, mother's day and some birthdays, and turns out I dropped $25. I casually mentioned that it would be nice if you got a free roll of the self-adhesive stuff for EVERY $5 you spent...

call it luck, but they gave it to me!!!


________________


um.. I interrupt this previously started post to tell you all that I am a predestined FOOL, people.


so.. earlier today.. well before I began this post, I whacked my left foot into a wall when getting rhena off to nap. I saw stars, I felt sensations of hot and cold.. and I coulda swore I broke a toe or two.


thinking I am a bit on the more dramatic side than not.. I let it go. I twittered something along the lines of wondering if you know if you've broken a toe or not.

fast forward a phone call, some groundwork in completing the paperwork necessary for getting our deck extended, and I decided to take a break and blog about the AWESOME deal I got on the wrapping paper (and later ribbons at target.. sorry to ruin the earlier story, but seriously.. this one wins out.)


ANYWAYS... I got to the point JUST before the solid line (again, sorry.. no links added yet.. I always do that last and now because I'm on to a different topic I'm not going back)


I thought.. OH! I'll take a picture of all the awesome wrapping paper I got!!!


so I go get the camera.. still grumbling cause my left foot has two toes that are feeling rather hurt.... and I begin to retrieve the wrapping paper from the paper/craft supply closet.

next thing I know.. holy ASSHATS, my foot is set ABLAZE IN PAIN as I hear a disgusting THUD.

in slow motion, I look down to see that a 10-lb barbell-shaped hand weight dropped from a shelf approximately 20 inches and LANDED ON MY TOE. My big toe. on my RIGHT FOOT.


people.. this shit HURT SO BAD.. I believe I stuck my face in a pile of laundry and yelped like a sick dog. a pile of DIRTY laundry. a pile of TROY'S dirty laundry. and didn't notice cause my HEART was trying to SNEAK OUT OF MY BIG TOE!!!!


my body temperature then began to escalate from raging hot to icy cold as I ass-dragged myself to the fridge for an ice pack, then to the tv room for the phone.

I called troy.


I was hurting so much that I didn't even notice that when I told him I thought I broke my toe that he actually had the nerve to ASK if he should come home. (truth be told.. the conversation is fuzzy to me right now.. troy was the one who came clean about this detail.)


once he got home, I drove myself (with my left foot... my 2 toes are hurting left foot, that is) to the doctors.


I could go into detail about how the toe by this point was varying shades of purple, completely swollen and BLEEDING... but I don't want this to overshadow the visual that I barely had half a nail on there to START with (see earlier post about close-toed shoes and losing my nail from the walk)


I WILL tell you, however, that when the doctor busted out a LIGHTER and a silver pokey thing.. I about threw up a little. yes. hot silver pokey thing ... IN my nail/flesh toe area.. to release the swelling. I may as well have been pinned on a ferry and had izzy with a drill in my head for crying out loud.


3 needles (real needles this time, not the hot pokers) later, a set of calipers (forceps? tweezers??) and one partial nail removed later, he then began to cut away some skin.


2 1/2 hours later... I am now home, my foot is all wrapped to the high heavens, and I should be resting.

I just had to share.


I'll fill in this post with links to my random streams of un-consciousness and italics and bolds and such later. I just gotta find me some pills for the pulsing going on in the toe now that the numbing shots are wearing off. as for the FIRST foot that I thought hurt... fuhgettaboutit! it's frigging MONEY compared to the toe. MONEY, I say!


happy tuesday folks!

Jeans... a loathing story

ok... in the past, I have spoken of my distaste for not only trying to find clothes that fit me properly... but moreso in particular... the jeans.


so... I bought a pair of jeans. I was at a neighbor's who was having one of those demonstration things, and this one was for clothes. I had tried on a pair of jeans which seemed pretty cute. except that they were a little too big and a bit too long. but that's ok! I just ordered them in the shorter length and one size smaller than the sample the woman had.

so I got my order the other day, and yesterday I wore the jeans. They seemed cute enough, but sure enough... after about an hour of having them on... I noticed they were falling down. subconsciously, I hiked them up. again and again.

sometime right before the kids' nap times is when it hit me.

I bought FUPA jeans.


__________

as a complete aside here, I'm going to assume you don't know what FUPA means. the fact that you DON'T know saddens me in many many ways, cause how can anyone know me and NOT know what a FUPA is?? but... for the sake of clarity, and in the spirit of us all being on the same page... a FUPA is a Fat Upper Pubic Area. Pubic, of course, being the non-gender specific term... most easily and commonly substituted for a crass P word for a women's girly bits, and Penis for men.

My first VIVID and disturbing memories of a FUPA in my face was my 12th grade English teacher. anyone that went to SWMHS knows who she is; she was the only FUPA-sporting advanced placement English teacher for like ALL of the 80's and 90's. but that's besides the point. the image is, and probably always WILL be.. burned in my brain.

_________


SO anyways.. harsh realization sets in. the jeans I just dropped a lot of troy's money on are, indeed... FUPA jeans.

people.. I DO NOT HAVE A FUPA!!!!


I have a bit of soft roll just below my belly button (oh, and expands around a little for the muffin-top effect on OTHER ill fitting jeans).. and I'm ok with its presence on my body cause.. well.. I've had 2 kids, I'm 35, I DON'T work out, and well... I like food!!! (which, btw.. another aside.. I DID go to the gym this morning, but I'll blog about that another time. thanks for the inspiration from everyone that gave it, though!)

and I have an ass. oh YES, baby's got BACK!! the bubble, the booty, the doopa (which for this post I shall choose to use, since it rhymes with FUPA)


I assure you, it is not easy buying jeans to fit my thick thighs, bulbous doopa, and mini-muffin waist, oh and yeah... can I get that in an ankle length?

I've tried the jean finder at zafu. and it wasn't BAD... but it wasn't great, either. My current favorite jean is the Curvy cut from the Gap... but the two pairs that I have in that style are not my size. well, one SORT of is, but I'm thinking I could go down a size cause 5 minutes after putting the smaller pair on, it looks like I have a load of crap in my pants.

actually.. I take that back. I've SEEN what having crap in your pants looks like (because of DANNY, people... seriously! snap out of it!) anyways.. when the moo-moo takes a poo-poo, it looks more like he's smuggling a baseball under his rump. which is VERY unlike what happens to the doopa of my jeans 5 minutes into the wear. no.. it's more like a turkey's neck. goiter is it? you know.. that saggy HANGING look.

so. not. pretty.

so yeah.. I could probably go down one size.. but afraid of what type of sausage my thighs will resemble if I do, or even worse.. to try them on and realize I DON'T need a smaller size. I mean.. we've all heard the saying how it's better to try and all that shit.. but honeys.. when it comes to jeans.. it's better to have a baggy pair and THINK you could go a size lower, than to actually GO for the lower size and get the bitch-slap of too-tight denial. in a dressing room the size of a chinese toilet, no less. nothing says "take your fat ass home and stop dreaming, chunky!!" like not being able to put on pants in public.

(side note.. I do know that dressing rooms aren't PUBLIC-public.. but if *I* can hear my ass sweating and panting trying to pull, yank, tuck and zip.. then I know the 16 year old stock girl can hear me, too. and so can the 20-something girl wearing a half shirt that I could SWEAR looks like what I thought I did about 10 years ago. sigh)

but I really really digress.

the fact remains.. I bought some FUPA jeans.

now.. unless I suddenly sprout a penis, have another baby, or I dunno... tuck my boobs into my pants... it looks like I'm gonna have to wait another 20 years for my entire top half of my body to bottom-out and hang about the playground for these jeans to be a perfect fit. and when THAT happens... should I even be WEARING jeans? thinking more like teflon body-suit to give the appearance of a firmer self. I shudder to even IMAGINE what my ass will look like at that point. but again.. digression.


so... what to do what to do. I mean.. you KNOW I'll still wear them, cause damnit, I spent money on them, and I'm too frugal to let shit like that go to waste!

I should start a community jean-exchange where women can trade their ill-fitting jeans for someone ELSE'S ill-fitters. any takers? I know I've got at least 2 drawers full of jeans to put in the trade pool.

oh well. maybe I'll meet an influential person in the fashion industry and I'll get them to create new sizing standards/warnings that include (in addition to size, Ankle, Regular, and Long descriptions)

FF - for FUPA-fit!
MH - for Muffin-Hider
TT - for Thick Thighs
NA - for No-Ass
W&F - for Wide and Flat Asses
3B - for Big Bubble Booty

and of course... there would have to be a

JFC -- Just for Carrie, that is. (hey... my blog!!!)


Feel free to add your own jean-codes. I'll be sure to pass them on to the fashion mogul that wants to be my friend and doesn't know it yet!



.

I need a head check

seriously.


WHY why why why why whyyyyyyyyyy do I bother buying shit at old navy?


just bought these.. and I was like.. cute color, decent look, longer leg.. cheap price... yeah, ok.


uh... DIDN'T notice the 'twisted seam' business until I was home. which is 20 miles away from the store.


does anyone know what twisting a seam to the front of a leg looks like on a girl with an ass????

it looks bad. like I bought a defective pair of shorts bad. like.. your-momma-can't-sew-and-your-thighs-are-thick bad.


bleh. I just really need to get it into my head that I'm 35 years old, and I need to stop trying to buy clothes there for myself. cause driving 20 miles (one way!) to only spend $15 on a pair of shorts that I invariably don't have the opportunity to try on while IN the store, then will have to drive ANOTHER 40 mile round trip to get RID of ill-fitting shorts, or worse, get suckered into picking out ANOTHER pair of something that will not fit just ends up costing me 3x as much in gas as the price of the shorts in the first place.

grrrrr.


I need to shop elsewhere. seriously. cause stores like old navy and forever 21 may have cheap prices.. but again... it JUST doesn't cut the mustard. I need a store that's called "forever feeling younger than the age you really are but aware that you're a mom so you don't want to look inappropriate, either". Of course, it would help if Ann Taylor lowered their prices just a tad, too.

Humped!

Well.. we're finally at the middle of the week. for one reason or another.. this week has been a long one already. Maybe cause it's just about Easter, and I'm practically SALIVATING at the idea of meat and sweets (and a glass of WINE!!) and these last few days. just. won't. be. over. with.


Next week, Rhena's off from school, so we'll have a little taste of what summer will be like. without the excruciating heat and humidity, that is! on tap are some play dates, park visits, and perhaps a museum or two. I'm looking forward to it. There's something very fulfilling about taking the kids to a special place. it reminds me of all the day trips my parents used to take us on. and now, as a parent.. I want my kids to grow up knowing that there's a whole world outside of stepford, and it doesn't occur in 45 minute scheduled increments.


so yeah.. next week we're gonna do some free-style childhooding.

I still have to discuss my stress/concerns about Rhena wearing makeup. Part of me is resigned that it will happen, but I haven't totally given up the fight. Basically.. For Rhena's recital in May... I got a 10-page document of rules and regulations, one of which states multiple times that ALL DANCERS must wear FULL-FACED MAKE-UP. it goes on to describe that this is defined as FOUNDATION, eyeliner (??) mascara, eyeshadow, AND lipstick.



uhh.. Rhena is THREE.


The idea of Rhena wearing that much SHIT on her face makes me seriously ill. I have seen girls getting pictures done in our local photography studio; and really... vegas showgirl comes to mind. of course.. then there's the CONSTANT THOUGHTS OF JON-BENET

SO disturbing. and I know, I know.. the make-up is because they will be on stage, and the lights will fade them out. but then the director said some shit about it being a tradition that every little girl looks forward to... wearing the make-up and pretty costumes and being on stage.

Maybe I'm the big dummy cause this is what I signed up for, but it really ISN'T. I signed my daughter up to be in a dance class, a good school with structure and professional teachers. not some run-amok gym class.

and rhena LOVES the class, and is SO excited about her big recital, and that gram and grampa will be coming to see her.. so I can't just say NO.

the good news is that now having had worked for the make-up mafia, I suppose I can apply the bare minimum that will make her face visible from the audience and meet the requirements of full-face without making her look whore-ish. but I'm still not happy about it.

anyways. that's that. The whole idea makes me ill.. more so cause i TRULY don't want my baby wearing make-up, and that she will most-likely be doing so. And the moms in the hall say it's no big deal.. but to me? it is. I DON'T find it cute. I DON'T think it's normal. I simply don't like it.

but... I also won't like it when Rhena at 13 wants to wear a skirt that's too short, when Danny starts dating, when either kid gets their driver's license, or goes off to college. bleh.. but even that is different, cause those are natural milestones in growing up. wearing make-up at THREE is NOT A NATURAL MILESTONE!!!! ok.. I'm done talking about it. The recital is not until May, and I can stress about this more later. for now, I'm going to enjoy my babies.