Sunday, March 28, 2010
Due to good fortune not resultant of my own doing -- either knowing the right people or a series of frankly Forest Gumpian turns of events -- I have found myself on the right side of the velvet rope more often than not. If I weren't me, I'd be annoyed with me. Hell, I AM me and sometimes I'm annoyed with me. Because my boyfriend (now husband) was "in the band", I was able to breeze past long lines at shows for the better part of my young adulthood and even now, I seem to find myself with the "good tickets" at events. This was the situation last night, when my family attended the Phoenix Coytoes vs. Colorado Avalanche game at the "jobing.com" arena. This of course begs the question, "what the fuck is 'jobing.com'?" The powers that be would be disappointed that I don't really give enough of a shit to find out. And it woudn't even be that hard. Anyway, we had good tickets. Really good tickets. Better than a box in my mind 'cause I was able to enjoy the boys on the bench close up and in person. So close that I was able to make eye contact and gaze longlingly. Okay......disturbingly. A couple of even looked for more than a second. Probably thinking, "Who in the ASS is that slightly-off balanced looking cougar with her tongue lolling out of her mouth.....SECURITY!!!!!". My mom kept saying, "GOOBIE!!!!! YOU'RE A MARRIED WOMAN!!!!" As a wise sage once said, there's nothin' wrong with looking. And look I did. Anyway, not being all that familiar with this arena, we noticed that people were coming and going from an area near the bench and they were coming back with better looking beverages than the ones we were procuring from the vendors. Strangely, it did not occur to me that most of the people coming and going were more attractive than your average Joe and some had lanyards hanging around their necks. Whatever, right? Right. Mom and I decide to go on down. We looked like we knew what we were doing which I have found is half the battle in most cases. Confidence. We encountered a security person but he was old. I figured we'd have no problem. The old stuff likes me. So I had that going for me, or so I thought. And mom is a pretty good lookin' broad, if I do say so myself. We both flashed toothy grins and said, "HI!!!!". He didn't really even look up. He just said, "Wrist bands?" WHAT????? I don't need no stinkin' wrist band!!!!!! Uh......yes I did. We had to take the walk of shame back to our seats, having made a bit of a spectacle of ourselves. If I witnessed that little display happening to somebody else, I would have laughed my head off and thought, "What a couple of dumb asses......burn, SIZZLE, char". God. I wanted to crawl under a rock. And the karmic comeuppance continues............it can stop now.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Okay, I wasn't even bragging about anything and my knee is completely fucked up. I walked about five miles today and yes, it is an old injury that becomes aggravated from time to time. I wish I could say that the initial injury was the result of something dangerous but it wasn't. It was from an excruciatingly and embarrassingly yuppie ice skating incident several years ago in Cherry Creek North. Outdoors. Christmas time. Way high on the dork-o-meter. I tore my left lateral miniscus. I may have butchered the spelling but you get the drift. For some reason they didn't recommend surgery at that time but I was supposed to do PT. Did I? NOOOOOOO. Because I'm pretty active it does flare up from time to time but it's usually triggered by something such as tripping over the dog or the like. This time it was NOTHING. This pisses me off. Right now, I pretty much cannot walk. Fortunately, I am on vacation and don't really need to do much walking per se. But it still pisses me off. And it hurts, damnit. I was supposed to go watch bull riding tonight. I'll look really cool sitting in one of those Little Amigo motor chairs. Maybe I'll put a flag on the back with a raccoon tail on it or something. That would look pretty tough, right? No? Damn. If I were on a ski vacation, I'd be just fine. I could sit cutely by the fire with my canned ham sized knee sufficiently covered up. Unfortunately, my Sonoran respite is not conducive to such. Again, damn. Okay, I've got to hobble my way over to the bathroom to try to make myself look so god damn awesome that nobody will notice that I'm a gimp. And at my age, that ain't easy. DAVE!!!!!! Get the spackling. And fast.
Hey Guys! If you're not a "follower", do me a solid and hit that little "follow" button. Oh, and if you're not a "fan" of Deep Thoughts From Mollie Christie" on Facebook, I sure would appreciate it if you would become one and suggest it to your pals. There's a little "suggest to friends" button on the page. It's as easy as pie. Actually, making pie is kind of a pain in the ass. Nevermind the pie. Just "follow" and become a "fan". That would be way cool.
Don't panic, peeps.......I've not gone missin' in the desert. I was simply getting into the vacation groove yesterday. Went for a walk, worked out, had a steam (simply delightful for sweating out all of the toxins I put into my body) and sat by the pool for the remainder of the day, interrupted only by lunch and (de)hydration needs. It was sheer genius to bring the husband along this year. He PLAYS with our child. I love my kiddo but I don't "play" per se. Jack was happy as a clam as not only did his dad hang out and shoot aqua hoops with him, his grandma took him to Target. He came home armed with Legos and a bunch of other shit. While he was otherwise occupied, I proceeded to bag some rays and read a book. Sitting still is not my general MO but I can do it in the right situation. And this was one of 'em. VERY relaxing. At one point, Dave looks over at me and says, "You missed a spot with the sunscreen". I look at my arm. Shit. Bright red blob. Here we go again. This harkens back to a story that involves the beginning of my inevitable comeuppance. Remember, I am FORMERLY fabulous. Rewind four or five years. Same pool, same cast of characters. I'm floating around in one of those pool chairs, cocktail in cupholder, soaking up the sun and feeling rather self-satisfied in spite of the fact that I had done absolutely nothing to deserve my good fortune. As I was floating around, la, la, la, my best friend, who was not able to go on spring break and who remained in snowy Colorado called. Now, at my parents house, they will not tolerate phone avoidance. There's no frantic head shaking and mouthing of "I'm not here". If it rings and it's for you, you're talking. Which is annoying. I didn't really want my enjoyment of the moment interrupted by having to chat it up. Well, when pressed as to what I was up to I did not hold back. I think "it's good to be me, sucks to be you" may have been loosely (okay, overtly) implied. I should have been smacked. Apparently the universe agreed. It seems that the sunscreen that I had been applying was EXPIRED. Lilly white skin + Arizona sun + expired sunscreen = NOT GOOD. In fact, Jack just walked in and said, "Whatcha bloggin' about?" I said, "The time I got that crazy sunburn". Jack: "OH GOD. You were as red as a LOBSTER". Yes, yes I was. I had such a bad sunburn that I could not get out of bed for an entire day. The very sheets touching my skin were a new kind of agony. When I was able to ambulate the next day, I had to wear a ridiculously flowy skirt so as not to have my legs come into contact with anything of substance. It was awful. Since then, I have been very careful to not be smug. About anything. It doesn't end well. Karmic comeuppance is a bitch. The moral o' the story is to keep your freakin' piehole shut and appreciate the very wonder of your existence. And don't use expired sunscreen. Particularly if you're of Scots/Irish decent. Owie.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Well, we DID get about two feet of snow. It was coming down like I've never seen it before. And I've lived in Michigan and Colorado for my entire life so that's saying something. Weather dude said at one point it was snowing at 3-5" an hour. Uh, that's kind of a lot. Dave, who as I may have mentioned is a little eager to get out of here, was trying to convince me that we should have headed to the airport last night to catch a 10pm flight. I refused on the grounds that it was dumb idea. As it turned out, that 10pm flight was delayed until 1 am and then cancelled all together. Five thousand saps slept at the airport last night. If there is a tenth circle of hell it is surely being trapped in an airport. The depth of the misery of those five thousand souls could only have been made worse had I been there as my wrath would have been a shit storm not limited to my hapless husband. Woe is the person who convinced me to do something I didn't want to do that resulted in me sleeping on a floor. Or worse, a COT. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't have been sleeping. I would have been railing on Dave! Anyway, all's well that ends well. Although he did just read over my shoulder and announce, "I don't believe I have EVER met a person that enjoys an 'I told you so' more than you". True. It's better than the alternative. WHICH IN THIS CASE WOULD HAVE BEEN SLEEPING AT THE AIRPORT. It appears that the snow has stopped and while our flight is delayed by an hour and a half, it is going to get out. We'll just leave the house a little later than expected but should still be arriving in sunny Arizona by dinner time. Will report back on location. My parents are going to be there so you KNOW it's going to be entertaining.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Holy Crap. My fears were not unfounded. While I do not have a set of acrylic toenails, I was badly shaken. Literally. My nail tech, "Kim" (not her real name.....they all come with American names. I'm not fooled.) asked me a question the likes of which may have been "Would you like to be sent into orbit?" for all I know. Being a rather game sort, I said "sure!". Well, she turns on the massage chair and I think I have a closed head injury. It shook EVERYTHING. My boobs were flying this way and that, my head was being jolted back and forth and Kim just says something like "you relax, honey....'kay?" I WANT MY MOMMMMMMYYYYY. I still don't feel right. Waaaah. I just wanted pretty toes.
Today's contribution to pre-vacation beautification is the pedicure. Very important as my skanky-ass feet have been in tennies all winter long. And have walked countless miles. Actually my feet aren't all that skanky. They're kinda cute as far as feet go. They just really need some attention before I'm walking around in flippity-floppities. So, to that end, after Pilates I am off to "Natural Nails". I was dragged to this place kicking and screaming by my friend who goes there because they do a good job and it's cheap. Call me crazy but I have an aversion to going places where I don't speak the language. Communication is somewhat key to me. These ladies are all from Korea. Really nice gals from what I can tell but who really knows? They could be railing on my feet the entire time. They sure do like to talk to each other. And they laugh a lot. Probably at my feet. No fair. I can keep up if I'm speaking the same language and sometimes when I'm not, depending on the level of inebriation of one or both parties. So anyway, I'm off........I may end up with a full set of acrylics on my toes with rhinestone flower insets but at least they'll be manicured.
Oh joy. We're supposed to leave for Arizona tomorrow and there's a WINTER STORM WARNING going into effect tonight. This was not welcome news to Dave, who has not been on a vacation since 2008. Upon hearing the weather report, he became slightly unhinged and started running around the kitchen yelling, "We're getting out of here........oh, WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!!!!!" Fortunately Jack was at lacrosse practice and did not have to witness this display. This was reminiscent of the Blizzard of 2003 wherein we got more than four feet of snow over the course of three days. This is fun for the first 36 hours IF YOU HAVE POWER. Which thankfully, we did. It's a great excuse to do a whole lotta nothin'. Except drink. What else is there to do? NO blizzard babies here. One is plenty. Anyway, we were having a good old time until Dave started going a little stir crazy and decided he was going to tunnel his way out. With a shovel. Dave thinks snowblowers are an insult to masculinity. To where he was tunneling, I have no clue. As you can see, the roads were clearly impassable. This was back at the old house and we didn't really know our neighbors all that well yet, so I don't think he was looking for companionship. Taking a look at this picture, I'm starting to think maybe it was me. Even the dog was trying to escape. If he had a thought bubble, it would say, "Oh SHIT. It's her!!! Perhaps my demands for fresh margaritas and frequent bunion rubbings was starting to wear on their jangled nerves. I can't imagine why. Anyway, I think Dave, while not physically in the place depicted above, is in that place mentally. I'm afraid of what he may do if our flight is cancelled. He may start tunneling again. Godspeed, Dave.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Oh my. I'm back from being bikini-waxed within an inch of my life. Although I was informed that I was a bit of a dinosaur in that requesting anything other than a Brazilian is pretty much extinct. My waxer was quite taken aback. She said, "Are you SURE???" Um, I've never been more sure about anything in my life. I also chose to leave my underwear on. This is highly unusual for obvious reasons. You can't have unders on when having your entire coochie waxed. So anyway, she's going at it down there and then says, "Can you take a look at this? I'm not sure if it's even. I'm not used to having any hair left there." I was surprised she didn't whip out a mirror. Seriously? I was like, "Yep......I'm good." Then she says, "I feel like I did half a job". She seemed genuinely bummed. Errrrr.......sorry? Perhaps I should have requested that she wax my lady-bits into a cactus in celebration of my trip to Arizona. That at least would have challenged her creatively and she wouldn't have felt so cheated out of a Brazilian.
Okay, so my friend decides that because of the above blog entry it would be freakin' HILARIOUS if she bid on a waxing service in my name at the school silent auction. Ha, ha. I didn't really think much of it until The PTA Board meeting on Tuesday when the President slid the winning gift card across the table to me. Okay. What in the ASS am I going to do with a $30 waxing gift card? So I start looking around. Brows seem fine. They are separate and reasonably shaped entities. Lip looks pretty good. Buttocks? That service is actually available and is NOT listed under "Men's Body Waxing" so I'm thinking there must be some chicks out there with hairy asses. From what I can ascertain (no pun intended) I'm good. There's really not much left to wax. Since I am going to Arizona for spring break, I decided I would check out the dreaded bikini region. Okay, it's looking a little unkempt. I will concede that given the fact that I am going to be sporting a swimsuit in a couple of days, I could use a waxin'. So I'm going this afternoon. I haven't had this done since the person asked me "what I wanted" 12 years ago. I am a little nervous. What if the waxer (is that what they're called?) looks at me and is horrified? What if she calls in the other waxers to take a look? Is there a code word for "Jesus H. Christ......you've got to see the untamed monkey bush on this broad?" Oh, and what if it's a DUDE? Hmmm. Maybe my eyebrows DO need some attention.
Friday, March 19, 2010
1.How can a kid who has problems spelling anything with more than four letters in it consistently remember my 8 character iTunes password when purchasing games for his iPod Touch? Without asking?
2.Why you would choose to go out driving in a snowstorm if you are so terrified of the conditions that your white knuckles and panicked expression is visible to other motorists? Why?
3.Why you would go to an event billing a "Celtic Rocker" on St. Fucking Patrick's day and then bitch about the noise?
4.Why old bags are so threatened by anyone twenty years younger than they are and reasonably attractive? Oh wait. I know the answer to that one. Nevermind.
5.Why I fit the criteria for so many mental illnesses? I am an obsessive compulsive, passive aggressive, manic depressive with anxiety and control issues. Does this not qualify me for some sort of government assistance? As clearly I am nuts.
6.Why people think replacing a "c" with a "k" is klever. It's not. Nor is it klassy.
7.Why if I know something I'm doing bugs somebody it makes me want to do it all the more? (See #5)
8.Why a dry cleaning truck drove through the garage door of my rental house this morning? MY house? Well, I guess why NOT my house.
9. Who decided that shaping gigantic exterior shrubberies into something that can only be described as distinctly phallic is a good idea? My brother has one at his new house that has probably been there since 1978. But obviously, someone maintained it's penile profile over the years. Enthusiastically! He's going to fashion up a condom for it for Halloween. I like the cut of my brother's jib. A man after my own heart.
10. Who in the hell cheats on that nice Sandy Bullock with a hard drinking, tattooed biker chick who likes to get naked? Oh, that's right.......a hard drinking, tattooed biker dude who's been previously married to two porn stars. Now THERE'S a stretch. Go figure.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
I was out walking yesterday and once again saw a "Doody Calls" van. Ha, ha. Play on words. Get it? LAME. They pick up dog poop, if you couldn't figure THAT one out. First of all, in this economy I would think paying somebody to pick up your dog's excrement would be um.....amongst the first things cut from the budget? And secondly, even in a good economy, if you can't pick up dog poop, perhaps you shouldn't have a dog. NEWSFLASH: DOG'S POOP. AND BIG DOGS MAKE BIG POOPS. AND LOTS OF THEM. I don't have a freakin' cleaning lady anymore but people in my neighborhood are having their dog shit scooped up by uniformed professionals, which adds insult to injury. I'll tell you what........I'll send Grady over to those in need of poop removal services. He'll EAT the poop, thus negating any nasty disposal issues. He will also allow your dog to hump him regardless of gender or a full set of limbs. He is an equal opportunity humping post. With the money he makes I can get my cleaning lady back! Brilliant! Everybody is happy. It's almost like puppy prostitution but I really don't think he'll mind one bit. He's giving it away for free every day at the dog park......may as well get paid! And he gets a snack!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Well, spring has sprung in the Rockies it seems. At least until Friday when we're supposed to get 8" of snow. Sixty-two rock and rollover degrees yesterday, close to 70 today. This presents a bit of an issue as far as productivity goes. A lot of what I do involves the computer. Writing Deep Thoughts, getting quotes for my design business, listing my art shit on Etsy and Ebay, etc. I'm sorry but even as I'm sitting here right now, I want to be sitting on my deck, drinking a beer with my face tilted towards the sun. My friend calls this having a case of the "fuck-its". I have the fuck-its really badly right now. An extreme case. Days like this make it almost impossible. Fuck all of the work I have to do. I am much better served working on Friday when I can stoke a fire and sit here all afternoon doing what needs doing. It's all going to get done. And if it doesn't? Correct. Enjoy your St. Patrick's Day, peeps!
Observation made by my friend whilst at the PTA Board meeting yesterday: "You can tell how involved people are by the stack of shit in front of them". I looked around. She was right. People had their organized PTA binders, stacks of notes, papers, fliers, even laptops. I looked in front of myself. iPhone, car key and a can of Diet Coke. I looked at her and said, "I've got nothin'". I'm sorry but I am BURNED OUT. And some of these mom's have been going at it longer than I have so that's no excuse. I think I've just reached my threshold of tolerance for such things. And I feel like I've put my time in. I don't do well with meetings under the best of circumstances. I think it's the ADHD thing. I even found myself slouching in my chair and sending random emails to to anyone I could think of to counteract my boredom. I do want to emphasize that these chicks really DO a TON of good for our school. These are (for the most part) some pretty cool women, actually. They get nothing but mad props from me. I just feel like I've run my PTA course. The whole blog thing was just the final nail in the coffin of my PTA do-goodery. It was kinda funny 'cause as we went through our agenda, everybody had detailed reports and lots to talk about. They got to me and said, "Mollie, do you have anything to report?" Me: Nope. The fat lady has sung. And NO, I'm not the fat lady. That was in the thyroid shit storm days. The fat lady is hypothetical. La, la, la, la...........
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Actual conversations taking place during lacrosse carpool:
Jack: Why is there a whale called, "Moby Dick"?
E: I've got a feeling I know why but your mom is in the car.
Jack: Oh, 'cause he's got a big "you know"?
E: I'm pretty sure.
Jack: Hey Mom! We took a virtual tour of Bent's Fort at school today.
Me: Who's Ben?
Jack: BENT'S. GOD MOM. BENT'S. He was a guy in the olden days. He got pissed at the government and tried to blow his fort up.
Me: Like a frontier version of the uni-bomber?
Me: Nevermind. Continue.
E: And before he tried to blow the fort up, everybody had to poop in a cup.
Me: Like in celebration before the explosion?
Jack: No, they had to poop in cups back in those days.
Me: That takes quite alot of precision. And what did you do after you pooped in the cup? Throw it out the window?
E: Yep. What if you were a guy leaning against the wall smoking a pipe and the poop landed on his head?
Me: Well, I guess they'd start calling him, "Ol' Poopy Head".
More hysterical laughter. Cheap crowd.
More hysterical laughter. Cheap crowd.
God. I think I'm a ten-year old boy trapped in a 42-year old woman's body. I'm having far too much fun with this. The only problem is that I have to edit what I say. Because check out THIS little pearl of wisdom my offspring tossed out in the car yesterday as we were talking about Jack and E's Dad's and what they do for a living.
Jack: My dad's a real estate broker and a rock star.
E: My dad's a lawyer and an engineer.
Me: E's dad went to Michigan.
Jack: WHAT?! Your dad went to MICHIGAN???? SCREW YOUR DAD.
E: My dad said it's a good school.
Me: (furious backpeddling) Uh.......see, E.....Jack's dad and I went to Michigan State and there's quite a rivalry between the two. Michigan is an EXCELLENT school.
Jack: WHAT!!!! NO IT'S NOT.
Me: (shooting daggers in the rearview mirror) JACK. STICK A SOCK IN IT. NOW.
God. I sincerely hope this was not reported back to our Wolverine friend and neighbor........"Dad, Jack said you should go screw yourself". Hmmmmm. Self-editing. What a concept. I wonder what junior is saying when I'm NOT around. I shudder to think.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Well, as it appears that I am still here, it seems that I have lived through the weekend. It actually wasn't really that crazy. Friday was pretty chill......Jack and I went over to a neighbors house while Dave played. While Jack may not have siblings, he has me and we have a tendency to fight as such. He was pissed because I wouldn't let him have a sleepover with a bunch of girls. Sorry. Not gonna happen. He says, "MOM!!!! You're just going to go home and fall asleep". Correct, junior.....that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm old and I'm tired. If you choose to stay up until 11:30 watching Cartoon Network, that is your prerogative but I am not going to participate. Good night and quit your bitchin'. Wake me up if there's a fire or loss of limb. We also had to be on the way downtown by 9:30 the next morning for Dave's 10:30 gig at Scruffy Murphy's. St. Patrick's Day parade celebrations that begin before noon are often excellent people watching opportunities. There's this old dude from Boulder that shows up at Irish pubs (all year long, not just in March) dressed like the freakin' pope. He was walking around blessing people. Errrr.....that's not Holy Water, my friend. More like firewater. And lots of it. So that was a good time but when you take kids to things like that you have to be very aware of when it starts to "turn". You parents out there know what I'm talking about. It's when wholesome family fun (with beer involved) starts turning into drunken idiot hour. Time to pack it up. One of our friends happens to work at Molson Coors. They have offices downtown. Really nice offices. On the 32nd floor with panoramic views of the city and mountains. Oh, and a TAP ROOM WITH FREE BEER. Not a bad place to hang out with the kiddies. They were happy and we were happy. VERY happy. Ended up heading home after that fabulosity. Long day and even though Baby Grady had a Baby Grady sitter, he still ended up bagging some long kennel hours and we wanted to spring him. The party kept on rollin' yesterday as there is no rest for the Albanian Rock and Roll Realtor. Or the wicked. That's me. He played at Ned Kelly's. Ned Kelly's is a bar that is right out of a movie. It's pretty much a dive bar that has been converted to an IRISH dive bar. The same people that frequented it in it's former life are still there. The construction probably went on around them as they sat on their bar stools. It was a spectacle. I talked to a guy that I've actually met there before. I call him "Cowboy Curtis". He likes to get his drink on. To the point of being unintelligible. All I really got was that he thinks I'm an "attractive woman". Or an "active woman". Something like that. Ned's also caters to Vietnam Vets. Colorful lot, that. Suffice to say, I had a LOT of interesting conversations. The really funny thing about Ned's is that this rag-tag band of patrons are amongst the friendliest barflies I've ever encountered. And it will surprise no one that I have encountered many. Scores, really. Anyway, a good weekend was had by all. I actually feel less wounded than I did after my weekend with Skippy. In fact I'll be ready go on Wednesday. Happy St. Paddy's week, everybody!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Pray for my mortal soul, peeps.........it's time to get locked and loaded (literally) for St. Patrick's Day. Dave is playing today at Scruffy Murphy's in Lodo (that's "Lower Downtown" for all of you non-Denverites) and it's Parade Day. I believe we host the largest St. Patrick's Day parade West of the Mighty Miss. It's a hoo-ha. Total blast. Last year Dave ended up dancing on stage with a walking pint of Guiness which is something you don't see everyday. This is just such freakin' blast of a day I can't wait for it to get underway. We've got the Irish music crankin' upstairs, the Albanian Celtic rocker is changing his strings and the boy is getting his green on. There's a huge tent and the kids are all dancing around and getting their Irish on.......and it's going to be in the 60's and sunny. Woo-hoo!!!!! So, not only do we have this fun day but he is playing at Ned Kelly's tomorrow and at The Trinity and RRCC on Wednesday. Truly mad. And hilarious that he's such a hit on the Irish pub circuit and does not have a hint of Irish in him. I'm thinking being married to Scots/Irish chick for all of these years has given him enough battle scars to be an honorary Paddy. It's not for the faint of heart. Oh, and his child is 25% Irish, so there's that. Come on out and join us if you're in the Big D......if not, wherever you are, I wish you a fun-filled Saturday. I'm sure I'll have some tales to tell when I return. No doubt.
Friday, March 12, 2010
So, Dave had been laying down backing tracks into the wee hours last night. Big doings with St. Paddy's day coming up. He's playing all weekend long and all day and night on Wednesday. Busy boy, our rock and roll realtor. Anyway, he left his bass out. Back in the day, he was a bass player with The Hannibals. Very cool band. Jack, who is more accustomed to seeing his dad play acoustic guitar, thought the bass was right fascinating. Dave starts playing a little and Jack asks if he would PLEASE teach him to play. Dave says sure, continues to mess around a little and then proceeds to put the bass behind his head and play. Jack just stood their slack-jawed and then says, "Dad......you're my hero". We got into the car to go to school and he said, "Mom, Dad is the greatest man who ever lived". And THAT is pretty cool thing for a boy to say about his dad. Who knew that's all it took? I better learn to do something impressive and fast.
Hmmm. This day is starting off much like yesterday. While I have not spilled shit all over myself two minutes before I was supposed to be at a meeting and have not yet been clocked with the car door nor backed into someone in a parking lot the day has not yet been without incident. And it's just getting started. Grady, who at 8 months old weighs around 60 lbs, has had a tether in our backyard since we got him. We didn't want to do the invisible fence thing when he was really little and a fence would look ridiculous in our yard. I don't even think our covenants would allow for it even if we wanted to put one in. Now is the time for the invisible fencing BUT the ground is still frozen. I was on the computer (imagine that!) and I hear Dave let Grady out. I went upstairs only to see something amiss......Grady halfway up the mountain dragging his tether and the thing you screw into the ground. So, I'm in my jammies and shoeless trying to remain calm because I knew if I started panicking he'd think it was a game. He's running around after deer, I'm running around after him, saw my opportunity and lunged at what was left of the anchor thing. Got him. He had snapped the thing completely in half. God. Dragged his ass back in. It was like reeling in very large fish. With gnashing teeth. Hello, Invisible Fencing dude? I'd like to place an order. Like now. Bring a blow torch. You'll need it. Oh, and something for the frozen ground too.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Yikes. Nutty day. Meetings. NO, not AA smart asses. Pilates, grocery store, minor fender bender in grocery store parking lot, procure samples for design job, chase dog with razor in his mouth around the house only to discover he has in all likelihood swallowed the blade, blah, blah, blah. Another day in Mollieville, where the freak flag flies daily. So I have JUST NOW been able to sit at my damn computer. Thank you for all of the lovely emails expressing concern for my personal well being. I'm cool. All's well. Stop turning over cars and rioting in the streets. Every little thing is gonna be alright. Well, it's probably not but it's a good sentiment. Anyway, here is this week's installment of WTF's For Dinner?! And it's a good one. Veggie, even!
Em's Mac and Cheese
6 T butter
1/2 lb elbow macaroni
6 T flour
3 c whole milk
1 t salt
1/4 t black pepper
Pinch cayenne (but not too hard!)
2 1/2 c grated cheddar
1/2 c fine bread crumbs
1 t Emeril's Essence
Preheat oven to 350 F. Butter 2-quart baking dish with 1 T of the butter and set aside. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the macaroni and cook until al dente, about 10 minutes (longer if you live way up here on top of a damn hill like me). Drain and rinse. Melt the remaining 5 T butter in a heavy 3 quart saucepan over medium heat for 3-4 minutes, being careful not to let the flour brown. Using a whisk, add the milk in a steady stream and cook, whisking constantly until thick and smooth, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat. Add the salt, pepper, cayenne and 2 cups of the cheese and stir well. Add the noodles and stir well (yes, again). Pour into the prepared dish. In a mixing bowl, combine the remaining 1/2 cup of cheese with the bread crumbs and Essence. Sprinkle evenly over the macaroni and bake until golden brown and bubbly, about 25 minutes.
Goes pretty damn well with a spinach salad. This one is a keeper! Enjoy.....I have to head back out. More work. Jobs really ARE for squares. Dang.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
First of all, be very wary of what you promise a kid during cocktail hour. I told Jack and Libby that I saw these Club Penguin stuffed animals while out and about and that OF COURSE I would get them each one of the f'ers. I had taken a short-cut through Sears and this is where they caught my eye. WHY I had to mention this fact to Thing One and Thing Two I have NO CLUE. It was apparently the waistline enhancing wine doing the talking. But of course, every day this week, it's been "MOM, DID YOU GET THE PENGUINS?" Um, no? So today I had to run to Target because I was panicking about the recent development of what is known in my family as a "gozzler" aka "turkey neck". It may not be detectable to the naked eye, but it's there my friends.......it's there. Anyway, I figured Target may have something for the formerly fabulous sagging neck. I was in a hurry as it's my day to drive Jack and his buddy to lacrosse practice but I had enough time to not just go to Target but also pop into Sears for the damn penguins. Or so I thought. I run in, grab the things and look around for a place to check out. Oh, there's one! With a huge line. WHO IN THE HELL SHOPS AT SEARS? Apparently I do. And so do these 15 other people in line at the one open register. And, the WORLD'S CHATTIEST OLD LADY is at the helm. Look, I appreciate an effort at being nice but the best time to make small talk is NOT when you have a huge line of people. She seemed to really want to make each customer feel "special". I don't want to feel special. I want to pay and get the hell out of there. I leave it to the people in my life I actually KNOW to make me feel special. I seriously thought I was going to kill myself by the time it was my turn to pay. And then she starts chatting ME up. It's like, "Look. It's bad enough that I'm at Sears because I promised my son and his best friend these stupid ass penguins after having a couple (okay, SEVERAL) glasses of wine. I really just want to leave. I know you don't really understand this whole Club Penguin thing, 'cause you just told me that in great detail. What I really want is my receipt, the flightless birds and what's left of my dignity". I DID finally make it out of there, having fulfilled one alcohol fueled promise. I'm sure it won't be the last. Stupid wine.
Those of you that have been following along are aware that my black Lab, Grady, is a bit of menace. The term, "Marley" has come up more than once although I don't know as Marley ever pooped out an intact crew sock. If he did, it sure wasn't in the movie. Oh boy......Marley gets chased around with a diamond ring and runs along the side of a car. Big freakin' deal. You have NO IDEA. This dog would make Marley roll over in his grave. But that's been established. Grady sucks. But get THIS one: he's been going to the dog park. This was highly recommended as a device to tire him out and thusly calm him down. Well, it's worked. He's a hell of alot more chill after a morning at the dog park. He does a little running around, but for the most part, Grady is apparently the park bitch. Crazy ass Grady who eats beer cans as well as his own poop at home, goes to the dog park and gets his ass humped. Although the humping is not strictly limited to his ass. His head gets humped as well. It seems that he is a complete and utter wimp when he leaves the confines of our home. He'll terrorize us and our friends and family but when presented with another dog, he rolls over. I knew that this was going on, so much so that I wish him a "Happy Humping" as he leaves in the morning. What I was not prepared for was this: Dave comes home and says, "Well, your dog (please note he's "my" dog when he does something terrible, which is 95% of the time) suffered the ultimate in humiliation today.......he not only got humped by a female, he got humped by a female TRIPOD". Oh God. Grady, Grady, Grady........what are we going to do with you? Dog for sale. A TRIPOD? Seriously?
Okay, the big talk yesterday in my Pilates class was this news that up to three glasses of wine a day actually HELPS women to lose weight. And there was great rejoicing! I had heard this reported the night before and Dave immediately shot a hole in the theory. He felt that generally, wine drinkers are socio-economically advantaged and that therefore these female wine guzzlers were more likely to not work and would have more time to work out. Good point, Killjoy. I prefer to take it at face value. Clearly these people are scientists and not armchair conspiracy theorists thwarting the happy news of the day. Wine is good for you. And in my mind, if three glasses are good, six must be freakin' FANTASTIC, right? See, that's my problem. Right there. I do not understand the meaning of moderation. In ANYTHING. This goes for good things as well as bad things. I exercise. ALOT. Obsessively some might say. "Some" may F-off. I like it. It makes me feel good. As does drinking wine. I think having the ability to be moderate is a gift. I just don't happen to be in possession of it. When they were handing out both filters and moderation chips, I was probably bellied up to the celestial bar. I'm sure I was standing there with my dad, because he is not exactly the picture of moderation either. He goes big or stays home. With most things. So I know where I get this from. I'm the little apple under the tree. Right there. Not far. And like I said, this is not always a bad thing. If I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it up. I'm going to throw the best party, be the most kick-ass mom, and the friend who's there when things get tough. I'm also the one with the lampshade on her head at said awesome party, the mom drinks and swears and writes horrible things on her blog, and the friend that makes you scratch your head in wonderment. "She did WHAT?" I guess the bottom line is that if I was a moderate person, I wouldn't be me. Whether that's good or bad, I'm not quite sure but I have to be able to live with who I am. And who I am is a person who is quite sure that wine drinking is awesome. I plan to drink, drink, drink my way to a firmer me. Yay, modern science!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I send out weekly emails pimping my husband's gigs and just finished this weeks version. It's kinda fun. My gig emails and facebook ramblings mated and Deep Thoughts was born. Since it's March and nearly St. Paddy's day he's extra crazy busy. You know, 'cause he's an Albanian/Sicilian realtor that plays Irish music? Hey man.....his son is 25% Irish, although I would recommend against informing Jack of that percentage as he may hit you. With an old shillelagh. Boy likes being Irish. He claims that the reason his hair is so dark is that he's "Black Irish". Err.....no you're not. So Jack is 25% Sicilian, 25% Albanian, 25% Irish and 25% Scottish. Dave attempts to annoy me with claims that there is other shit thrown into my gene pool but whatever. He likes to say "YOU'RE WELSH AND FRENCH TOO". Like that makes up for his Albanianism. Whatever. It's not a competition. As far as he knows. So some Welsh and French dude made his way over to Ireland or Scotland and succumbed to my female relatives charms. Shocking. I think not. So if it makes Dave feel better to draw attention to the 2% of alternate Northern European heritage coursing through my veins, so be it. He's still Albanian. Goat boy. Which brings me to my point. Stereotypes. This time of year brings to mind the drunken Irish person. Which of course is absolutely, 100% TRUE. Guilty as charged. BUT, my heritage results in something known in my family as the "double bogue". Both sides of me LOVE to drink but my Scottish side likes her a bargain. So I'm always on the make for a free drink. Works too. Oh but it's not limited to libations. In this past week, I not only bought a pair of pants for $4.97 (Gap....originally $54.50) but TWO pairs of pajama bottoms for, and I have witnesses, .47. That's right forty-seven CENTS. This caused the Scottish side of me to be so excited that the Irish side of me decided to celebrate. And therein lies the rub.
I was sitting here trying to figure out why I'm so freakin' exhausted and then I remembered. Houseguest. Duh. I LOVE having company. It's not the company per se that wears me out. It's the build up to the visit followed by the partying during the visit that ultimately lead to the letdown proceeding the visit. You may as well just take the three days leading up to the company arriving and the day of their departure and throw them out the speeding car window of life like the passing blur that they were. The panicked cleaning preceeding the visit is a given. Unless you have a cleaning lady, in which case I am no longer speaking to you. And yes, I'm just jealous. Guilty as charged. And go ahead and count on the "throw the covers over your head and don't come out until tomorrow" thing when they leave. It's inevitable. Don't try to fight it. With some guests you have to be "on" all the time. Skippy is so not like that. You can rip one in front of Skip. Not that I, as a proper lady, would ever rip one. It was Dave. Dave did it. Or the dog. SOMEBODY did it. It was a non-event. He barely even looked up. Unlike the dog, who when falsely accused had the good sense to look somewhat disgusted. But even with low-maintenance guests, you don't have the downtime that you have during "regular" life. Checking email, sitting down and reading a chapter of a book, etc. And that's part of the fun. It's not regular life. Having company is like an exclamation point. If the punctuation of your life was ALL exclamation points, you'd be pretty fucking spent from the very excitement of it all. Life needs some commas. And apostrophes. You need colons too. And semi-colons, for when a full-on colon is just too much. And I need a nap. Period.
I realize that I have made somewhat of a mini-career grousing about things that bug me. And that's probably because things bug me considerably more than they bug most people. A prickly little pear, I am. But amongst the things that irritate me, those stupid stick figure families that are found largely on the back of mini-vans really stick in my craw. And I don't know why. I have a family. I like it! I even like other families. I just don't like those dumbass stickers. I think it's because they are inherently dorky. "Oh, look at me and my 18 children and all of our wacky pets! Some are babies! See, 'cause they're little and are wearing diapers! That one with the bow? It's a GIRL! Isn't that cute? And our oldest, Johnny? He likes to play golf. He's the stick figure with the golf club!" Annoying. I think I'm going to start a line of those stickers for the non-shiny and happy amongst us. "Stick Figure Families.....The Dark Side". And here's mine! Since these things usually go from biggest to smallest, lets start with Dave. I think I'll have his stick figure sitting on a toilet with his pants at his ankles and strumming a guitar. Because that's really the only explanation for why he's in there for so long. Either that or he's looking at porn on his phone. So give him a cartoon iPhone too. And maybe have his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Maybe he'd be wearing a Lions jersey, 'cause inexplicably, these stick figures wear shirts even though they're sticks with heads. Although Hollywood actresses whear shirts and they're not much better. But I digress. I'm next 'cause I'm the mom. Or so I'm told. I'd be in workout gear. Hair in a stick ponytail. Clutching a bottle of Lexapro and a jug of wine. I would have several tequila bottle "icons" next to me. The icons cost extra but they represent the person when there is just simply more to say than one stick figure can accommodate. I'd also have a Pilates reformer, a thyroid gland, MY iPhone and a few expletives. I know I have alot of "icons" but I have the most baggage and I want my fellow drivers to know it. Give me wide berth. I'm a little crazy. After MY bad self comes Jack. He would be wearing a lacrosse uniform. Goalie stick in one hand and a laundry list of grievances in the other. Mostly regarding his mother. He'd have a basketball, a football and a slew of video game icons. After Jack, we have stick Grady. He's wearing a shock collar, has devil horns and tail and is pooping out a sock. So I guess he's squatting. Next to Grady is a stick Zombie Hamster. Tiny stick paws outright in Zombie-walk fashion and with X's for eyes. Poor Rhino. Gone but not forgotten, at least on my car. I figure that next to Rhino will be a guy with a white van and a net chasing our whole sorry stick family with a caption bubble over his head saying, "Pull up the truck, Charlie......we've got some live ones". Indeed.
Monday, March 8, 2010
There are people in the world that just bring the fun. And the funk. My brother-in-law Skippy is one of 'em. Ohhhh, did we have fun this weekend. Started with a foray downtown as Dave was playing at Scruffy Murphy's. I think we got cut off. Getting cut off at an Irish pub when they know you're not driving is a little difficult but we seem to have managed. Nice! We're told we had a GREAT time. The next day was one of those hilarious, slightly hungover breakfasts where you're still a little "happy" and are trying to reconstruct exactly what transpired the night before. Laughed our heads off. At some point it was determined that we needed to split up. Jack and Dave would go to the dog park and Skippy and I would go grocery shopping. Skippy insisted on being referred to as "Mayor Bloomberg", for some reason and was selecting Kosher items from the aisles such as "Gefelt Fish". Yuck. Slap-happy grocery shopping is ALSO fun. Skippy and I determined that we needed Bloody Mary's. We called Dave at the dog park and checked in. It seems that all Grady does at the dog park is get humped. I guess I can think of worse ways to spend the day but Grady is fixed. And male. So I'm not really sure what he's getting out of the deal. We told Davey that we were going to our little local bar and he said that was cool as at some point Jack wanted to get a burger and he would meet us there. BEAUTIFUL Colorado day.......we sat out back and bagged some of those early spring rays and had several lovely cocktails as we pondered life and solved the problems of the world. Skippy still wants to quit his job, join the Junior League and drive a Volvo. And get a dog named "Avery". Or maybe it's changed to "Penelope". Whatever. And then we remembered we had groceries in the car. Chicken. Ooops. Went home and made a simply lovely dinner, having determined that the chicken had NOT officially turned the corner. Three hour rule. We made that up. And yesterday, of course, was Oscar Day. Skippy was VERY excited. You have not lived until you have watched the Academy Awards with a gay man. We made champagne punch and heavy apps and had a simply delightful time. As we were getting ready, our supermodel former babysitter called and said that she and her boyfriend would be coming over. Cool. Love that chick. LOVE her super hot Air Force Academy grad boyfriend too. Skippy said, "Ooooohhhhh.......tell her boyfriend that in our family it is customary to wear swim suits while watching the Oscars". I almost choked on a crudite. See what I mean? I love my Skippy. So that was the haps over here all weekend long.......I'm a tad bit polluted but no worse for the wear. Nothing a good nights sleep can't fix. Bon Voyage, Skippy!!!!!!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Okay, I know I still have to post the missing WTF's for Dinner. And Cheers as well. I'll get to it. I've been a lil' busy Just about everything is clean. Still have to do the kitchen floor but I usually save that for last. See Mom? I DO have a system. Even if it only makes sense to me. I managed to pull this off without sniffing the cleaning fluids. Wanted to have my wits about me. So after the floor, I get to take a shower. I am very much looking forward to taking a shower. It seems that there are some men and boys that use my bathrooms that have difficulty identifying the toilet. I spent some time cleaning pee off of bathroom floors. My mother is probably having a heart attack down in AZ as we speak. She HATES the word "pee". "Pee" is almost as bad as "ain't". Sorry mom. It's pee. "Urine" sounds a little clenched coming from someone like myself. Anyway, apparently there are those who just can't control the equipment and it sprays all over the room. So, as I said, I'm looking forward to the shower. AFTER the shower, the fun and games are just getting started! All of the fluffing and buffing happens! I get to make myself pretty which is becoming increasingly difficult with my advancing age. So many steps. So much spackling! And I need to execute all of the final touches on the house that will surely make our esteemed guest feel welcome.......the pillow fluffed "just so" says "I love you, esteemed guest! WELCOME!". I also have to make sure we have enough booze on hand. I don't know about you but a day of travel makes me thirsty. Hell, waking up in the morning makes ME thirsty but I'm Scots/Irish which explains everything. I was BORN thirsty. So I have to make sure tasty beverages are at the ready. In fact.....I think it may be time to make sure that none of them are poison. Will, once again, report back. Hopefully clean and well-"hydrated".
The only deep thought I'm having right now as I hobble around on my one good leg attempting to clean this damn house in preparation for Skippy's visit is "WHY IN THE HELL DO I NEED A HOUSE THIS SIZE?" PEOPLE WITH HOUSES THIS SIZE NORMALLY HAVE CLEANING LADIES. AS I AM FORMERLY FABULOUS, I AM THE CLEANING LADY. AND IT SUCKS. As has been established, I freaking HATE cleaning. And no, smarties, not everybody hates cleaning. I know some freaks that love it. I'm not one of 'em. I am utterly and completely overwhelmed and am close to hopping on the back of the garbage truck with Gilberto (his real name....not a racial stereo-type, so no angry letters please. And don't ask me why I know what my super hot sanitation engineer's name is) when he rolls by. What's that? It's not trash day? Shit. What if I claim I've been really sick and that's why the house is such a sty? Although the fact that I'd pop right up when it was time for the drinkin' to commence might be suspicious. Dang. Foiled again. The dog ate all of the cleaning supplies? That's actually somewhat believable. Wait a second. Lightbulb! How 'bout if I combine ammonia and bleach and am found passed out on the bathroom floor wearing rubber gloves?! Clutching a toilet brush? Then I'd be some sort of cleaning martyr. That would be $%&ing AWESOME. Problem solved. I'll report back if I have any synapses still snapping after my little stint as "Chemical Mol-lie". God, I'm good.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
When my brother calls and says, "Call me back.....I've got a funny story" you can be sure it really IS a funny story. The yarn, however, is not usually about HIM. Oh, but in this case it was. A little background: Lacrosse is pretty big here in Colorado, and the season is starting up. My youngest nephew has decided he'd like to play and is entering his first season. So in preparation, it seems that my brother was out in his backyard tossing the ball around with my nephews. At some point in time, the boys lost interest and decided to otherwise occupy themselves. They have their Auntie Mollie's gnat-like attention span, apparently. Or maybe they're just boys. My brother, not to be daunted by lack of participation decides that he will simply play catch solo by launching the lacrosse ball at the fence. At some point, and this explains EVERYTHING about not just my brother but me, Tim decides that he's going to "see how hard" he can whip the ball at said fence. Because why wouldn't you? Why NOT push things to the very limit and let the chips fall where they may? We both seem to be missing the gene that causes one to exercise caution. It's just not in the mix. So he whips it. I'm not sure if I mentioned this but my brother is a pretty big guy. Not fat in the least but very tall and athletic. There's a bit of power behind the shot. Turns out "how hard" is pretty hard indeed. And a lacrosse ball is an EXTREMELY hard thing. I've been hit by one launched by a little kid and it hurts like a son of a bitch. The ball hits a metal fence post. It comes back, hits Tim squarely between the eyes, both lenses pop out of his sunglasses and what remains is smashed into his face. He is knocked to the ground. All 6'4" or so of him. A neighbor kid, who had appeared at some point, says to my nephews, "I think something's wrong with your dad". Understatement of the year. Something is wrong with their dad alright. And their aunt. Tim has an extremely impressive black eye, which would be all well and good if he were a hockey player. He is not. He is a builder. A builder that has to meet with potential homebuyers next week, which should be just in time for his eye to turn that lovely sickly yellow color that only a seven-day old black eye can muster. I hope he's coming up with a good story. I'm not really sure the truth says, "I am a person you should trust with your money. And a lacrosse stick." Errrr..........
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I am willing to accept that the phenomena I am about to discuss is strictly limited to me. As has been established, cleaning is not exactly my forte. I'm more of your creative sort (read: license to not be bothered with such mundane pursuits as cleaning.....I'm busy creating, man!) and therefore don't always notice the cobwebs in my corners. That's what my mother is for. In my mother's absence, I allow nature to take its course with such things. Until company is coming. And guess what? Company is coming. When you have guests arriving imminently, it's like you slip on "guest goggles". The shit dripping down the side of your refrigerator that hadn't really bothered you is now really gross. And your ten-year old's toilet? Gadzooks! The dog hair on every upholstered surface that has been accepted as a matter of course is now simply nasty. So now, panic has set in. My brother-in-law, the aforementioned "Uncle Skippy" will be arriving on Friday. I'm not sure whether to calmly set about the task at hand or start running around screaming so that I will be declared crazy and therefore will not have been expected to do anything at all except sit in the corner drooling with a jug of wine. While choice number two sounds vastly more appealing, I believe I'm going to have to woman-up and choose door number one, Monty. Damn it. If I appear to be blogging more than usual, it's simple avoidance. Fine. I guess I'll tackle that pile of laundry over there first. Unless I become distracted by a moment of creative genius. Gears are turning......must come up with something quickly.........
Oooooh. I'm a little pissed off. I am really a pretty laid back mom as far as most things go. I don't really care where you eat as long as you clean up your damn mess. If things get broken, they get broken. They're just things. We used to say, "that's okay, Jack.....accidents happen" and he started saying, "accidents happen somehow!" Somehow indeed. Anyway, I try to not let most things Jack related get to me. PLENTY of other stuff gets to me. And how. See blog. I'm a little "prickly". There is one thing Jack does that really bugs me and I'm not sure why. Losing things. Last year he managed to lose his ski jacket. HOW? How do you do that? I can see gloves, hats, even lunch boxes. That shit happens. But an entire coat? And awhile back, I noticed I hadn't seen him playing his Nintendo DSI. I asked him where it was and he got all fidgety. To his credit, he's not a liar. He said, "I think I left in the Pilates room that time I had to go with you before school started". Um, that was back in August. This conversation occurred in NOVEMBER. Me: "Jack, why didn't you tell me the minute you realized you may have left it there?" Jack: "Cause you guys would have killed me". Right. We're clearly homicidal. And such yellers! I've yelled at him once. Literally. And I'm not kidding. Clearly, it made quite an impact. Should start yelling more, evidently, so it's not such a shock. Maybe spontaneously. So he doesn't know what to expect. I think that's recommended in most parenting manuals. Keep 'em on their toes! Create an unstable environment! Makes 'em adaptable! Anyway, I ended up calling the rec center, and obviously it wasn't there. This really pissed me off because like the ski coat, it was expensive. It seems like at ten, you should be able to recognize and respect the value of your possessions. Maybe I'm wrong and am applying grown up values to a kid (see "Lost" blog.....I at least have the good sense to freak out when I think I've lost expensive shit) and should be more understanding. I didn't make a huge deal about it but let him know that there would be no replacement. When cleaning prior to Thanksgiving, it turned up in a couch cushion and there was much rejoicing in all of Christie Land. He hasn't really lost much recently, or so I thought. I was going through his closet and noticed that an extremely expensive Polo hoodie (the ones with the gigantic ponies.....I believe this was of the "Olympic Edition" ilk) was nowhere to be found. Now, lest you think us to be complete maroons, this was purchased by his Uncle Skippy. Uncle Skippy buys him boat loads of Polo every Christmas and birthday. Uncle Skippy does not have children and only has one nephew. Uncle Skippy likes to spoil. I'm sure the teachers at school must think we are total rollers 'cause Jack has been decked out in Polo since kindergarten. I feel like sending in a disclaimer saying, "We did not buy this stuff. His rich Uncle did". His teacher last year nicknamed him "Ralph". Anyway, for Christmas this year, Skippy sent a pair of jeans, a button down and this sweet hoodie. Because they were too small, we exchanged them via mail. The new sizes came back with price tags on. The jeans? $150. Shirt was ridiculously expensive and I think the hoodie was at least $95. I about shit my pants. Now, because Skippy is a smart shopper, I'm sure these were all on sale. At least I HOPE they were. But still....expensive apparel for a young chap of ten. Jack saw the price tag on the jeans and said, "WOW! $150 jeans!" to which I said, "Jack, you might want to keep that under you hat lest people think that your parents are freakin' idiots". I'm not convinced he did because I sure do get some funny looks at school. Although that could be due to a variety of factors. So anyway, I'm looking for the hoodie in question. Me: "Jack, where's the Uncle Skippy hoodie?" Jack: "In my closet". Me: "No it's not". Jack: "Then it's at school". Great place for it. Dave goes in and looks in the lost and found (like it's going to last there) and checks in the classroom. Nope. El Losto. This pisses me off. He doesn't lose the cheesy t-shirt that makes me cringe......NOOOOOO. He loses the Ralph. Unbelievably chafing. Hopefully it's under a couch cushion and I can breathe easy again. Shit!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Since I'm writing letters today, here's one to the "Silver Sneakers" at my gym!
I think your sudden interest in reformer Pilates is awesome. It's really changed my body and increased my strength and flexibility tenfold. I cannot recommend it more highly. The fact that a group of you gather outside of our door, particularly while our asses are in the air or we're waving our legs around in straps is just a great show of support and enthusiasm! For some reason the day I wore those shorts that offered up a little too much information was of particular interest. Sorry our instructor had to shut the door. Anyway, guys, since most of you ARE OLD ENOUGH TO BE MY GRANDFATHER I think you should join us! It's an excellent pursuit for both the young and the young at heart. And that way you can get a closer look.
As I said to our Deep Thoughts readers yesterday, I really didn't need the $170 I spent yesterday at the vet. We didn't just have to pay property taxes on two houses on Friday or anything. Oh wait! Yes we did! And I really loved the fact that because I was so worried about your sorry ass that I missed my Pilates class, could not go for my walk AND basically got nothing done. All. Day. Long. And can I tell you how great it was that in spite of the expensive x-rays you underwent, the vet could not determine if you had ingested a foreign body so sent you home with prescription dog food AND antibiotics? Those were cheap! And Jack was worried about you at school. He really doesn't need to concentrate on his school work.......it's second nature to him. I'm sure you enjoyed the fact that the entire family was fawning all over you last night because you still seemed so punk. Well, I'm glad because you are not getting fawned over for awhile. At least not by me. When you POOPED OUT A CREW SOCK this morning, I ceased to have any modicum of sympathy for your ass, figuratively or literally. Grady, most readers will know that you normally throw UP your socks as a matter of course. This time, it made its way through your digestive tract! I imagine that must have been uncomfortable at best! No wonder you looked so green. Little bastard. And lest our newer readers place the blame squarely on my shoulders, we DO make a concerted effort to make sure no socks are left within your puppy clutches. Well, boy.....it seems that you are a bit of a "sock detective". I don't know where you're getting them from but you're getting them. Clearly. Perhaps we should hire you out as a Puppy Private Dick. Bottom line (no pun intended), that was one expensive snack. Thanks a bunch, Grades. Keep up the good work.
Monday, March 1, 2010
HELLO, Deep Thoughts readers! Things over at HQ are chugging along quite nicely. We've got 412 facebook fans, 53 official "followers" on blogger.com and have surpassed 21,000 page views since November. That last number in particular strikes me as kinda nuts. This whole "blogging" thing is new to me. It really is dependent upon readers to get the word out. These things grow based on the "multiplier effect". The more readers I have, the more people will tell others, who in turn will tell others. It's like that dorky ass commercial in the 70's. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgDxWNV4wWY "And they told two friends, and so on and so on......" I can keep cranking out the content but it's really important that I am able to encourage my readers to find OTHER readers. So, if you like Deep Thoughts, could you pretty please "follow" the blog, become a "fan" on the "Deep Thoughts From Mollie Christie" facebook "fan" page, share it, suggest it, tell those in your sphere of influence to check it out? That would be WAY cool of you. I LOVE writing about my silly life and I love that so many people are reading.......it's pretty awesome. So, it's in your hands. Go forth and preach the gospel, my people! I'll buy you all drinks when I start getting paid. Thanks, as always, to everybody who reads and who send me such nice emails......they make my day.
Well, I am now $170 lighter, thanks to my dog. And have I mentioned that my husband is a REAL ESTATE BROKER? Being a real estate broker these days is akin to be being on skid row. "Broker" being the operative word. As yes, we are WAY broker at this juncture owing to his profession. We had a meeting at school the other day and had to fill out some forms and we were asked if we WERE ON MEDICAID. "Um, while yes, it is true that Dave is in real estate, I don't think that things are so bad that we are now being insured by the same government program that allows for health care for HOBOS!!!!! Geez. Insult to injury? Anyway, as the day has progressed, Grady has been looking less and less like himself. Still not throwing up but won't eat, looks like he lost his best friend, won't even bother to jump on anyone or even bite them. So you KNOW something is very wrong. I take him to see our vet. I LOVE our vet. He's dreamy. I call him Dr. McDoggystyle. I normally don't have to pay so much for the pleasure, however. Seems Grady needed not one but TWO x-rays to determine if he had a foreign body lodged in his gullet. Dr. McD said, "you have NO idea how many socks I take out of Labs". Actually, I have an educated guess. I was personally wondering how many thongs he removes. From Labs. Mind out of gutter, Mollie.....I mean people. Anyway, the x-ray was inconclusive as not all foreign bodies show up on x-rays. So, relieved of my cash but with four cans of prescription food for doggies with indigestion and a prescription for antibiotics in case it's ghiardia, I have returned home. Grady is still ass-dragging around the house with a hang-dog expression. He's probably got some disease contracted from eating poop. Imagine that. I didn't need that $170. I never liked it anyway.
I was at the rec center for Jack's last basketball game of the year on Saturday and I had an epiphany about the "Mom Jeans" thing. I don't know if all of these women that wear these jeans necessarily are oblivious to the fact that they are not flattering. Sure, some are clueless and just have a penchant for the mundane. I am becoming increasingly convinced, however, that some have an actual agenda. I think they are making a statement. I think they wear those jeans (and drive those mini-vans) as a badge of honor. By relinquishing their sexuality they become martyrs to motherhood. "I love my children so much that I not only no longer have a life outside of them, I want the world to see that I have surrendered my femininity in the process. I do not WANT to be attractive because that would indicate that I have an interest in something outside of these children. Like myself". And I've seen them look at mother's that actually look like they give a shit about their appearance with disdain. Like, "Well, look at you, you brazen hussy......in the time it took you to put on that make-up, I extracted a bean from two noses and drove four carpools". Oh boy. I've extracted plenty of shit out of noses in my day. And driven carpools. I just happen to give a shit about how I look. And you know what? I've still got plenty of time for my child. I'm not giving up on me. What does that say to your child? "I will raise you and you will grow up to have children of your own wherein YOUR life will then cease to have any meaning outside of those children". That's a bunch of crap. I love my child more than life itself but being is his mom is not all of who I am. I am ALOT of other things. And that's the message I want to send him. I'm a pretty kick-ass mom, but I'm also a friend and a wife and a daughter and writer and a designer and a volunteer. And a trouble maker, apparently. Not one of those things takes away from the other but make me who I am. Channeling every thing you've got into your kids isn't really doing anybody any favors, ESPECIALLY not your kids. So while some mothers may wear their "Mom Jeans" as a message to the world, I've got my own message: "I'm Mollie Christie and I'm not JUST Jack's Mom". You'll excuse me now, please.....my thong is giving me an uncomfortable wedgie. Although that's an oxymoron if ever there was one.
NO, Grady is not recycling and driving a hybrid. We were all excited however, because we thought Grady had turned over a new leaf and was starting to learn how to behave himself with company. We had some friends over yesterday and they have a little girl who calls him "Gravy" and whom he simply loves to terrorize. Well, he was actually pretty chill. So chill that it was remarked upon. As it turns out, our excitement was for naught. He's SICK. And not as in, "Dude, that's SICK!" He was throwing up all night. At least once an hour. It's stopped this morning but he is looking pretty "green". Or a least as green as a black dog can appear. So far, no socks or hamsters have appeared along with the contents of his stomach. I actually wish they would because that usually makes him feel better. According to Jack, it's anybody's guess as to what he got into this time. Apparently he at some tortilla chips that fell to the floor, snatched a cookie out of the hands of a two-year old, consumed a stack of napkins, a music stand box, a Happy Meal toy and a shoe. Oh and a tiny bowling pin. And that's just what we witnessed and couldn't extract from his gnashing jaws. So really, it could be anything at this point in time. Old boot, license plate, human limb......the kind of stuff that comes out of sharks when they cut them open on docks. I'm going to keep a close eye on him and if doesn't start improving, it's off the vet for me and Baby Grades. Yipee. I love spending money because my dog likes to consume indigestible objects.