Friday, December 31, 2010

Happy Poopy!!!!!!!

Ahhhhhh, December 31st........how I have longed for you and now you're here! You're finally here! This poop-crusted mess of a year is just about over. I will not bore you with the details of my trials and tribulations but as far as years go, this one can bite me. I believe I said something similar in this space LAST year at this time. Oh, I hadn't seen anything yet. 2010 trumped 2009. Congratulations, ASS MUNCH. I would simply like to ask 2011 to go a little easier on my delicate constitution. While I am grateful for the gift of the truly wonderful people I have in my life (seriously......a girl could not ASK for cooler or more supportive friends and family........you know who you are.........) I would genuinely like to have a year in which I feel as though I am able to breathe. Breathing is good! Deeeeeeep, cleansing breath.......breathe in, breathe out. I think that it's easier to accomplish shit when you do not feel like you are being strangled by a gorilla 95% of the time. 

That being said, I hope you kids all have a big, big time tonight. Be careful and don't do anything I wouldn't do. Although I'd do just about anything, so maybe you should exercise a bit more caution than that. In the words of my then three-year old cousin Ben (who was really saying a mouthful without knowing it) at the stroke of midnight many, many years ago, "HAPPPPPPYYYYYY POOOPPPYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!". Happy Poopy one and all! 

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Drink the Deep Thoughts Kool-Aid

It's me again..........I just checked my little "Sitemeter" and I noticed that more people are outclicking on "subscribe to Deep Thoughts" which is WAY, WAY cool. If you aren't my facebook friend (and hell, friend me if you're not......I'm quite the friendly friendster) that's a good way to be alerted if I have some sudden burst of profundity. Which happens all the time. Or not. You can also become a "follower" which sounds very Jim Jones-esque but actually is not. No Kool-Aid here at Deep Thoughts! The only thing you're encouraged to drink around here is wine and tequila. And even then it's entirely up to you! So anyway, follow, share, subscribe, tell all your friends, blah, blah, blah.

Christmas '10

I know, I know.......it's been awhile since my last post. I have really been trying to be consistent but consistency is tough when you are in the middle of the swirling vortex that is Christmas. I was fine until last week. We had scaled everything WAY down. No cards, no gifts for everyone we had ever looked in the direction of, no hosting of parties. Everything seemed remarkably chill until the 20th when panic set in. I am a person who almost always has all gift procurement well underway shortly after Thanksgiving. I know myself well enough to know that "last minute" is not how I roll. I can't stand crowds and pushing and pulling. Hustle and bustle does not sound festive to me. It sounds like a hassle. Not only do I not hassle the Hoff, I do not do hassles. Hassles cause me to lose my shit. When I finally realized that I did not have gifts for my parents, or Dave or Jack's "biggie" not to mention stocking stuffers it was Monday. Oh, and I was sick. Not just sick but could not speak sick. Can I tell you how lovely it is to be braving the last minute Christmas crowds and not being able to speak above a whisper? Wait. It's not lovely at all. It pretty much sucks. And it also causes store clerks to state the obvious. "Wow! You lost your voice!" REALLY? No shit, Sherlock. I hadn't noticed. Eventually of course, it was all accomplished. We had a very nice, mellow holiday. Well, there WAS the fact that my brother had surgery on Wednesday and apparently nearly bled out. I think they might have had to get the paddles at one point. Okay, not really but it didn't go as planned. It would have been a better story if paddles were involved. It almost always is. Oh, and then my sister-in-law caught my cold. As she said, "Wow, this isn't really the 'This sucks but I can soldier on kinda cold', is it?" Nope. It's more of the "Weekend at Bernies prop myself up in a corner with sunglasses, some reindeer antlers and a cocktail" kinda cold. Oh and speaking of cocktails, did I mention that my parents decided that it would be festive to stop drinking over Christmas? They always pull that shit at THE most inopportune times. Um.....if ever there was an occasion TAILOR MADE for the aggressive consumption of alcohol, it is one in which you are confined to a house with your relatives for several days. BUT, in spite of all of the aforementioned difficulties, it was declared by Jack to be "THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER". And THAT, my friends, makes it all worth while. Hoping that you and yours enjoyed your holiday as much as Jack enjoyed his. I will be keeping you up to your eyeballs in Deep Thoughts as we slide into the New Year as I can finally once again think thoughts be they Deep or Shallow. Woo-hoo.  

Friday, December 17, 2010

Over Gifting

I'm pretty sure I wrote about this topic at this time last year, probably because it bugged me then just like it bugs me now. Let me first say that I really do like Christmas. Truly. I get that warm fuzzy feeling. Although that may be the wine. They DO say you should carry the Christmas spirit with you all year long. Not a problem here........thank you cheap jug wine! What I have really grown to resent is the expectation that you must come up with a gift for every person you have come into contact with EVER as well as their offspring and sometimes their parents and household staff where applicable. As we get older, this list gets longer and longer and more and more intimidating. Last year I finally put the brakes on it. It's not just a time sucker and financial drain, in most cases it is completely disingenuous. Buying a gift should be something you give with a happy heart and with the true spirit of generosity. When I'm finding myself buying a gift for a teenaged boy I have not seen in years that is probably going to simply grunt when he opens it and tosses it aside, I resent that. That's not the idea, I don't think. Most of my friends kids do not NEED anything. I'm sure they'll get plenty from their parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents, etc. In all likelihood, TOO much. They don't need a $25 iTunes card from some random friend or their moms in Colorado. And then there are MY friends. I used to rack my brain trying to come up with something cute and clever for women who really DO have everything. And keep in mind that I do not really have a ton of CLOSE friends as I'm more a "keep to myself" kind of a gal. The blog notwithstanding. If I like you though, I like you a lot. I'm more about quality than quantity. So, it's not as though it would tax me to find something for the three or four girls that I would actually give a gift to. It's just become the principle of the thing. I would much rather give them a box of cookies and candy that I made to enjoy and share with their family than give them something they don't need because I am supposed to. I'd much rather do something nice for them during the year when they need help. Or if I see something that just screams out for them in June, then I'll buy it. I'd much rather get an unexpected cool gift than an expected one any day of the week. While all of this ridiculous consumption may be good for the economy, I think it erodes the true spirit of giving.  Bah humbug.  

Thursday, December 16, 2010

PSA

Oh and one quick thing.......there's been a bump in Deep Thoughts traffic lately which is WAY cool. If ya like it, it's kinda like Beyonce says......put a ring on it! No, don't do that. But pass it along to your friends. Follow. Subscribe. "Like" on facebook. Share the love. 'Cause I love ya back. That concludes my shameless self-promotion for the day. 

Christmas Card

I am not sending Christmas cards this year. Primarily because Christmas cards aren't just "Christmas cards" anymore. They are basically a picture of either your entire family or of your adorable children that shows everybody you know how flipping GREAT your life is. If you look really awesome, you are in the picture for sure. How your husband looks is completely irrelevant. He's just a guy in a turtleneck that completes the happy picture. If you look awesome and are incredibly successful, you will want to make sure that the photo in question was taken at some fabulous locale. "Oh look, honey! It's the Green's! They're repelling down Mt. Kilamanjaro! Even the baby! Isn't that cute!?" Gack. But I digress. I have an 11-year old boy. That's it. And as you can see from the last time I made an attempt at a Christmas card, he's a smart-ass. It doesn't go well. "Look angelic, you little cretin" only goes so far. And after just announcing that if you yourself are in the Christmas card photo you must think you look tremendously tremendous, I sure as shit am not going to hop into the frame. What I should do, and very well might now that I think of it, is assemble my family and go stand in front of a trailer park or something. There's one around here called the "Flying Saucer RV Park" and the sign features an alien. If I can get somebody to take our picture you'd better believe there will at LEAST be a Deep Thoughts Christmas card photo comin' at ya hot. Stay tuned. I'm going to go scout out the location. 

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Grinch One, Jesus Zero

Hey Guys.......It's me Mol........this is my friend Greg Brainer's guest post!  If for some reason it doesn't format well, hold tight 'til Dave gets home and we'll fix it.  Enjoy!

That's correct, the Grinch has beaten Jesus on his own turf.  If you still believe there is Christmas spirit left in America,  get off your meds or sober up because it's gone.  Some may find my views bitter and twisted, yet they are that of a true realist scorned due to his once kind being.

Growing up as a youths during the 1970's, most have fond memories of what Christmas was.  Towns decorated with festive lights, a nativity scene in front of the public library, neighbors who actually knew each other by name getting together for caroling.  There was no such thing as last minute gift shopping on Christmas Eve. Retailers were closed and at home, where they should be, with family.  A Christmas day movie at the cinema was unheard of.  Yes, those thoughts almost make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, even without liquor.  

I must ask, where the hell did Christmas go?

Last year I had to run into the Meijer Thrifty Acres, now just called Meijer's, on Christmas Eve for some last minute food crap.  First time ever I noticed they were staying open until 10PM that night.  Nothing pisses me off more than chains and retailers who work their employees on what should be family time.  As I'm a regular, I know most of the staff including the special needs greeters. On my way to the checkout I grabbed an extra bottle of wine for my favorite cashier.  After a nice chat about what assholes she worked for I paid and gave her the bottle of wine wishing her a Merry Christmas.  She  immediately refuses my simple gift token due to it being against corporate policy and she would get fired.    Fired for a regular customer giving a diligent, nice store employee a gift????  Screw any motivation for good genuine customer service.  No no no, this certainly was not happening and I went and found the manager.  To my dismay, the manager reiterated corporate policy is no items purchased from the store can be accepted by employes  from patrons as gifts.  I then asked if I went across the street to Stinky's party store ( I don't know the actual name of the party store I just know it smells like ass inside ) and bought a bottle of wine for her as a gift could she accept that?  Perplexed, the manager was not sure however he was too busy to look it up.  His suggestion was to just wish her a happy holiday and not get her in any trouble.  At this point I was crazed and told this asswipe “it's not a holiday, it's fucking Christmas!!! If I cannot give a simple gift to one of your employees who works her ass off and always is glad to see me, corporate America has fucked up Christmas beyond repair.”  

Sadly, the bottle of wine I purchased with the intent of giving it to the cashier was the good kind - corked verses a twist off cap.  This made drinking it during my frustrated drive home not in the cards.  The time was around 6PM.  As I ventured along, I noticed McDonald’s, Chili's, Taco Bell, Lowes, all brightly lit and open for business.  Seriously, people need and want fast food on Christmas Eve?  For that matter, who the hell is going to be doing home improvements the night before Jesus pops out???  As I passed our town library, there was no nativity scene or even one single sign near it that it was Christmas.  My town is 98.7% white Christians. Who the hell are we going to offend by putting baby Jesus on the library front lawn???  This kinda shit didn't happen 30 years ago.

I could ramble more, but Christmas as we once knew it, is gone. On the bright side, maybe they will start letting us be nice at Easter since it is celebrating Jesus's death.....

Get Ready for Brainer.........

Yikes........I haven't posted this much in a day in forever. Most of you may have noticed that my last post was originally entered LAST December. However my very dear friend Brainer sent me a "guest column" if you will, and it caused me to recall "Ho ho ho, Dumbass". I read it again. And I stand by it. And I also remember why I got kicked off the board of the PTA. Stuff like that entry. And making fun of mom jeans. You'd think wearers of mom jeans would have thicker skin. Hey, I calls it like I see it. If you don't like it, I'm pretty sure you don't have to read it. Recall the person who asked me to please clean up my language. Answer? NO. Anyway, I will be posting Brainer's thoughts shortly. He is an even bigger smartass than me but he also has some interesting shit to say.  Oh and PS? Remember to "Follow" the blog if you don't already. And "share" the stuff you like on facebook. And if you don't participate in facebook, forward links to your friends. You're like Mollie's Little Helper's. Well, you and those pills my doctor gave me. They help too. 

Jack and the Beanstalk. I Mean Planner.

I love my child. Truly I do. He is one of the coolest, funniest kids I know. Has a rather mature sense of humor for an 11-year old and not only "gets' sarcasm but wields it like a sword. I like it. The only problem with my boy is that there is NO arguing with him. I have NO idea where he got that from. Okay, yes I do. There is also no arguing with me. Which is why it's a very good thing that he is upstairs right now insisting that Friday is the first day of Winter Break. It's not. It is the last day of school BEFORE break. He is telling his dad that it says it starts on Friday "IN HIS PLANNER". Gee, Jack.......I just got onto the school website and it says that Friday is the last day of school. "Winter" parties and all. Jack: "Well it's wrong. I wrote in my planner that it starts Friday". Apparently Jack has some kind of magical planner that makes whatever he scrawls in it happen. Oh, let's see......Monday......African Safari!  Nice! And on Christmas Eve, FAO Schwarz in Manhattan appears to be opening it's doors only to him for an unlimited shopping spree. Looks like in April there's something about a trip to the moon but I can't quite make that out. I've got few things I'd like to write in that planner........all day spa treatment at Tall Grass Spa, cleaning ladies every Friday, someone to do my bidding every day, etc. Gimme that thing. Oh wait. That's right. It doesn't work. No matter what Jack says, break officially starts on Monday. And I have just informed him of that. I think my exact quote was, "You can tell me it starts on Friday 'til you're blue in the face but it doesn't. End of discussion". And as I typed this I had a horrible thought. What if there's a snow day? There is a storm coming. And then he'd BE RIGHT. Oh God. Maybe that planner is MAGICAL. Jack and the Magical Planner. There's a story there. Part of the plotline would be that his horrible mother steals it and uses for evil. Too bad I'm not his stepmother. That would be better.  Gotta go. I've got a planner to steal. And Harry Potter-like world domination to plot. Move over JK Rowling. There's a new billionaire in town.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

You Be Illin'


I am sorry but there is a BIG difference between a sick man and a sick woman. As cliche as it may be, it's freaking TRUE. Those of you who are facebook friends of mine are aware that Dave has been sick. He came home from work yesterday and said, "What did you say about me on facebook?" Uh.......I say LOTS of stuff about him on facebook. Apparently the remark in question was in regards to his terrible illness. People at his office were surprised he was not hospitalized given the gravity of the wasting disease described in my posts. When I explained to him that I was simply pointing out that he was horribly ill, (and yes, making fun of him) he said, "That's SUCH a woman thing". Well, being a big fat baby when you're sick is SUCH a man thing. NO PERSON HAS EVER BEEN SICKER THAN A MAN WITH A COLD. It's not just Dave. It's my dad, my brother, my male friends, my friend's husbands, etc., etc. For some reason a sick male (a notable exception being your sick male child......it's a mommy thing) is extra annoying. Maybe it's that our female brains are wired to need our males to be capable and strong. Provide and protect and all that. A sick man is neither capable OR strong. More like a big lump with a box of Kleenex. Scratch that. A MOANING big lump with a box of Kleenex. That sneezes and coughs. It's not that I'm lacking a care-taking instinct.  I was not berating him while he was feeling poorly. I asked him if he needed anything, fetched him water, and procured his medications. I even asked him if he would like something special to eat. Oh, and bought him popsicles. POPSICLES, PEOPLE!!!!!! That's above and beyond. But appropriate levels of compassion notwithstanding, I think a big factor in our lack of ability to fully sympathize is this: CHILDBIRTH. Nothing you can do, men........cold, flu, loss of limb will ever make up for the fact that for nine months or more we chicks were pregnant. And then either physically forced a child out of our bodies or had them surgically removed. Splayed open like a halibut I was. So maybe that's what it's all about. Poop out a bowling ball and then maybe we'll feel a little worse when you start sniffling. Maybe we're just a pack of bitter battle axes. But probably not. Or maybe it's the one time a man can let his guard down and be vulnerable. You don't have to be big and strong when you be illin'. You can revert to being a sick little boy in footy pajamas. And maybe you just want your mommy. But your wife is not your mommy, unfortunately and maybe that's why we aren't capable of treating you as such. Ahhhhh, geez......I can hear him about to hack up a lung. Better go check on him. And call 911. Dispatcher: "What's your emergency?" Me: "My husband has a cold". Dispatcher (speaking into radio): "Flight for Life??? We have a pick-up in Morrison. STAT." 

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Single Parent

Well, it's Thursday everybody! The college kid and bored housewives portal to the weekend! And I'm looking forward to it actually. You see, last weekend Dave was in Michigan for a couple of shows. He's a rock star, in case you didn't know. Well, a guy with a guitar that gets paid money to sing. He's also a real estate broker so that kinda disqualifies him as "rock star" per se. He'll rock your world! Then show you a nice bungalow in Berkeley. Recently remodeled! And then he'll smash a guitar. But anyway, he was in Michigan. His being in Michigan did not bother me so much. What did bother me was figuring out what to do as a "single parent" with my eleven-year old son. I realized that a lot of what goes on around here on the weekends is sports related. It's Dave and Jack watching college football on Saturday. And NFL football on Sunday. And college hoops in between. And when there is a commercial, they are throwing a football around my living room. It's a lot of man shit. So I'm wondering what in the HELL I going to do all weekend to entertain this child. I should have been more worried about entertaining myself. He was plenty occupied. He had his friend over on Friday night. I actually had a friend over too. Sat in the kitchen and chatted while the kids were downstairs. So that wasn't so bad. Saturday morning I made him breakfast and he chilled while I did typical housewife crap. Including running around the back yard frantically waving a piece of pizza in an attempt to save Grady from a gigantic elk. *SEE PHOTO......do I lie?* Then his friend came over. They hung out until it was time to leave for the movie I had promised to take them to that afternoon. We stopped at Walgreen's as in a cost-cutting move, I have started smuggling their candy and drinks into the theatre. Hey, I'm still buying tickets. And popcorn. I'm not completely bucking the system. I'm just walking into a theatre with a gigantic Coach purse that looks like there's a bobcat about to bust out of it at any given second. No biggie. So, we settle into our seats. Eat some corn. Can't take the contraband snacks out until it's dark. I find myself getting sized up by the very obviously single dad's who are trying to entertain the kids they have for the weekend. Kinda like me. Except I'm not single. I should really look into this wedding ring thing so that I can avoid getting the raised eyebrow from imabigfatbalddivorcee.com Ewww. Bottom line, the movie, Megamind, sucked. Jack said, "Wow. That was a big waste of Will Ferrell's talent". Aptly put, Gene Shallot. BUT, it blew some time. We go home. His friend wants to stay. That's cool. But nobody wants to play with me. My friends were either out of town or going on dates with their stupid husbands. Smug marrieds. The kids are downstairs. I offer to make them a nacho bar. That's how bored I was. They come to the kitchen, get their delicious nachos and go downstairs. And start jamming music. Oh, and playing Twister.  At this point I realized how truly pathetic my life had become. Well, my Saturday but "life" sounds more dramatic. I wanted to play Twister with MY friends. At this point it's like 7:30. I decide that in a show of protest and self-pity, I will put on my flannel pajamas, get a blanket and sit on the couch. With a Diet Coke. I refused to participate in the nacho bar. It was kind of a hunger strike move. Like the kids cared. So I'm on the couch, watching Sex and the City. The movie. I had sworn I would never watch that simply on the principle that it's retarded. But it made for a good visual. Me, on the couch, in the flannels, with the blanket. Watching Sex and the City. All that was missing was the pint of Haagen Daz. Reference aforementioned hunger strike. It was like I was sick but I wasn't. Sick of that freakin' Saturday, alright. Suffice to say, Dave got home just in time for the Lion's game on Sunday and there was much rejoicing. Being a single parent is not for the faint of heart. Or the easily bored, spoiled girl who is used to having people around to entertain her and do her bidding. Dude. I had to rub my own bunions. And that's just not cool.  So happy weekend, everybody! Mine is looking up. 

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Spinach Potato Soup

I think because I was such a slacker for several months with Deep Thoughts, you guys all missed my "Formerly Fabulous Thrift Initiative" in which no food is left behind. It's kind of a game. And I have all sorts of awesome food in the freezer. I'm working on another blog that focuses on that crap specifically. In the meantime, I'll drop my little culinary bombs on you here at Deep Thoughts HQ. "I dropped a bomb on you......baby......". I was just in my pantry and what to my wandering......I mean wondering........eye did appear but a shit-load of potatoes that were about to turn the corner!!!! So I put on my Formerly Fabulous Thinking Cap (the cap is still fabulous.........I have my standards.......) and came up with THIS: I'm gonna peel those terrible tubers and make two things: Spinach Potato Soup and Potato and Cheese Enchiladas. Because I have a freaking crazy day (fucking charity work.......fucking Pilates.......fucking Christmas.......) I will post the recipe for the soup now and hopefully can sit my ass down and crank out the enchilada recipe for ya this afternoon. As an interesting aside, "This recipe is one that the US Department of Agriculture used to distribute to potato growers in the 1930's. It is rich and thick, almost a meal in itself and is very easy to make". Dude. That's old-timey. 

Spinach Potato Soup 

(serves four......I usually double this recipe 'cause it's doubly delicious)

1/2 cup fresh onion (as opposed to an onion that's been festering in the sun)
2 T butter
2 c water
1 t salt
2 c potatoes (about 1 lb raw potatoes......yo' Idaho.....)
2 c cooked chopped spinach, fresh or frozen
13 oz can of evaporated milk
1 T Worcestershire sauce
1/2 lb grated cheese (cheddar or Swiss......or a both......)

In  a 3-quart saucepan, sautee the (fresh!) onion in the butter until the onion is translucent (about three minutes). Add water, potatoes, spinach and salt. Cook until potatoes are tender (about 20 minutes). Add milk and Worcestershire sauce. Reheat to near boiling but do not boil. *at this point I usually take a "boat-motor" and puree the soup so that the potatoes are not in chunks, but do what ya like* Stir in cheese and serve! 

So there you go. I've got butt-loads of soup recipes. Perhaps I'll start a little something we could call "Soupy Sunday's". Although depending on your Saturday evening that could have a different connotation. Which is why I need a separate blog for the food stuff. Sometimes the Deep Thoughts are not conducive to a hearty appetite. Oh well. 

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Help!

Hey Guys! Just wanted to take a sec before I head out on my day of madness to say a big "THANKS". Since the blog has been back, I've received SO many nice emails, comments, etc. That shit really does warm the cockles of my stony little heart. And it makes me want to keep doing this. When I first started this thing, I figured I'd just be doing it for myself and a few friends who inexplicably find my trials and tribs amusing. So it's been a really big surprise to find that other people kinda like it too. This blogging thing is all about numbers. Big numbers bring you advertisers. And if I have advertisers, I can blog my little heart out. Actually get this to the next level. Videos! Recipes! My friends doing wacky things! So what I need from you, my friends, is to take a sec and "share" any Deep Thoughts you may enjoy on your facebook page. Or just tell your friends. Any help I can get would be appreciated tremendously. And if you don't like them, you can print them up and wipe your bum with them. It's a free country. And it's better than a corn cob. Trust me. 

Oh Christmas Tree

If you are of the Christian persuasion, it's pretty likely that if you have NOT decorated a Christmas tree yet this year, you will be doing so very soon. Even if you're not of the Christian persuasion, you may be decorating a Hannukah bush. Or a Kwanza stick or a Festivus pole. 'Tis the season to decorate shit, with varying degrees of success. And varying degrees of enthusiasm, depending on what stage of life you're at. I remember my first tree. It was pretty sparse in the ornament department. So much so that a friend who shall remain nameless (MR. DOG) remarked upon that fact. Well, that laid down the gauntlet and resulted in years of furious ornament acquisition. Subsequently, the tree got fuller. And fuller. So we got another tree. And another tree. And little mini trees. These trees eventually developed themes. With names like "Fruity Woodland Splendor". I shit you not. Fruity Fucking Woodland Splendor. There was a tree covered with silk magnolias, white doves and a gilded bird cage as a tree topper. That one didn't have a name but if it did it would be something like "This Woman is Bat Shit Crazy". So this crap goes on until Jack was crawling and sticking anything that was not nailed down into his mouth and knocking shit over. That's when the "good" ornaments started moving up the tree. As any good tree trimmer knows, it's all about balance. So the tree(s) starts losing a bit of luster. But then the kid gets older and order is restored. There are a few good tree years there. Until the kids start getting interested in "helping". Oh God. This is a REALLY sticky wicket because tree trimming is supposed to be a warm, family activity of Rockwellian proportions. It's not supposed to be about showmanship, right? Wrong. Jack "helped" this year as he has since he was able. This helping involves putting the ornaments that I always consider "back of the tree" front and center. And grouping things together. Like ALL of the state of Michigan sports related ornaments together. And everything he ever made at school together. So you've got Detroit Lions and Red Wings ornaments in one group and balls of yarn in the next. Again, in the front of the tree. Thus begins the stealth operation I've begun to think of as "The Dance". The Dance often involves the art of distraction. "Oh look! There's a bat in the house!" Move an ornament. "Oh look! A naked lady!" Move an ornament. Because it is very, very important that the kid does not realize that you have moved an ornament. I'm not sure why, but so far Jack is not on to me. Eleven-year old boys are not all that detail oriented it seems. Once it's up and on the tree, it's out of his mind. Thank God. I'm still fighting the good fight. Sorta. I am down to one tree. This may be an indication that I am reaching the next stage in which you start relinquishing control. My friend Bethany posted a picture on Facebook of her family tree. In a bold move, she let her husband and kids do the trimming. She even left the house. The result was actually rather charming. Colored lights on top, white lights on the bottom and most of the ornaments clustered around the middle. And in groups. She posted a picture of a few angels together. She said her kids probably thought the angels were too insecure to hang out by themselves. Maybe next year I myself will be secure enough to let Jack and Dave take the wheel. But of course, there will come a time that Jack has no interest whatsoever in the tree. He'll be too busy being a belligerent teen to give a crap about ornament placement. And then I'll have my tree back. Can you say "Wintery Pheasant Phantasy"?  Of course you can.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Donkey Show Part Deux

Okay, so the donkey sale continues. I don't think they've had any takers. Which is surprising as for $95, why WOULDN'T you buy a donkey???? It has been suggested that I could stick some antler's on their heads and have them mill about as reindeer during the month of December. Then I came up with the super-great idea of staging a LIVE NATIVITY SCENE in my front yard. I initially thought that I would play the Virgin Mary. But then I was struck by lightning and thought better of it.  But surely I could find some hapless spinster to stand there and hold Jack, who will be very convincing as the baby Jesus. All 105 lbs of him. His initials ARE JC after all. And Christmas Eve IS his "half-birthday". He thinks he's got one up on us because he's convinced us that people get "half-birthday" presents. The joke is actually on him as it's CHRISTMAS, dummy.......you'd get to open a present on Christmas Eve ANYWAY. Nothing like pullin' one over on your kid. PSYCH!!!!! But back to the donkey thing. If I can't pull off the live nativity scene (complete with beer sales to the passing parade of cars........gotta turn a profit......if that's illegal we can sell burritos) I have some other ideas. Our country club could buy the whole damn donkey herd and use them as caddies. We'd be known as "that club with the donkey's". Which would be pretty sweet. Barring that, I believe I will simply purchase a donkey and ride him naked through the streets Morrison. That'll get 'em talking! Oh wait. Nevermind. 

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Donkey Show

I am pretty sure that I've seen more than my share of ridiculous shit it my life but as I was driving back from the local convenience store this morning, I noticed a spray-painted sign on the side of the road which read, "Donkey's 4 Sale.  $95". Now, at this point I almost drove off of the road. We live in a somewhat horsey part of town so it's not the barnyard animal thing that threw me for a loop. It was strictly the donkey thing. I don't know as I've ever seen a donkey outside of a petting zoo and I don't think I've visited a petting zoo since that unfortunate incident wherein I was attacked by a runaway goat. We don't like to talk about that. I still don't like anything with a beard. But that's another tale for another day. As luck would have it, I had the opportunity to pass by the same spot a bit later and I'll be damned if there was not a pen with a bunch of donkey's in it. Now, this begs the question, "What in the HELL does one do with a donkey?????" I think I might buy one just because they're only $95. I think it would be funny as hell to have a donkey in my yard. Do donkey's wander? They were pretty cute. I could get a cart for it and ride around my neighborhood peddling my wares. I don't really have any wares but if I had a donkey I sure as shit would get some just to peddle. In fact, maybe I'll buy all of them. I'm worried about what may happen to them if they don't. They could end up in the entertainment business in Mexico. Or worse. Gotta go see a man about an ass. And then I need to buy some donkey's. Will report back. 

Monday, November 29, 2010

Maggiano's

This entry could alternately be titled "The Disgruntled Nine Top". 'Cause that's what we were. You see, as my parents have been in town for the Thanksgiving Holiday, we decided it would be nice to go out en famille before the oldster's hit it back to AZ until the next 'round of togetherness in a few weeks. So my sis-in-law called Maggiano's to make a four o'clock Sunday reservation. I could hear the discussion now.......Mom: "Oh.....let's go to Maggiano's......Dad LOVES Maggiano's". It was confirmed that this is EXACTLY the conversation that lead up to the decision to dine at this family style Italian establishment. Normally I'm not one to eat that early but whatever........we had two old people and three kids, so I wasn't about to protest. We were to all meet up the restaurant prior to our reservation. In a shocking turn of events, MY part of the family was actually early, so we sat at the bar and had a drink. I noticed Dave, who is not the most particular of gentlemen, swipe a used straw and napkin away from him. I would also like to point out that this place was not at all crowded and had a bunch of waitstaff just standing around. Dave actually commented that you would think one of the people walking around would have wiped off the table tops. We chalked this up to an oversight, and when the rest of the family arrived, we were escorted to a large table in the back corner. Now, normally we have had to frequent a joint before they know to stick us in the back and away from the more civilized diners. None of us had been to this particular Maggiano's (it's a chain, for the uninformed) before. Oh well, big party......guess they had noplace else to put us. In this largely empty restaurant. So we sit down. Eight of the nine plates set out were dirty. Not "Oh a water spot" dirty but "Oh shit, that's somebody's denture's" dirty. We are not a very particular bunch. No silverware checkers here. So we're sitting there. And sitting there. Around 4:15, Dave went to inquire as to where our server might be as no one had yet acknowledged our presence. Everybody knows that if you're demanding satisfaction, you send the guy in the turtleneck. A turtleneck screams authority. A couple of waiters came over and gave us bread and water and announced that they had no idea where our server might be. Around 4:25 and after another round of trips to ask for manager's, etc. our waitress limps (no lie) over and apologizes for the wait but that she was on her break. Uhhhhhhhh.......okay. So we order drinks and immediately order our meal as well. Drinks come back. She's got my vodka tonic, the kid's Shirley Temples, my dad's martini, my mom's wine and Dave's bourbon. My brother, who had ordered a beer was informed that "they are changing the keg". His reply? "I bet they weren't changing it twenty minutes ago". My sister-in-law, who had ordered a glass of Chard, was given something pink. Back that goes. A few minutes later, we hear a crash. My brother: "That was probably my beer". The odd thing is, she eventually brought him a bottle. Thought they were changing the keg? So, everybody is somewhat pacified because we have our cocktails (I was quite happy that we had arrived early and were one up on everybody in the drinks department) and we're trying to have a good time. A car horn starts blaring right behind us. Some smart-ass says, "It's probably our waitress". Now, most of us had worked in food service and understand when you have "one of those" tables. Some people are just asses. We are not. Trust me. We're pretty easy-going fun-loving sorts. This girl just sucked. We did feel for her though as you could tell that every time she was forced to stagger up to our table she would rather have crawled into a hole and died. Still. You're in the wrong business, Hoppy. Eventually, after several more ridiculous turns of events, my dad goes up and talks to the manager. We're all just sitting there wide-eyed. He apparently demanded an "adjustment" and the card of both the manager on duty and the GM. When he came back to the table, my mom said, "Did you give him YOUR card???" which was met with laughter because as my brother said, "Your card saying WHAT???? Disgruntled Retireee????" Which is apt as my dad has been retired since he was in his early fifties. One way or the other, we had to get through the meal and it was hard knowing that all of the other servers were looking at us and referring to us as the said, "Disgruntled Nine Top". Which of course, we were. The good news is that when the server came over to give us what we thought was the bill, it was announced that it was all taken care of. I should have had more to drink. And I don't really think dad loves Maggiano's anymore. 

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Thanksmas

As I was thinking about what I was going to write about today, it occurred to me that I am at grave risk of sounding like the Andy Rooney of the early-forties set. Can a chick be a curmudgeon? If so, I'm about to become one. Here's the deal. I'm out and about doing my Thanksgiving stuff and I realize that Thanksgiving no longer exists singularly. I literally saw a house in town today that had pumpkins on the porch, a Thanksgiving flag and a big inflatable Santa. It's like we're suffering from multiple holiday disorder or something. At Costco earlier, there were people with turkey's, pumpkin pies and poinsettia's in their carts. That's just wrong. When I was growing up (Andy Rooney......I know), Thanksgiving was it's own deal. The stores were not playing Christmas music. Because it was THANKSGIVING. One thing at a time, people!!!!!! Thanksgiving is actually a pretty nice holiday. There's not a huge build-up, no big expectations.......you just eat a good meal with your family, watch some football and enjoy a Thursday away from the rat race. People don't (or shouldn't) send out Thanksgiving cards or have a slate of Thanksgiving parties to go to prior to the actual day itself and they don't give Thanksgiving presents. It's kinda like Christmas's dope smoking slacker brother. It's not shiny or fancy or aggressively flashy. Yes, it's the kick-off to the holiday season. It is still not Christmas. Turkey. Pilgrims. Plymouth Rock. Drunken relatives (okay, well in my case that's true for Christmas......and Easter......and......oh, nevermind......). Gobble, gobble. Nary a Christmas decoration will be put up on MY watch until Friday. Saturday at the latest. Because anytime AFTER Thanksgiving is actually Christmas. And I will embrace that too, in all of it's Christmas-y glory.  

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Bristol Pailin and the TSA

I honestly think I am just going to stop watching the news altogether. It seems like the media grabs onto a subject and it's like a dog with a bone that it has to gnaw into oblivion. First we had the Chilean miners. That was actually a pretty cool story and I didn't mind that coverage because shit man, they were trapped in a MINE. Big human interest story. But then we had the Carnival Cruisers. They had to eat Spam. Waaahhhhh. Although Spam is pretty gross. We have now moved onto Bristol Pailin and the TSA and the "don't touch my junk" dude. To address the former: WOW!!!!! Shocker!!!!! The Tea Party movement is suspected to be supporting Sarah Pailin's daughter!?!?!?! WHO DO YOU THINK IS WATCHING A BALLROOM DANCING SHOW????? Urban liberal hipsters wearing berets in coffee shops? Do hipsters still wear berets? I'm guessing that show has a pretty conservative base. Call me crazy. I don't think there a bunch of lefties trying to decide whether they should climb a tree and live in it or stay home and watching Dancing With the Stars. That being settled, let us move on to the TSA. First of all, I saw the guy with the "junk". I wouldn't want to touch his junk. I'm pretty sure that touching some doughy white dude's naughty bits was not on that TSA agents bucket list. Eewwww. I do agree that some of this patting down has gone too far as evidenced with the guy with the urine bag thingy. That would suck. That being said, you can stick a cattle prod up my ass if it will keep me from being blown into smithereens. You've got some pretty short memories out there, American public. Remember 9/11? The paranoia and fear? People swearing to never fly again? That event changed the face of air travel and you actually may have to deal with a bit of inconvenience. It could save your life and prevent a whole lot of suffering. Put up with the groping. It might be fun. My dad says he is going to try to go through twice.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Mommy's Little Tweenager

I have just pulled an all-nighter. NO I was not out shaking my bad self around at a club with a boomin' system and bottle service. Besides, I live in Denver. They roll up the sidewalk at 2 am and considering that I am normally in bed by nine, that is just Jim-dandy with me. The reason for my sleepless night? My baby is sick. He started saying that his stomach hurt around dinner time. My baby is not one to miss a meal willingly. The vomiting started around 8:30 and pretty much only just now stopped as he has fallen into a resigned and fitful slumber. I was lying in bed with him around one in the morning and I said, "Do you want me to stay with you or go and just come back and check on you?" and he said, "I want you to stay with me mommy". He NEVER calls me "mommy" anymore. Uh, arrow through heart? I'm up for the duration. He had me at "I want you to stay". The funny thing is, for those of you readers who are not aware, the baby in question is eleven. A fifth grader. A full-on tweenage boy. That sometimes still wants his mommy. The paradox here is rather striking as I have been feeling the beginning of that inevitable (and admittedly parentally painful) separation between mother and child. I have become embarrassing. Well, I always have been embarrassing but he's just getting hip to that fact. Rewind to last August. Jack's at the pool. I stop by to check in and see what's what. He's sitting at an umbrella table having lunch with his homies (more about his extravagant country club cabana spending habits in another post......this one is supposed to be warm and fuzzy......). I walk up and sit down. "Hi guys!!!!" "Hi Mom, Hi Mrs. Christie, Hi Mollie". I've known most of these kids since they were five. I start chattin' 'em up. One of them looks at me and says, "Um.......are you going to sit here the whole time?" Uhhhhhh.......apparently I am not. Look at the time! Places to go!!!! People to see!!! It was one of those "HOLY SHIT" moments. Those kids used to think I was cool!!!!! They would beg me to hang out with them. Now I am an official cramper of style. Freakin' A!!!!! We also had the incident wherein he was in our hot tub with his (female) best friend. They needed something and started yelling for me to come outside. After I retrieved the beverages they required, I was told that I could "go now". Hmmmmph. Oh and do not make the mistake of asking an eleven-year old if he would like to invite a friend over to play. "GOD MOM.......I'm ELEVEN. We don't 'play', we 'hang out'". EXCUSE ME, James Dean. I used to be too cool for school myself, until I was informed differently by the likes of you and your little pals. Oh and then there's the sudden interest in hygiene and appearance. Since when does this kid give a shit what he's wearing? And what is up with this Axe stuff that it was requested I purchase? Some sort of shower gel designed to drive the ladies crazy? Seriously? I walked into his room not that long ago and had my olfactory senses assaulted by a wall of SOMETHING. I said, "Errrrr......you smell good....." and Jack responded, "Yeah, it's because I pretty much marinated my body in Axe". Perfect. So, although this night has been long and exhausting and even a little worrisome, it also reminded me that no matter how cool you are or even how old you are, sometimes you just need your mom. Shit, I'm forty-three years old and I've found myself wanting my mommy lately. So there's hope. That bond is still in there. It just gets buried by hormones and peer groups and the development of a separate self. The human being that deep inside knows that you, his mom, love him best of all, never really goes away. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Adult ADHD

Wow! Hi blog! Long time, no see. I've been a little busy. Taking a cosmic crap of self-awareness is a big job. And thirsty work! I'm not really sure why the turd in question was "cosmic" per se. That just sounds profound and all outer-spacey. Wheeeee. This summer was a bit of a bitch. Nothing every other formerly fabulous forty-something ISN'T going through right now but since I'm me, it sucked a bit more. It's all, "Waah, waah, waah, poor you" until it's actually, uh......you? So anyway, since everybody thought I was losing my shit, I was strong-armed......I mean it was gently recommended that I "talk to someone". To shut everybody up, I did. I pretty much figured the doctor would give me a bunch of psycho-babble bullshit about how damaged I am and tell me I needed years of therapy. Cha-ching, right? In one of the bigger shockers of my life (and trust me, I've had plenty......and no, I am not referring to "THE" Shocker, pervs) in less than about twenty minutes, she looked at me and said, "Has it ever occurred to you that you might have ADHD?" Uh.......no???!!!!! I just thought I was a spaz! So, I did some reading about it. Lightbulb. Among the little symptomatic gems? Oh, let's see: 

* Poor organizational skills. Ya think? If you've ever opened one of my cabinets and been hit in the head with a precariously placed object, you would agree. MOM. 

* Trouble starting and finishing projects. I think this includes having a job. Check.

* Constantly losing or misplacing things. Now, I'm sure you're all saying, "Sure Mol, everybody does this". I lose CARS. And children. Sometimes at the same time. Actually that's not true. I think telling big lies and exaggerating is a symptom also. 

* Frequently talk over others and interrupt them. NOOOOOOO. But I'm so fucking interesting!!!!!!

* Blurt out thoughts that are rude or inappropriate without thinking. At this point, I'm starting to think this therapist chick may be on to something. As if the other shit wasn't as plain as the nose on my face.

* Have addictive tendencies. Okaaaayyyyyyy.........I've got it.........I've got it bad........

* Have trouble behaving in socially appropriate fashion such as sitting still during meetings. Or in college classrooms.........or talking to boring people..........

I could go on and about feelings of agitation, irritability, getting bored easily (reference previous sentence), not dealing well with frustration, easily feeling stressed out, talking excessively, blah, blah, blah. Okay, like I said, where do I sign? Well, here's the deal.......I took the test and it strongly indicated that I have it. Again, doi. You have two options: therapy to help you cope with your symptoms or drugs. I don't want to cope. I want the pills. So it was prescribed. The therapist basically told me I needed to be able to think straight before I could tackle the other crap like how fucked up I am. According to my thorough research in which I read exactly what I wanted to read on the world wide web, if you don't actually have ADHD and take Ritalin, which is essentially speed, you will act like, well, like you're on speed. I had first hand knowledge of this when it was suspected awhile back that Jack may have some attentional issues. We tried the drugs and you may as well have just wound the kid up and let him fly around the room. I remember driving him to school and thinking, "Holy shit......I love you, kid but if you don't stick a cork in it, I may well drive off of the road". So that was that. No drugs for him. With me, however, it seems to be working. It slowed me down. A little. And there are no socks in my pantry. Granted, the ones on my feet don't match but I've got 'em in the right vicinity. AND it seems that I can actually sit still for long enough to write my blog. You may ask yourself how in the ass I was able to do it for as long as I did if in fact I have this terrible disease. It's a little thing called "hyper-focus". I was really interested in it. And then I got bored. And couldn't sit still. And was irritable. And had trouble staying motivated. Oh, but I am medicated and motivated now. Just like the napkins with the crazy housewife on 'em say. So, even though you're all out of the habit of reading my ramblings, get back in it. Please. I think being bossy is one of the symptoms. Where are my pills?!?! Probably in the car. Fuck. 

Thursday, September 9, 2010

YO!!!!!

I have not abandoned Deep Thoughts! We are transitioning over to Wordpress! Put on your patience caps, peeps......lotsa shit has gone down and I'm bursting at the seams. Can't wait to share. Stay tuned.  

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Stephen Slater: Flight Attendant Hero

So, this Stephen Slater guy is all over the blogosphere today........"I wish I had an escape slide from MY job......blah, blah, blah". I wish I had an escape slide from my LIFE half the time. This shit ain't as easy as it looks. I'm here to tell ya. What the real story here is this: YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH THE GAY FLIGHT ATTENDANTS. THEY WILL CUT YOU. OR HURT YOU WITH THEIR WORDS. As a person that loves her gays, I can tell you with authority you do not want to get into with them. You will never, ever win. They can out-bitch the biggest bitch going. And if they can't, they'll pull something like this out of their ass and wind up in the spotlight. The escape slide? Oh, that's not dramatic at ALL. When faced with a gay flight attendant, I am always on my very best behavior. I do not want to be the victim of a verbal tongue lashing. Or an untimely critique of my in-flight wardrobe. Most gay guys will tell you exactly what is up which while helpful at times can make for some uncomfortable situations wherein you CANNOT change your clothes. Because you are in a plane. Flying. In the AIR. So really, somebody needs to find out who this dumb bitch is that clearly knows nothing about our gay friends. Silly, silly girl. You just bought him his fifteen minutes. That'll teach him. Most of my gay friends simply cannot stand the spotlight. And if you believe that I'm sure I've got something I could sell you. You go on with your bad self, Stephen!  

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

An Open Letter to My Dog

Dear Grady,

Thank you ever so much for going freaking nuts with the barking and waking my ass up at 4am. Not sure what the problem was. Coyotes? You've lived with us for a year. They  yap. All. Night. Long. Apparently so do you. Was it the milkman? You never bark at the milkman when he shows up at the back door. We love the milkman! I guess if you were barking at an intruder, that's cool. Although there's not much here worth intruding upon us for. I don't like jewelry and therefore have none. I don't have any priceless art (unless you can't Jack's stuff and I'm pretty sure that's only priceless to me) and my eating utensils are from Pottery Barn. NO valuable silver here. My furniture is covered dog hair and has kid food smeared on it or ground into it. Although you probably don't see too many Quatrine sofas at pawn shops. I wouldn't know. I've got some cool Sticks pieces but I don't think the intruding sort is into that kinda stuff. My clothes are cool but my closet smells like a dead hamster. If the potential intruder cares to walk around with the smell of rodent death clinging to his person, they may go for it. As far as anything of real value, it's either impossible to steal (6-burner stove anyone?) or it's something that an intruder is going to have to go through me for. You take my computer, phone, TV's, Chanels or my bag and I am goin' with ya. Guarantee I'd be deposited safely back home with all of my goodies within the space of an hour. They might even throw in some cash to sweeten the deal. "We'll do ANYTHING!!!! Just TAKE HER!!!!!!". So anyway, Grady, as it turned out, whatever alarming thing you heard with your super-sonic ears was not worth the trouble. I am so happy that you were able to fall immediately back to sleep and were curled up in a cute little ball looking like something out of an LL Bean catalog. You suck.

Love,

Mom

PS Thanks for the noxious gas you just blasted at me just now. If your intention was to either clear my sinuses and or cause me to find Jesus you may have succeeded.  

Friday, August 6, 2010

Lady O' Leisure?

Well, it seems that I could not find time to post an entry yesterday in spite of my best intentions. No, there was no fire rolling down the mountain and threatening my very being. No pestilence either. Although I do think there is still a hamster loose in the house. So there's that. The fact is, I was busy. That's right. In spite of my husband's insistence that I "don't do anything" I was plenty busy doing "something" all day yesterday. So much so that I could not attend to my beloved "Deep Thoughts". Let's see.......I started out the day at the crack of six wherein I tidied up the kitchen, folded a load of laundry and watered my "farm". I'll tell ya about my farm later. That's another ball of wax entirely. I then proceeded to walk four miles. Four HILLY miles. Granted, I stopped at the halfway point (which happens to be my country club) to refill my water bottle. While there I did happen to end up chatting to a couple of girls I like that work there (word up Erica and Steph). I then huffed my way back up the hill (waving at golfers I know all the while......I should have been riding up main street sitting on the back of a convertible or something.....the "Miss Behaving" float) and was informed that I needed to have Jack at the pool by 10:15 to meet a friend. Uhhhhh.......okay, but I have a class that starts at 10:00. Whatever. Jack comes first. Race to get him ready and down there. Deposit child at pool. Tell pool manager I will hold him personally responsible if anything happens to my child on his watch. This was redundant as Jack's friend's nanny was watching them both. I threatened her too. Went off to Iron Women. Had ass kicked by 59-year old woman. Did 30 minutes on elliptical machine. Went to Pilates. Had ass kicked by same 59-year old woman. Limp into pool. Check on Jack. Jack is fine. Jack is so fine that I see the carnage of shit he's ordered from the cabana. I don't think these children are aware that THAT STUFF COSTS MONEY. Just because no cash is changing hands does not mean that we do not pay for it. Arrgh. Go home to change into swimsuit. Realize that I've got a bit of a problem. Shit. Can't go to the pool like that. Reference waxing blogs. Lettuce hanging out of the bun. Good God. Where's the Nair? Hot damn, that shit stinks. But it did the trick. Nice and tidy! Let Grady out. Decide to see what will happen if I LEAVE Grady out. Go down to pool. Ahhhhh.....my friends are there. Pop a squat on a lounger. "MOM!!!!!!! CAN YOU HAND ME THAT SQUIRT GUN????" Fine. Notice that Jack has acquired some "mystery goggles". The kid just finds stuff laying around the pool and pops 'em on. The other day, a friend of mine approached him and said, "Jack, you can wear those today but we need them back when you leave.....they're ours". I said, "Are you sure?" She's like, "Yeah, they say 'Brock' on the back". Oh dear. Klepto-Christie strikes again. Chat for a little and realize I should go home and check on Grady. Can't find Grady. Shit. Start shaking biscuit box around. Voila. Decide that I won't be able to relax if I'm worried about him. Put him in kennel as he's still inclined to destroy everything if left to his own devices. Like mother, like dog. Go back to pool. Am somehow manipulated into allowing Jack to have the friend he was with sleepover. I was not nuts about this plan as Dave was playing last night and I frankly did not want to be responsible for two kids. It went a little something like this: Jack: "Mom, can Nate sleepover?" Me: "No." Jack: "WHY???" Me: "Because Dad is not going to be home and I said so". Jack: *mumbles something inaudible but which conveyed his displeasure in shitty fashion* Me: "What did you just say to me?" Jack: "Nothing. That was a rimshot." Jack: "I'm going to be really bored if I can't have Nate sleep over". Me: "Fine". I am such a pushover. Have to run back up to clean up house. And to poop. Can't poop at the pool, now can you? Lifeguard: "Uhhhh......Mrs. Christie plugged up the toilet in the cabana bathroom.....AGAIN." Not going there. Go back down. Kids want to go back up to the house. Fine. Pack up the car. Drop them off as Dave is home. Go back down as my friends are still there. Chat for a little more and then go home. Discuss dinner. Determine that pizza is the call. In the meantime, Jack and his friend are invited over to a friend's house to play "kick the can". Okey-dokey. As the mother of the friend in question is also MY friend, I go down as well. That way we can eat HER pizza. SCORE!!!!! There were some other girls from the 'hood there sitting on her patio. Chat, chat, chat, laugh, laugh, laugh. This brings us to 9 pm wherein it was time to call it a night. Bring the boys home and they announce that they are going to have an all night video game marathon. Fine. Nighty-night. And I fell into bed. And THAT, dear readers, is a day in the life of a person who does nothing. Doing nothing is kinda exhausting. And now I get to do it all over again. Yipee. 

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

School Registration. Yipee!!!!!

Thank God. Registration is today. The beginning of the end. The light at the end of the proverbial summer tunnel. The last three weeks of school are pretty brutal. So much crap going on......Field Day! Carnival! Teacher gifts! Amped children! Even I am excited for summer break to begin. Getting out of the routine sounds great at that point in time. That being said, the last three weeks before school STARTS are just as brutal. I forget about that part every year. We've been to the pool (ad nauseum), we've had the birthday party, we've had about twenty five sleepovers, we've been on the vacation. And now we're bored. Or at least Jack is bored. Bored Jack is harder to take than amped Jack. I'll take positive energy over negative any day of the week. And it's not just the incessant moaning and groaning about having "nothing to do". Nothing to do with a golf course, a pool, multiple lifelong friends, a "puppy", X-Box, Wii and a flatscreen TV. But Spaulding's toys are beside the point. It's really about me. I'm now quite eager to have order restored. Not that there's ever much order around here but still. I'd like to go grocery shopping by myself. I LOOOVVVVVEEEE my boy. I really do. But grocery shopping with him is a bit of an exercise in frustration. He wants to push the cart. Okay, he's old enough now that he only only bashes me in the heels two or three times instead of twenty. I even assign him part of my list. This is helpful until we get to the checkout. Seems he's got some high falutin' taste. Organic bananas? Seriously? They're in a PEEL. Who gives a shit if they're organic? Apparently he does. And all sorts of random shit finds it way into my cart. Ping-pong balls? "We need them". Alrighty then. And don't even bring up a trip to Target. He lights up like the Chrysler building and practically has the car backed out of the driveway at the very name. Target apparently equals "getting something". Probably because he has like $9500 worth of gift cards from various holidays throughout his life. So instead of getting in and out commando style, I'm sitting in the toy aisle while Junior ponders what life-changing Lego set or X-Box game he should procure today. Normally I have a schedule. I basically know what's going on each day. Sure, you have your daily surprises but that's just life. Things in the summer are just so random. You don't know what to expect from one day to the next. This is fun for all of June and half of July. It totally sucks from the second half of July until school starts. But as I said, the end is in sight. I shall go into registration and with pen in hand, fight the good fight. Thank you, local public elementary school for letting me borrow my child M-F from 9-4 but you can have him back now. 

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Stick a Cork in Your Kid

Okay. I'm not trying to be rude and I probably don't understand because I only have one kid but WHY in the ASS would you take a screaming baby to a movie? The baby has no concept of what's going on. None. The baby is too busy pooping its pants and is probably blind as a bat. I get that your two-year old might be interested in the pretty colors but she was screaming as well. I know this because this mom chose to sit right behind me. The thing about it is when her kids finally totally lost their shit and were full on screaming in concert, she lost her shit too and not quietly. Maybe it's just me but I wouldn't loudly yell, "If you don't be quiet we're LEAVING" four times before actually doing so. I felt like telling her if SHE didn't be quiet I was leaving. I get that this mom was trying to do something fun with her kids. That's exactly what I was doing. With ELEVEN YEAR OLDS. You don't take kids of screeching age to a movie. There's lots of shit you can do with kids that age. I know because I did them. Gymbo-fucking-ree, for example. Ahhhh, how I (did not) love Gymboree. But Jack liked it. And screaming and running around was encouraged. And there's places you can go where you're not disturbing others if your kid starts having a nuclear tantrum. Like the zoo. We have a lovely zoo here in the Queen City of the Plains. Little kids can run around and stare at the gorillas and lick the glass. And there's a choo-choo!!!!!! Don't forget the choo-choo. Whoo-whoo!!!!! Screaming abounds. Lemme put it this way. If your kid requires a stroller, he or she is probably too young to attend a movie. Shit, we suffered through things like Disney on Ice and Sesame Street Live for several years. You expect screaming children at things like that. Age appropriate things. Like Jack going to the bar on Sunday. Completely appropriate. He owns that place. "Bartender, I believe my mother will have another round". 

Dakota Ridge Fire

Well, I sat down yesterday afternoon to hammer out a blog entry as I have really been trying to post every day. Typing, typing, blah, blah, blah, Deep Thought, Deep Thought. Phone rings. It's my friend. "HOLY CRAP, MOL.....the Hogback is on fire". What?! Look outside. Don't see anything. Think she's crazy. Back to typing. Phone rings again. "MOL. YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS". Okay, okay......go upstairs and ask Jack and his friend if they would like to accompany me to witness the apocalypse. Nope. They can't be bothered. Something about X-Box 360. Fine. It's your funeral. Drive to the appointed meeting place on the side of the road. Lots of other rubberneckers were in attendance. It was like a little neighborhood party minus the booze and nudity. *I've personally never witnessed nudity at a neighborhood party but it sounds colorful so I thought I'd toss that in* Anyway, there was indeed a rather raging fire burning up the Eastern facing slope and threatening to go over to the other side which is uh.........WHERE WE LIVE????!!!! So, we watched until my friends daughter got a bloody nose. Only blood could drive us from a dramatic scene. Stupid nose. Go back and watch the news (and intermittently drive down to the country club parking lot where I could get a good view of the flames leaping over our side of the mountain. Lest you all panic, it's all good now. They were able to contain it and everything is fine (except for me not blogging yesterday and oh.......the huge black scar going up the side of the Hogback. Here's what gets me. They think the fire was started by some fucktard tossing a cigarette out the window from the neighboring highway. Of all of the numerous things that bug me in the world, that has got to be the topper. If you want to smoke, knock yourself out. Hell, I myself smoked until I found myself in an MRI machine because I had a "suspicious spot" on my lung. At that point in time I made a deal with God/the universe that if I didn't have cancer I would never smoke again. I didn't and I haven't. But I get the addictive nature of cigarettes. They suck. I feel sorry for people still in nicotine's clutches. If you've never smoked you wouldn't understand. But what I find to be the very height of arrogance is to smoke and then toss the cigarette, WHICH IS ON FIRE, out the window. Is the thinking, "Gee, I don't mind if I inhale this thing into my person but I certainly don't want it stinking up my car!!!!"? What do you think is going to happen with that thing that again IS ON FIRE after you flick it out the window????? Nothing? Maybe nothing but maybe something. And if you're too stupid to figure that one out you are surely too stupid to be driving a car. How 'bout if we try to toss flaming bags of dog poop into your car???? How'd you like that? Because although all's well that ends well, our community surely spent a shit-load of money taking care of the result of one act of stupidity. And it could have been a helluva lot worse. It certainly caused a bit of excitement in these parts. Livened up a Monday afternoon. And snarled traffic all over the metro area. It took Dave an hour and a half to get home from downtown when normally it takes 30 minutes. So I hope whoever is responsible feels just lovely about themselves. I'm pretty sure cars still have ashtrays. If you don't want that shit in your car, we sure as hell don't want it tossed onto the side of our mountain. It's amazing how the actions of one moron can change the course of an afternoon. I'll have to remember that the next time the urge to do something moronic moves me. Which is sometimes hourly.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Sunday Funday

Last night, I thought I was having a fairly measured and reasonable conversation with Jack regarding why he could not attend our neighbors housewarming party. The party started at 4 and we weren't going until 8:30 as Dave had a gig prior. I told him that not only was it a fancy, catered, grown-up party but by the time we were going to arrive, there would probably be some kinda drunk people. His response? "OH. Like I don't see THAT EVER". Shut up, smart-ass. Don't you have some people to kill in a video game or something? Damn. He further stated that he didn't think it was fair that we were going to have fun and he wasn't. Since when are kids entitled to have fun every second of every day? He practically has a freakin' panic attack if he can't find somebody to come over for a sleepover. Shit, I don't have fun all the time. 95% of the time, to be sure but that other 5% is a total bitch. Oh, and speaking of "bitch", this word has been enthusiastically introduced into Jack's vocabulary. Jack: "Mom, so and so is a little bitch". Me: "Yeah, you're right. He is". When I recounted this conversation to Dave it went something like this: "Jesus, Mollie......he's going to say that at school and get in trouble. But I agree......so and so IS a little bitch". So at least we all agree on that. While I am not thrilled with his recent foray into adventuresome language, I at least appreciate that it is used in an appropriate context. If you're going to call someone a little bitch, you best be sure the person in question is in fact a little bitch. And this little bitch IS a little bitch. But I digress. The Christie family is heading to the bar today. And no, we're not going to sit at the local watering hole doing shots. Dave is playing and we do allow Jack to go to the Holiday during daylight hours. Not by himself. That's where we draw the line. He says it's because he really likes to see his dad play. I say it's that he likes the video games. There's not a finer way I can think of to spend the Lord's day than packing up the fam, heading to bar and watching your child look down the crosshairs of a plastic rifle in an attempt to shoot some varmints while your husband sings, "Community Property" by Steel Panther up on stage. That's about as all-American as apple pie right there.  Happy Sunday, everybody. 

Friday, July 30, 2010

Hmmmph!!!!!

So, the owner's of Dave's kickass real estate office (word up, Live Urban!!!!) took all of their employees and their families to the Rockies game yesterday. I didn't think I was going to be able to go but at the last minute was able to pull it off. We went and grabbed some lunch at a tragically hip NW Denver Mexican joint before the game and as I'm sipping my margarita I said to Dave (delightedly), "Oooooh!!!!!! I feel like I'm playing hooky!!!!".  He turns and looks at me and says, "From WHAT?????" Uhhhhhh........I do lots of stuff!!!!! Like, like.......go to Pilates!  Take THAT!!!!! I go for lots of walks too. It takes a lot of work to hold your shit together at my advanced age. And I go to the pool and I go grocery shopping and I......I......well, I do stuff. Like this here blog. I do THAT!!!!! But I missed yesterday. 'Cause I was playing hooky. Sorry. Oh, and I also TAKE CARE OF A CHILD?????!!!!!!! Well, kind of. He's eleven and doesn't require a ton of supervision. And he's gone half the time anyway. But HE CAN'T DRIVE now, can he????? NO. So I drive his ass around. That's something I do. I'm an excellent driver. SO THERE, DAVE CHRISTIE. HAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! How you like me NOW???????  But now, after a day of respite, it's back to reality. Back to the ol' grind. The ol' salt mine. Yep. See ya at the pool. 

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Alcohol is Good For You!!!! Yay!!!!!

'Kay, so we're laying in bed this morning, kid in between us dog jumping all over the place and we're gathering ourselves for the day to come. As is our habit we were watching Good Morning America. That Sam Champion. What a scamp. I see a crawl that says, "Study finds that alcohol reduces painful symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis". Gee. Maybe I should be a scientist as I could have told you that!  "Hellooooooo, everybody!!!!! Look at me!!!!! I'm drunk as a skunk and I feel like a million freakin' bucks!!!!!! WHEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" What a concept. A mind-numbing depressant eases pain! Shit, I fell out of a (fortunately parked) car last Friday and didn't feel a thing. Popped right back up, I did! My back looks like I was run over but that's another matter altogether. Didn't hurt one bit at the time. Why do you think old timey cowboys drank a shot of whiskey before they had some random limb cut off out in a field? It's not called a "bracing shot" for nuttin'. Alcohol makes you funnier! It makes your friends funnier! And waaaaayyyyyyy more attractive. I'm drunk right now and I'm freakin' hilarious!!!!  *MOM. I AM NOT ACTUALLY DRUNK. IT IS 10:30 IN THE MORNING. CALM YOURSELF* It also apparently helps your heart. It is a miracle panacea for all things, it appears. Alcohol for President! It certainly makes parties more fun. I remember being pregnant at a party and thinking, "Every single person I know is a freaking idiot". I was actually thinking about quitting until I saw this report this morning. It would be totally irresponsible to quit at this time as surely I have some crippling arthritis in my future. I already have it in my knee. I think what my doctor said was, "Be sure to stay drunk most of the time". Alrighty then! Doctors orders. 

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Cuervo Girls

Nope. This one is not about me. I'm more of a "Hornitos Girl". Actually I'm a "Water Girl" right now as I am on a temporary booze hiatus. When  your liver starts hurting it's time to wave the white flag. No mas tequila por favor. No mas booze. Let me start by saying that I am all for strip clubs. I even think that prostitution should be legalized. I am clearly not a prude and am obviously somewhat inappropriate. Or at least I'm told. That being said, I've got an issue on my mind and I freely welcome feedback on this. Our club (let's just call it "American Country Club") had it's big "Member/Guest" tournament this past weekend. It's like a Thursday, Friday, Saturday thing. The guys apparently party it up and it's popular event. Didn't hear anything too terribly crazy about this one. Typical shit. I was at the pool (shocker I know) yesterday and somebody said, "Did they have those GIRLS there this year???" A couple of years back they apparently had some of those scantily clad "Coors Light Girls" or some such thing and there were some people that were none too happy about this. I said that I really didn't think they did that this year. Oh. But I was wrong. Apparently they had the "Cuervo Girls" there. They were serving tacos (touche) and margaritas outside of the two bathrooms we have on the course. 'Cause, you know......bathrooms and food go together like peanut butter and jelly. Normally this would be a "whatever" for me. Men like boobs. Shit, I like boobs. I like mine just fine. Boobs are a beautiful thing. Let me state for the record that I did not see these girls. For all I know they may have been wearing Burqas and that there was not a glimpse of cleavage in sight. Somehow I don't think so. But I'm just sayin' that I didn't see 'em. I am assuming however that there was some display of flesh as I heard that they were attracting a crowd. I don't think it's because of the delicious tacos. Or maybe it was. Here's my deal: if you want the T & A, don't do it in the middle of the day where people are walking and driving around and kids are riding their bikes. Both of these locations were smack in the middle of our neighborhood. Not deep on the golf course. And frankly, I think it's kind of tacky. If you're going to a strip club, you're going to see naked women. Everybody there is looking for that. At a private country club, I don't think that you expect to see scantily clad girls unless they're on  the tennis court. Shit man, I've received dirty looks from old bags because my fucking GOLF SKIRT was too short. I'm sure they'd just love the Cuervo Girls. I think there's a time and a place and I'm not positive that this was the right one. I think you expect this at a muni-tournament but not at a private club. As my dad said, if it's a Men-only club, that's cool but when you've got women and kids milling about it's just kinda declassse. Says the girl that drinks and swears. Opinions please. 

Monday, July 26, 2010

Bed and I Think Not

So I'm at the pool and a couple of my friends were discussing where to go for an upcoming 40th birthday party. Sounded like the birthday girl was not looking for something totally obvious like Vegas. Can't say I blame her. I freaking HATE Vegas with the flaming passion of my race. You know what they say about those fiery Scots/Irish!!!!! Actually we're probably more likely to puke on your shoes than fly into a passionate rage but that's another issue altogether. Anyway, these girls somehow came up with wine country. Wine country is cool if you're looking for a mellow celebration. I get this. What I don't get is Bed and Breakfasts, which was brought up as a possible form of accommodation. I would rather be forced to sit through Siegfried and Roy with a group of conventioneers in a continual loop than stay in a Bed and Breakfast. I would rather be trapped in the fucking Carousel of Progress in Disney World. Wait. That actually happened. Okay, it's a toss-up between the Bed and Breakfast and the Carousel. First of all, the sort of people that decide to open B and B's attract the sort of people that want to stay in them. I do not get any of them. Unless they're gay men and then we can hang. I love me my gays. We're talking the tea drinking, chintz decorating, straw hat wearing ilk. That like to chat. I don't think so. When I'm on vacation, I want a nice, private room. I don't want a brass bed, I don't want doilies, I don't want tea and I don't want to talk to you. Which means I REALLY, REALLY do not want to have breakfast with you. What if I was at some resort, enjoying my freshly squeezed orange juice and oh.....THE PEOPLE I CHOSE TO VACATION WITH and the manager comes up and pops a squat and wants to start chatting about his family? I DON'T CARE AND I WANT YOU TO GO AWAY. Half the time I don't like talking to people I DO know so being forced to make idle chit-chat with complete strangers I will (hopefully) never see again is SO not on my bucket list. Shouldn't any self-respecting vacationer be too hungover to come downstairs (in some strangers house no less) freshly showered and wearing a nice pair of freshly pressed dockers (with shirt tucked in) or some permanent press (perfect for travel!) sundress? I'm more of the "Jesus H. Christ, what happened last night" kinda gal. That's how my vacations roll. Just say "no" to the B and B. For me. 

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Cone Zone

It occurred to me recently that just as every neighborhood has its share of Peytonian drama, every village also has an idiot. Or idiots as the case may be. I think you have all heard about "Speedbump Alley" which is the only form of access/egress to my neighborhood. The folks that purchased real estate on either side of this main thoroughfare did so willingly, I think. I doubt the real estate broker had a bunch of sod and prancing wildlife installed for the showing and then had it all rolled back up as soon as the ink on the closing docs was dry. It is a ROAD, people. Cars. Vroom, vroom!!!!! Anyway, the existing speed bumps were apparently not sufficient to satisfy the fist-shaking, dirty look hurling homeowners. Nope! They contracted a cracker-jack paving company to not just repave the road but make the speed bumps bigger!!!!! Several broken windshields and jacked suspensions later, summer was once again upon us. And the road started melting. Literally. Oozing, really. Bring on the paving company! To throw gravel all over it! So that now you can't see the speed bumps at all! My out of town visitors arriving today are going to be in for a big-ass surprise when they are ejected from the seats of their rental car. So anyway, I realized while up north that Speed Bump Alley has a sister city of sorts. It's what is known in my family as the "Cone Zone". The Cone Zone is a part of the lake wherein the cottages are separated from their lake frontage by, drumroll please, a ROAD!!!!! This road was not constructed so that your inbred offspring could sit in the middle of it with their grubby little fingers up their respective nostrils. I'm pretty sure it was for CARS!!!!! These folks have all manner of cones, little hat wearing, flag bearing plastic yellow people admonishing us to "SLOW DOWN", etc., etc., placed all over the road. For the record let me state that it is virtually impossible to travel over the posted 25 mph speed limit. This road is barely wide enough for one car to pass let alone two. Therefore I particularly resent it when somebody is giving me the stink-eye for doing what I need to do to get home, which is dare to drive on the public road they chose to live on. Strangely, I'm somewhat of a rule-follower and really do drive slowly. I don't want a "Coney" in my grill. Strangely, my mother, who looks all sweet and innocent, is a bit of a rebel soul. She has gone so far as to attempt to not just run over the cones but boisterously encourages passengers to open their doors as they pass to knock the shit out of the little flag people. She has also been the ringleader in planned (but never executed......as far as YOU know) late night missions to to deface and or toss all offending conery into the lake. That Grandma.......what a cheeky monkey!!!! Anyway, the bottom line is that these muthascratchas need to take responsibilty for their decisions. I live on a golf course. I know there is a chance my house may be pelted by golf balls. I live in Colorado. I know that it will snow. You live on a busy road. There will be cars. So quit your bitchin'.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Wisteria Lane

I live in a neighborhood in the foothills West of Denver. To protect the innocent, I will not name it. If you live here, you know where you are. At least I hope you do. Sometimes I'm not completely sure but that's another issue altogether. If you don't, use your imaginations. According to my mother, however, there are no innocents in the immediate vicinity. Mom: "Goobie!!!!! I wish you would move!!!!  Your neighborhood is like Peyton Place!!!!!" First of all Mom, even if I wanted to up and leave, I've got uh.....TWO houses here???? One of which I have rented out for two more years??? AND then there's the whole selling at the bottom of the market thing. Shit there are people trying to GIVE things away and there aren't any takers. Not to mention that I've got just about every penny I have wrapped up in these places. Second is the fact that I LIKE LIVING HERE. I HAVE LIVED HERE FOR TEN YEARS. MY SON DOESN'T REMEMBER LIVING ANYWHERE ELSE. He has friends he's had since he was less than two years old. They hang out at the pool together. They come over and knock on the door and ask him to play. People know who he is and look out for him. Just like we all look out for one another's kids. It's an awesome neighborhood. Red rock formations, a golf course, people I like. Sure, there are people I don't like and some that don't like me. It's essentially a small town. With all of the accompanying drama. And yes, some of it involves me. Which may be part of the equation. That being said, there are little dramas and "Peyton Places" in every neighborhood you can imagine. It's called "human nature". There is no economic barrier to drama and rascally antics. Inner city? Drama. Multi-million dollar country club neighborhood? Drama. Particularly if you are not standing on the sidelines. I am not a sideline kinda chick. I'm out there and in the mix. Alternately being helpful and causing trouble. I'm all about the balance. Throw a match on an incendiary situation and run? Balanced by my collection of good works. In fact, I think such things as "Peyton Place" are so ingrained in us as human beings that it keeps coming up in our popular culture, which is usually an aggrandized or exaggerated snapshot of reality. "Wisteria Lane" ring a bell with anybody? Thought so. Maybe we don't have a Nicolette Sheridan sort running around seducing all of the menfolk.......oh wait......maybe we do. But you know what I'm getting at. You can't escape this stuff. You put it out there and some shit is going to hit the fan. I'd rather live life to the fullest and take my lumps as they come. I'm a work in progress and I don't think where I live has any bearing on the things that happen to me 'cause they'd probably happen no matter where I was. I could probably attract trouble in a refrigerator box. So, God willin' and the creek don't rise. I'm staying put. On Peyton Place. Or Wisteria Lane. Now I'm going to find Susan and Bree and drink some wine and kibbitz about our neighbors.  

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Prognosticator of Doom

While rooting around in my utensil drawer for the pizza cutter (I am rather OCD and will eat only Subway or a Lean Cuisine pizza for lunch) I came across a set of measuring spoons and was reminded of a story I meant to share but it got lost somewhere in the madness that is my life. Some of you may recall that I went to a wedding in Arizona last month. Great time, my boob popped out of my shirt, blah, blah, blah. A typical Friday night, right? So, the next day, the family of the bride hosted a brunch for the families. They had a girl there singing that was one of those, "dude, how are you not famous" types. Amazing but completely beside the point. The point is, we're sitting on the patio with the quite literally glowing bride and my mother-in-law (Mother Bradford to those of you in the know) says, "Oh, you look so happy.......you're in for a big let-down". We all about choked. And the poor bride got these huge eyes and had a look of general shock about her person. It's like, MB......WE all know that life becomes a living hell in the long-run of married life but part of being in the Secret Society is that YOU DON'T LET THE NEWBIES IN ON IT. Otherwise, we'd be a dying breed!!!!! It's the same reason I didn't watch the childbirth videos. I would have never had sex! There are certain things ya just don't talk about. So anyway, back to the utensils in question. The newlyweds gave us all these really cute little silver, heart-shaped measuring spoons as a favor. They say things like "a pinch of happiness" and "heaping spoonful of love". My brother-in-law Skippy and I took one look at them and almost fell out of the car as we were driving away.......they should say "a pinch of doom", "a heaping spoonful of resentment", "a dash of I hate you" and "a sprinkle of YOU RUINED MY LIFE". But that's okay. We'll let them be hopeful. Sssshhhhhhh.