Kristin sent me a text.
Which isn't anything new. We text one another all the time. Now.
I say "now" like that because just a little over two years ago, Sister K was not about the texting.
We were in New York together for a week of Broadway shows, shopping, and literally cramming as much sight seeing into our week as humanly possible. And by humanly I mean, Super Wonder Woman powers were involved! We were out of the hotel by 7:45a everyday, and did not return until 11p or later each night. The only time we sat down was if one of us was trying on shoes OR we were watching a Broadway show!
I am Type A with a slight case of OCD: I like it how I like it (and I like it neat & tidy!) and I plan for how I like it.
Kristin is like that........only 100 times magnified:
We flew to New York in May.
She planned the entire trip in February.
We had an itinerary.
She had three drafts before it was "finalized".
Our itinerary had an accompanying map.
The map was so fkn big it was in three different sections and had to be pieced together on the floor of our hotel room!
Get my drift about "100 times magnified"?
I probably sound like I'm complaining, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I positively adore the fact that Kristin is more Type A than myself. Why? Because whenever I'm with her, I don't have to do a goddamn thing! I get a vacation within a vacation, and it's pure bliss for me. I literally just show up and wait for the good stuff to start happening.
But back to the texting. I text, therefore I am. Seriously. I cannot explain to you just how much I loathe talking on the phone. Always have. I was not one of those teens who would spend hours talking on the phone. I had a phone in my bedroom and I rarely used it. It became more of a knick knack than a tool for communication. My sister, on the other hand, she would spend days talking on the (goddamn) phone! This was back before cordless phones became all the rage, so we had a phone in the kitchen, as it was centrally located; and a phone upstairs in the tv room that separated our bedrooms. But the phone was never there. I would literally have to follow the (fkn) phone cord in order to find the actual phone. Holding onto the phone cord and following it like a Kindergartner following the rope that will lead her to the lunchroom, I would always be led to my sister's closet. Where I would find the phone, attached to Gina's ear; and find her sitting on the floor, amongst her piles of dirty clothes, talking about:
Noooooo way! He said that? Well what did she say? Nuh-uh! Wait....where's the party.......?
Get off the phone, Geeeeeeee-nuuuuuuuuh.
Yeah.... she'd say.
Two minutes. Get off the phone.
And I'd head downstairs to the kitchen to burn two minutes. I'd grab a glass, fill it with ice, grab a straw and toss it in the glass; scoot out to the fridge in the garage and grab an icy Coke. I'd come back to the kitchen, pour my Coke and then take the three steps required of me to get from the counter to the phone, and pick it up. Each time I hoped I'd hear nothing but a dial tone....and each time I was sorely disappointed.
She's so stupid........ I hate her. Nooooooooo, I hate her more. What are you doing this weekend?
Gina. GET. OFF. THE. PHONE.
Yeah....... heard ya the first time......
OFF. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
More stupid girl-y talk would ensue, which left me no choice. I would take the receiver of the phone and beat it into the phone base: BAM! BAM! BAM!
And the reply was always the same: I have to go.......my sister's such a bitch!
Indeed.
No talk-y on phone-y. Hate. It.
But texting, I'm all about it. So much so that Mark finally saw the light and switched our cell plan to unlimited texting because I kept going over the text limit. By like, 1,000 texts.
Oops!
So KB & I are in NY and I kept in touch with my family & friends back home via text. I'd send updates throughout our day because I wanted to share this amazing experience that I was sharing with Kristin, with everyone else. AND, random updates throughout the day meant less time on the phone at night when I called home to say goodnight to my kids. I'd check in with Mark, then both Monsters and boom! I'm off in under 10 minutes, while Kristin is over in the corner reliving her entire day and going on 20 minutes with a phone stuck to her ear.
After about three days of this, Kristin began warming to the idea of texting. I kept telling her- practice makes perfect. The more you text, the better you'll get! By the end of our trip, Sister was becoming a texting fool! And it opened a completely new door to our most favorite game in the world: Make Fun of Others While People Watching. We'd be standing in line and I'd spy The Target and give KB the look. And 3 seconds later I'd have a text that would say: the blonde, right? And we'd be off and running and totally cracking each other up and passing the time while standing in line.
(It's a great game, People. And for the record, it's always the blonde!)
Fast forward two years later and KB is the person I text the most with. Part of that is because she's in BoHo and I'm in Oregon. But it's also because we are so much alike, and often misunderstood, and texting is our way of having instant reality checks, or an instant answer to a question, or an instant comment on an opinion by someone who gets you.
Which (finally) brings us back to the text I received from Kristin:
Is it odd that I'm shopping at thrift stores while carrying my Dior purse?
followed immediately by:
BTW- I found a white, leather luvseat.....$50! (snarky, winking, smiley emoticon)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Coming Soon.....
The Snarky Brunette has had a full plate.
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Monday, January 18, 2010
Quit While You're Ahead
People, I have nothing to report.
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
Friday, January 15, 2010
Owning Your Shame
Wanna know what's fun?
Meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks after work.
Wanna know what's not fun?
Being hung over the morning after meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks!
Or, in this instance, just drinks.
Lots and lots of them!
And when I have lots and lots of them, I will inevitably decide it's a good idea to have a smoke. Or six. Upon reflection, each and every time, I always find it un-fkn-believable that I actually came to the conclusion that smoking would, indeed, be a good idea. Because, in the light of day......the BRIGHT light of day (Seriously......is it really this bright every day?!), the idea is clearly not a good one. And here's just a few reasons why.
The Smoker's Hang:
1. The smell. In your hair, on your clothes, in your skin; specifically, your hands. It's like you washed your hands in the ash tray! And no matter how many times you wash your hands thereafter, that sickly, stale smell of old cigarette ain't coming off. And it will continue to haunt you for the next 24 hours!
2. The taste. Blech! Apparently I wasn't so plowed that I threw all caution to the wind, because I distinctly remember being asked if I wanted another smoke and my reply was: "Jesus, NO! This one will ruin me I'm sure......." Indeed.
I've brushed my teeth five times already and I can still taste the smoke. I actually drank some Scope, straight out the bottle, hoping the mouthwash would, upon direct contact with my throat, burn the layer of smoke that I can still feel lingering back there! No luck, by the way....although I'm willing to wager that when I belch the Scope, it's gonna be minty fresh!
3. The charred lungs. See, as a Sober Brunette, the thought to have a smoke would never cross my mind. I find it positively disgusting. But more importantly (and here's where the whole un-fkn-believable revelation comes in to play), it is physically impossible for me to inhale the smoke into my lungs. But as a Plowed Brunette, not only will it be my idea to have a smoke, but once I actually get a cigarette and get it lit, I will smoke that cancer stick like a crack whore smokin' her pipe! I'll inhale deeply and keep running my loud mouth all at the same time. I've even been known to stamp out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe......Classy.
Until the next morning. If the smell of my hair or the stank of my skin doesn't jog what few brain cells I have left awake, my first breath will. One word: Painful. I swear I can actually feel my lungs crackle with every breath, breaking free of the smoke cocoon that has just recently settled upon them. Marlboro Light, my ass. Light my lungs on fire is more like it!
4. The headache. It's a dull pain, right behind my eyes.....like a fog. Or, in this case, a smoke. It's akin to a sinus headache, only your sinuses are not affected. Just the pressure and sometimes a rhythmic throbbing. Like Indian drums. But without the chanting. Everything is hazy and must be done at a slower pace.
(And could you please stop talking so loud? And what's with the stadium lighting in this house? Is every bulb, like, a zillion watts? Jesus......)
(Editor's Note: I know what you're thinking........but this Hang is not due to the lots and lots of drinks. That Hang is a hangover of a completely different breed. A Drunkard's Hang, for me, always involves a headache. But it's also accompanied by its friends: Ralph, Wretch & finally, Dry Heave. My last encounter with the Drunkard's Hang was over a year and a half ago. My 20th High School Reunion to be exact. I'm pretty sure everyone gets a pass when a High School reunion is involved, but on the off chance this isn't the rule, I will fall back to: I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle. I blame the asshole who introduced me to Purple Hooters and the idiot bartender who clearly had no business serving my (drunk) ass in the first place! That Hang was so shameful, it literally scarred me for life....or what's left of it! I now avoid any drink with Chambord in it (Chambord puts the purple in Purple Hooter!) and if I see a cocktail on the menu with any combination of "hooter" or "nipple" in its title, I walk away!)
So, what have we learned from this shameful exercise in owning my Hang? Well, off the top of my head (and through my thick layer of smoke induced haze!), I'd say this:
Sober Brunette knows better; Plowed Brunette knows nothing.
{Post Script~ Is it too late to add the following to my list of what I'd like to do in the New Year: Can I please fkn grow up and learn this goddamn lesson, already?}
Meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks after work.
Wanna know what's not fun?
Being hung over the morning after meeting your Girlfriends for dinner and drinks!
Or, in this instance, just drinks.
Lots and lots of them!
And when I have lots and lots of them, I will inevitably decide it's a good idea to have a smoke. Or six. Upon reflection, each and every time, I always find it un-fkn-believable that I actually came to the conclusion that smoking would, indeed, be a good idea. Because, in the light of day......the BRIGHT light of day (Seriously......is it really this bright every day?!), the idea is clearly not a good one. And here's just a few reasons why.
The Smoker's Hang:
1. The smell. In your hair, on your clothes, in your skin; specifically, your hands. It's like you washed your hands in the ash tray! And no matter how many times you wash your hands thereafter, that sickly, stale smell of old cigarette ain't coming off. And it will continue to haunt you for the next 24 hours!
2. The taste. Blech! Apparently I wasn't so plowed that I threw all caution to the wind, because I distinctly remember being asked if I wanted another smoke and my reply was: "Jesus, NO! This one will ruin me I'm sure......." Indeed.
I've brushed my teeth five times already and I can still taste the smoke. I actually drank some Scope, straight out the bottle, hoping the mouthwash would, upon direct contact with my throat, burn the layer of smoke that I can still feel lingering back there! No luck, by the way....although I'm willing to wager that when I belch the Scope, it's gonna be minty fresh!
3. The charred lungs. See, as a Sober Brunette, the thought to have a smoke would never cross my mind. I find it positively disgusting. But more importantly (and here's where the whole un-fkn-believable revelation comes in to play), it is physically impossible for me to inhale the smoke into my lungs. But as a Plowed Brunette, not only will it be my idea to have a smoke, but once I actually get a cigarette and get it lit, I will smoke that cancer stick like a crack whore smokin' her pipe! I'll inhale deeply and keep running my loud mouth all at the same time. I've even been known to stamp out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe......Classy.
Until the next morning. If the smell of my hair or the stank of my skin doesn't jog what few brain cells I have left awake, my first breath will. One word: Painful. I swear I can actually feel my lungs crackle with every breath, breaking free of the smoke cocoon that has just recently settled upon them. Marlboro Light, my ass. Light my lungs on fire is more like it!
4. The headache. It's a dull pain, right behind my eyes.....like a fog. Or, in this case, a smoke. It's akin to a sinus headache, only your sinuses are not affected. Just the pressure and sometimes a rhythmic throbbing. Like Indian drums. But without the chanting. Everything is hazy and must be done at a slower pace.
(And could you please stop talking so loud? And what's with the stadium lighting in this house? Is every bulb, like, a zillion watts? Jesus......)
(Editor's Note: I know what you're thinking........but this Hang is not due to the lots and lots of drinks. That Hang is a hangover of a completely different breed. A Drunkard's Hang, for me, always involves a headache. But it's also accompanied by its friends: Ralph, Wretch & finally, Dry Heave. My last encounter with the Drunkard's Hang was over a year and a half ago. My 20th High School Reunion to be exact. I'm pretty sure everyone gets a pass when a High School reunion is involved, but on the off chance this isn't the rule, I will fall back to: I take absolutely no responsibility for this debacle. I blame the asshole who introduced me to Purple Hooters and the idiot bartender who clearly had no business serving my (drunk) ass in the first place! That Hang was so shameful, it literally scarred me for life....or what's left of it! I now avoid any drink with Chambord in it (Chambord puts the purple in Purple Hooter!) and if I see a cocktail on the menu with any combination of "hooter" or "nipple" in its title, I walk away!)
So, what have we learned from this shameful exercise in owning my Hang? Well, off the top of my head (and through my thick layer of smoke induced haze!), I'd say this:
Sober Brunette knows better; Plowed Brunette knows nothing.
{Post Script~ Is it too late to add the following to my list of what I'd like to do in the New Year: Can I please fkn grow up and learn this goddamn lesson, already?}
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Consulting the Playbook
I'm getting alot of requests for daily entries to my blog. It's a bit overwhelming considering I'm new at this. Certainly, I love the attention (Geminis......we love the spotlight!), but the pressure to be "on" is a skoosh daunting. As a narcissist, I recognize my talent for witty repartee. Seriously, I am my own best audience! But I'm also fond of self -deprecation; I'm almost completely incapable of accepting a compliment, and I am my own worst critic.
OMG. Does that make me an oxy-moron?
I'm going to take a knee to consider this revelation and its profound possibility, so I'll leave you with this:
I just poured my third cocktail.
I figured it was the perfect chaser to the handful of Midol I just swallowed.
Booze and drugs. Alone, they are good. Together......well.......there couldn't be a better marriage!
What was I saying yesterday about not needing a 12 Step Program......?
OMG. Does that make me an oxy-moron?
I'm going to take a knee to consider this revelation and its profound possibility, so I'll leave you with this:
I just poured my third cocktail.
I figured it was the perfect chaser to the handful of Midol I just swallowed.
Booze and drugs. Alone, they are good. Together......well.......there couldn't be a better marriage!
What was I saying yesterday about not needing a 12 Step Program......?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Have a Drink on Me.
You know that song about having a bad day? Daniel something sang it a few years back.....
Ellen DeGeneres loved it.
American Idol would play it every time a contestant got voted off and we'd have to watch a video montage of said Loser as the end credits would roll......something about "sing a sad song just to turn it around......"
Really? Sing a sad song to turn it around? Wouldn't that just make you more sad?
Take for instance the song "Mandy". A Barry Manilow classic. Mandy came and she gave without taking.....and he sent her away....Oh, Mandy. The poor bastard is sad because he falls into the category of yet another man tossing a good woman aside....and now he's gonna cry about it. After the fact. Dumb Ass.
But I digress.
I'm pretty sure if you were the Dumb Ass, and you were sad....."Mandy" is not the song you'd be singing....... to, you know.... turn it around! I'm pretty sure you'd be singing "Low" (aka: Apple Bottom Jeans) by Flo Rida. Or, "Girls, Girls, Girls" by Motley Crue.
So what's my point? I've got two.
1. While I didn't have a bad day, I certainly had a rough day. And at no point in my day did I ever feel compelled to burst into song, let alone a sad song. Which brings me to,
2. Daniel Whatshisname can pound sand!
I'll spare you the details of my rough day. Just take me at my word when I say it was long and demanding; required much babysitting on my part of grown adults and frankly, for all the times I walked back and forth and back and forth, my ass should be a lot thinner! As I was leaving work one of my friends called to check on me and the inevitable "How was your day" query was posed. I said something to the effect of "it was rough" and that I "seriously needed a cocktail!" Which prompted said friend to say: So have one.
Um, D-U-H!
But then I started lamenting my whole begging of the Lord to lose 15 pounds....and I had gone 4 days without a cocktail.......and while I certainly don't need a 12 Step Program (yet!) , I could probably channel my nightly routine away from the vodka and towards a SmartWater instead (Say, how cute is the little fish that looks like it's floating on the inside of the water bottle? Way cute would be the answer!).
Naturally, I did all my lamenting aloud which prompted my friend to ask: So....do you want a drink?
Yes., I replied.
Will it be worth it?
Oh. Snap! I just got the Jenny Craig equivalent of Checking Yourself; only instead of food, it's booze. As a former Jenny Girl myself, this bit of reverse psychology is akin to the gauntlet being thrown. And one of my Gemini flaws is always being up for a challenge (even if I know I can't win.....because, Hello? Gemini 101- we love to argue!), so I consider the question posed and begin to weigh my day: the pros and cons against the challenge. It is just one more day. And one of Jenny's mantras (she's got a million of them, by the way!) just happens to be Take It One Day at a Time........and I do hate to lose. And I am so very competitive........but, really. It just boils down to my friend being right.
Fk. I hate it when that happens!
A few seconds tick by as I process all this and I finally answer (much like Jon Heder's character Napoleon Dynamite): Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-wah!
Yeah, Me! Going for Day 5. "Checking Myself". Score one for Jenny!
We end our call and I shut down my computer. I still have another office to shut down, so I grab my keys, decide to come back to my office for my personal effects and walk out the door feeling Oh- So -Smug for making the better choice.
And the minute I hear my door shut behind me, I realize I have grabbed my car keys, not my office keys, and I am now locked out. And not just locked out of my office, but the entire goddamn building! It took me 10 minutes and an entire flight of stairs (3 stories!) to find a janitor who could let me into my office. By the time I exited the building and got to my car, my resolve was strong.
I whipped out my cell and texted my friend: I am soooooooooooooooooooo having a cocktail!
Ellen DeGeneres loved it.
American Idol would play it every time a contestant got voted off and we'd have to watch a video montage of said Loser as the end credits would roll......something about "sing a sad song just to turn it around......"
Really? Sing a sad song to turn it around? Wouldn't that just make you more sad?
Take for instance the song "Mandy". A Barry Manilow classic. Mandy came and she gave without taking.....and he sent her away....Oh, Mandy. The poor bastard is sad because he falls into the category of yet another man tossing a good woman aside....and now he's gonna cry about it. After the fact. Dumb Ass.
But I digress.
I'm pretty sure if you were the Dumb Ass, and you were sad....."Mandy" is not the song you'd be singing....... to, you know.... turn it around! I'm pretty sure you'd be singing "Low" (aka: Apple Bottom Jeans) by Flo Rida. Or, "Girls, Girls, Girls" by Motley Crue.
So what's my point? I've got two.
1. While I didn't have a bad day, I certainly had a rough day. And at no point in my day did I ever feel compelled to burst into song, let alone a sad song. Which brings me to,
2. Daniel Whatshisname can pound sand!
I'll spare you the details of my rough day. Just take me at my word when I say it was long and demanding; required much babysitting on my part of grown adults and frankly, for all the times I walked back and forth and back and forth, my ass should be a lot thinner! As I was leaving work one of my friends called to check on me and the inevitable "How was your day" query was posed. I said something to the effect of "it was rough" and that I "seriously needed a cocktail!" Which prompted said friend to say: So have one.
Um, D-U-H!
But then I started lamenting my whole begging of the Lord to lose 15 pounds....and I had gone 4 days without a cocktail.......and while I certainly don't need a 12 Step Program (yet!) , I could probably channel my nightly routine away from the vodka and towards a SmartWater instead (Say, how cute is the little fish that looks like it's floating on the inside of the water bottle? Way cute would be the answer!).
Naturally, I did all my lamenting aloud which prompted my friend to ask: So....do you want a drink?
Yes., I replied.
Will it be worth it?
Oh. Snap! I just got the Jenny Craig equivalent of Checking Yourself; only instead of food, it's booze. As a former Jenny Girl myself, this bit of reverse psychology is akin to the gauntlet being thrown. And one of my Gemini flaws is always being up for a challenge (even if I know I can't win.....because, Hello? Gemini 101- we love to argue!), so I consider the question posed and begin to weigh my day: the pros and cons against the challenge. It is just one more day. And one of Jenny's mantras (she's got a million of them, by the way!) just happens to be Take It One Day at a Time........and I do hate to lose. And I am so very competitive........but, really. It just boils down to my friend being right.
Fk. I hate it when that happens!
A few seconds tick by as I process all this and I finally answer (much like Jon Heder's character Napoleon Dynamite): Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-wah!
Yeah, Me! Going for Day 5. "Checking Myself". Score one for Jenny!
We end our call and I shut down my computer. I still have another office to shut down, so I grab my keys, decide to come back to my office for my personal effects and walk out the door feeling Oh- So -Smug for making the better choice.
And the minute I hear my door shut behind me, I realize I have grabbed my car keys, not my office keys, and I am now locked out. And not just locked out of my office, but the entire goddamn building! It took me 10 minutes and an entire flight of stairs (3 stories!) to find a janitor who could let me into my office. By the time I exited the building and got to my car, my resolve was strong.
I whipped out my cell and texted my friend: I am soooooooooooooooooooo having a cocktail!
Friday, January 8, 2010
G-L-O-R-I-A!
My mother emailed me and said she was going to look at a loveseat that her friend wanted her to have. Did I think that a white, leather loveseat would work in her living area better than the sofa she's got....?
Wow. Where to begin?
First, let me tell you that this friend is one of my mother's dearest friends and this offer is coming from her heart. Second, let me tell you that she is clearing out her father's home as he is being moved to a care facility. That's sad. Third, let me tell you that I know that every furnishing in this home is circa late 70's to 80's. Again with the sadness.........
So. Now that you know this, care to wager what the Snarky Brunette's response to her mother was?
If you were anywhere in the vicinity of: "Oooooooh, tough call. I'd need to see it, Mother, to really give you perspective, but my gut is saying white, leather loveseat circa 1980 screams left-over Disco Shame.", you may award yourself 100 snarky points!
My mother's reply: You're probably right......would you like it?
Oy.
Wow. Where to begin?
First, let me tell you that this friend is one of my mother's dearest friends and this offer is coming from her heart. Second, let me tell you that she is clearing out her father's home as he is being moved to a care facility. That's sad. Third, let me tell you that I know that every furnishing in this home is circa late 70's to 80's. Again with the sadness.........
So. Now that you know this, care to wager what the Snarky Brunette's response to her mother was?
If you were anywhere in the vicinity of: "Oooooooh, tough call. I'd need to see it, Mother, to really give you perspective, but my gut is saying white, leather loveseat circa 1980 screams left-over Disco Shame.", you may award yourself 100 snarky points!
My mother's reply: You're probably right......would you like it?
Oy.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Sally Field
I might have screamed just a skoosh.
And I might have said aloud: OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD!!!
(FINE! I yelled: Holy shit!)
And I might have had a wee tear of joy.
And then I totally did that dance. You know, the one that Katherine Heigl does in The Ugly Truth where she jumps up and down and bobs her head from side to side. Yeah, that was me.
So why all the fuss?
A perfect stranger.
Today I received my first comment from someone I don't know. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! In a word, it was exhilarating. First, because the comment was a glowing review of my writing thus far but more importantly- I'm reaching others. The Snarky Brunette is out there. And you know what they say about out there.......once it's out there, you can't take it back!
My profile says I've had approximately 53 hits, but in the back of my mind I couldn't quite shake the thought that maybe the seven people I've shared my blog with weren't just clicking on my profile to fk with me! Of course, now that I've said that, it has occurred to me that could still be true........but Hello? That still means I've got 7 known followers PLUS ONE.
And she likes me!
And that got me to thinking: what is it about wanting people to like you? This need for acceptance. I would not say it's a driving force for me, because really.....when you're as snarky as I am you simply have to accept that not everyone will like you. And for the most part, I'm fine with that. To the outside world, I project a hard shell and only if you truly know me; if I've let you in, do you come to understand that I have a soft, chewy center. So, for the most part, if someone doesn't like me, it rarely phases me.
Ok, that's a complete line of bullshit. It totally phases me! I usually end up having long conversations with myself that begin: Why, Self? Why? Which is why I was so hesitant in actually creating this blog. What if out there didn't like me? I wasn't sure I could take that much rejection. So I turned to the driving force behind the "Start Your Own Goddamn Blog" campaign: Kristin. I confessed my fear(s) of rejection and after telling me to put my big girl panties on and blog, she left me with this final pearl of wisdom:
If people don't get you, that's a strong indication that WE wouldn't like them anyway.......so, you know...... fk 'em!
Once I got over the initial shock of KB tossin' out the f-bomb, I accepted that she was right, and The Snarky Brunette was born. Or rather, created. And put out there.
Will out there turn out to be mass consumption? Can the Universe handle The Snarky Brunette? Clearly, this remains to be seen. But I've got the Original 7 and a Plus One.........so shout it from the rooftops, People! Plug me shamelessly. Tell a friend, to tell a friend, to tell a friend:
I am here. I am snarky. And I am ready to be heard! And while I still have a few concerns with out there and its acceptance of me,
I am just plain ready.
And I might have said aloud: OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD!!!
(FINE! I yelled: Holy shit!)
And I might have had a wee tear of joy.
And then I totally did that dance. You know, the one that Katherine Heigl does in The Ugly Truth where she jumps up and down and bobs her head from side to side. Yeah, that was me.
So why all the fuss?
A perfect stranger.
Today I received my first comment from someone I don't know. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! In a word, it was exhilarating. First, because the comment was a glowing review of my writing thus far but more importantly- I'm reaching others. The Snarky Brunette is out there. And you know what they say about out there.......once it's out there, you can't take it back!
My profile says I've had approximately 53 hits, but in the back of my mind I couldn't quite shake the thought that maybe the seven people I've shared my blog with weren't just clicking on my profile to fk with me! Of course, now that I've said that, it has occurred to me that could still be true........but Hello? That still means I've got 7 known followers PLUS ONE.
And she likes me!
And that got me to thinking: what is it about wanting people to like you? This need for acceptance. I would not say it's a driving force for me, because really.....when you're as snarky as I am you simply have to accept that not everyone will like you. And for the most part, I'm fine with that. To the outside world, I project a hard shell and only if you truly know me; if I've let you in, do you come to understand that I have a soft, chewy center. So, for the most part, if someone doesn't like me, it rarely phases me.
Ok, that's a complete line of bullshit. It totally phases me! I usually end up having long conversations with myself that begin: Why, Self? Why? Which is why I was so hesitant in actually creating this blog. What if out there didn't like me? I wasn't sure I could take that much rejection. So I turned to the driving force behind the "Start Your Own Goddamn Blog" campaign: Kristin. I confessed my fear(s) of rejection and after telling me to put my big girl panties on and blog, she left me with this final pearl of wisdom:
If people don't get you, that's a strong indication that WE wouldn't like them anyway.......so, you know...... fk 'em!
Once I got over the initial shock of KB tossin' out the f-bomb, I accepted that she was right, and The Snarky Brunette was born. Or rather, created. And put out there.
Will out there turn out to be mass consumption? Can the Universe handle The Snarky Brunette? Clearly, this remains to be seen. But I've got the Original 7 and a Plus One.........so shout it from the rooftops, People! Plug me shamelessly. Tell a friend, to tell a friend, to tell a friend:
I am here. I am snarky. And I am ready to be heard! And while I still have a few concerns with out there and its acceptance of me,
I am just plain ready.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Strap in for safety
Trying on bras is the worst punishment for over-eating EVER! To sum up, in one word, the experience is shameful.
The good news is: I have a new bra.
The bad news is: nothing says "Your fat ass is in need of a workout" like standing in front of a full lenth mirror, doubled over whilst trying to cram your melons into a cup size you know you wore the last time you had to buy a bra!
And for us, um.......well-endowed ladies, the bra buying experience sucks two fold. The above paragraph explains the first reason, but if you're that dense, focus on the cramming of melons! The second reason being that bras for the well-endowed are.....well, FUGLY. Anything over a D cup and you're suddenly shopping for old lady bras at Granny's R Us! Utilitarian contraptions that turn your rounded melons into parking cones, with your choice of color being limited to white or black. Anything for a well-endowed in a zebra or cheetah print, or a pastel, is unheard of. Hell, you feel as if you've won the lottery if you can find a big girl bra in the color nude!
Now for all you Victoria's Secret advocators (read: Bitches), yes. I am aware they now serve the DD cup community. I am also aware that their DD's come in a variety of colors, textures and styles. They are lovely. IF your ass is 5'10" and you resemble Miranda Kerr. If, on the other hand, you are only 5'4" and carry most of your weight in your boobs, these bras are useless. Basic flaw- that cute, little strap designed to hold perky boobies fails miserably when melons are involved. I don't know about the majority of well-endowed ladies, but this Snarky Brunette likes to be able to walk down the street and not knock herself out with her own teets!
So. Where does that leave us? Well, it left me in the "Undergarment" section of Macy's. Armed with my 4 choices (2 different styles; 4 different sizes. Be prepared. That's my motto.....), I headed to the fitting room pleased with myself for trying not one but TWO different styles (I hate change. Sue me.). First one secured, twist around to the back, flip it up. Oh, that strap is so not going up onto my shoulder.....NEXT! Second one secured, twist around to the back, flip it up; first strap up, then second.......bend over and STUFF! Hmmmmmmm...... nice shape.....but do the melons seem a bit......oh I don't know........wall-eyed? Perhaps another style is in order? Third one secured, twist around to the back....blah blah blah, bend over and STUFF!
WOW. Aside from the obvious 15 pounds that is currently hanging off all sides of the bra like little alien cling-ons (look away........look away!), the melons are looking good! Houston, we have lift off! Check myself from the side- no parking cones. Check myself from the front, again: even positioning, no boobie spillage over the top. I think I have a winner.
The final challenge is putting my shirt on over the bra- we are looking for curvature without any trace of the actual bra itself. When you're well-endowed, and have been your entire life, you tend to spend said life not drawing attention to your well-endowed-ness. I think I speak for all intelligent, well-endowed ladies when I say: bras with little embellishments and swirly designs that are conveniently located over your nipple are best left to those girls who carry nothing more than a child-sized, ice cream scoop on their torso!
Where was I?
Oh yes, the shirt test. The shirt goes on; smoothed down...... and Hello, Dolly! I consider for a brief moment that I do not like the tiny, embroided floral embellishemt that divides the two cups, but then I hear Tk's voice in my head, goading me at the top of her lungs: DO IT, DO IT, DO IT! Step outta yer box......change can be good! And then I hear Lynda's voice: Sister, please......buy the fk'n bra already and get me out of this goddamn store! And then I hear KB: Be Brave.....right, Sweet Pea?
Which brings us full circle.
The good news is: I have a new bra. In a new style, with a tiny embellishment. The melons are up and I'm pretty sure this bra is yanking my posture back into the upright position!
The bad news is: I so wasn't kidding when I proclaimed in my New Year's reflection:
PLEASE GOD, LET ME LOSE 15 POUNDS!
The good news is: I have a new bra.
The bad news is: nothing says "Your fat ass is in need of a workout" like standing in front of a full lenth mirror, doubled over whilst trying to cram your melons into a cup size you know you wore the last time you had to buy a bra!
And for us, um.......well-endowed ladies, the bra buying experience sucks two fold. The above paragraph explains the first reason, but if you're that dense, focus on the cramming of melons! The second reason being that bras for the well-endowed are.....well, FUGLY. Anything over a D cup and you're suddenly shopping for old lady bras at Granny's R Us! Utilitarian contraptions that turn your rounded melons into parking cones, with your choice of color being limited to white or black. Anything for a well-endowed in a zebra or cheetah print, or a pastel, is unheard of. Hell, you feel as if you've won the lottery if you can find a big girl bra in the color nude!
Now for all you Victoria's Secret advocators (read: Bitches), yes. I am aware they now serve the DD cup community. I am also aware that their DD's come in a variety of colors, textures and styles. They are lovely. IF your ass is 5'10" and you resemble Miranda Kerr. If, on the other hand, you are only 5'4" and carry most of your weight in your boobs, these bras are useless. Basic flaw- that cute, little strap designed to hold perky boobies fails miserably when melons are involved. I don't know about the majority of well-endowed ladies, but this Snarky Brunette likes to be able to walk down the street and not knock herself out with her own teets!
So. Where does that leave us? Well, it left me in the "Undergarment" section of Macy's. Armed with my 4 choices (2 different styles; 4 different sizes. Be prepared. That's my motto.....), I headed to the fitting room pleased with myself for trying not one but TWO different styles (I hate change. Sue me.). First one secured, twist around to the back, flip it up. Oh, that strap is so not going up onto my shoulder.....NEXT! Second one secured, twist around to the back, flip it up; first strap up, then second.......bend over and STUFF! Hmmmmmmm...... nice shape.....but do the melons seem a bit......oh I don't know........wall-eyed? Perhaps another style is in order? Third one secured, twist around to the back....blah blah blah, bend over and STUFF!
WOW. Aside from the obvious 15 pounds that is currently hanging off all sides of the bra like little alien cling-ons (look away........look away!), the melons are looking good! Houston, we have lift off! Check myself from the side- no parking cones. Check myself from the front, again: even positioning, no boobie spillage over the top. I think I have a winner.
The final challenge is putting my shirt on over the bra- we are looking for curvature without any trace of the actual bra itself. When you're well-endowed, and have been your entire life, you tend to spend said life not drawing attention to your well-endowed-ness. I think I speak for all intelligent, well-endowed ladies when I say: bras with little embellishments and swirly designs that are conveniently located over your nipple are best left to those girls who carry nothing more than a child-sized, ice cream scoop on their torso!
Where was I?
Oh yes, the shirt test. The shirt goes on; smoothed down...... and Hello, Dolly! I consider for a brief moment that I do not like the tiny, embroided floral embellishemt that divides the two cups, but then I hear Tk's voice in my head, goading me at the top of her lungs: DO IT, DO IT, DO IT! Step outta yer box......change can be good! And then I hear Lynda's voice: Sister, please......buy the fk'n bra already and get me out of this goddamn store! And then I hear KB: Be Brave.....right, Sweet Pea?
Which brings us full circle.
The good news is: I have a new bra. In a new style, with a tiny embellishment. The melons are up and I'm pretty sure this bra is yanking my posture back into the upright position!
The bad news is: I so wasn't kidding when I proclaimed in my New Year's reflection:
PLEASE GOD, LET ME LOSE 15 POUNDS!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Smoochies
I've just returned from Jack's birthday party. My nephew is THREE. He greeted everyone but me. When his mother grabbed him and whispered into his ear: "What do you say to Auntie M?", he carefully thought about his answer, looked right me and said matter of factly: "Thank you."
Um......No.
More whispering in his ear; more careful thinking on Jack's part; and more looking right at me while absolutely not saying a word to me. His mother, in the motherly voice I know so well (cuz I might have perfected the whole prompt your child through gritted teeth with a smile plastered on your face look!) says: "Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack........."
"Welcomed to my pardy!", he shouts and then squirms from his mother's grip, running off to join his kids. I knew right then and there it was gonna be a long "pardy" and cursed myself for not bringing my stash of Tic Tacs!
I received a smidgen of attention from Jack when I took interest in his cupcakes. Each cupcake was topped with green frosting and green coconut shavings to look like grass; peanut M&M's and a tiny dinosaur (Yes. My sister made them from scratch; Yes. She is that creative; And, YES. It really is that annoying!).
"Doze are my cupcakes....", Jack decrees.
"I love them, Jack! What are these right here?", I ask while pointing to the M&M's.
"Doze are the dina-sores egths! Doze are mine too.", Jack replies as he points to each and every M&M on each and every cupcake.
Did I mention Jack is three.....?
His birthday party was held in a pizza parlor located in The Sham. There was a good mix of Little People and adults, and the kids could play in the small arcade that was clearly visible from where we were all sitting. Each and every child spent the majority of the party begging for quarters like street urchins from every adult in attendance, regardless of whether the urchin belonged to that adult or not! Jack was positively smitten with the machine that had the big scoop. See, you spun it around and then it dropped into a pile of cheap ass toys, er.....I mean, really cool, age appropriate toys. The scoop would then pick up a big lot of toys and right before it deposited said toys into the germ infested receptacle, every freakin toy would fall out but ONE. This was completely lost on the three old, but don't think the 43 year old (Uncle Mark) didn't feel gypped every time! In a span of 20minutes, Jack had come to our table to show us his prizes which consisted of 5 super balls, 3 plastic parachute men, a key chain with a rubber flip-flop dangling from it, a tiny, plastic car (perfect for a toddler to choke on)and the prize of all prizes: a green and red striped lollipop!
Running as fast as his little legs could carry him, he zipped to the table holding up the lollipop- as if carrying the Olympic torch- and yelled to all of us: "Hey Guys! Look at my suckeR!" Many oohs and aahs were exchanged as Jack went down the table showing us all his sucker. When he reached his mother, instead of oohs and aahs, he was greeted with: "Wow, that is so neat....but we're not going to eat that right now........or you're gonna be on a sugar high for days!", that last quip said under her breath.
"But I want dat suckeR!", Jack says.
"No, we're going to save it, " his mom replies.
"BUT I WANT DAT SUCKER!", Jack yells.
"I know you do, but we're going to save it.......because we'll be having cupcakes soon".
As you can imagine, this sound reasoning is completely lost on Jack and he bursts into tears, all the while wailing that he wants DAT SUCKER!
Now, when it comes to my Sister, she's always been lucky enough to experience TWO sides of my stellar personality. Not only does she know me as The Snarky Brunette, but she's spent her entire life listening to the many pearls of wisdom I like to spout forth, all in the name of Older, Condescending Sister . And believe me when I tell you- there have been some gems. Keep this in mind, and then couple it with the fact that my nephew is, at this very moment, whipping himself into a frenzy over a sucker while my Sister is trying to a limit her three year old's sugar intake. Older, Condescending Sister gets BIG POINTS for keeping the following to herself:
"Give the kid the goddamn sucker! It's his birthday, for Christ sake!"
But as if on cue, Uncle Mark leans over and whispers into my ear: "If she wants happy birthday pictures, she better give him the sucker." And I smile knowingly (read: smugly) and reply in a whisper back to him: "That's what I'm not sayin'!"
I'm going to assume this thought has now occurred to Gina because at that very moment, when all "Good Mom Reasoning" had clearly failed, she sees Jack for what he's spiraled into: a deflated birthday boy with streaks of tears now visible on his red face; his mouth turned down into a dejected frown, mumbling over and over: IwantdatsuckeR.......butIwantdatsuckeR......IwantdatsuckeR........"
With a defeated sigh my sister caves: "Alright. Here's the sucker.......but should we open some presents?" And Jack says, without missing a beat and stuffing the sucker into his now smiling mouth: "Oh yeah we should!"
Everyone gathers around Jack, who is standing on a chair at the head of the table, holding his sucker in his right hand and licking it. One lick at a time. Now the presents in the gift bags are fairly easy for him to open and keep a firm grip on the sucker, but when Gina hands him the wrapped presents, his whole face reads quandary:
If I wanna open dis present, ine gonna haf to put down dis suckeR cuz I need bof hans to open dis present.
A few seconds tick by......his massive head cocked to the side, he takes one final lick of his sucker, turns to his mom and asks: "You hole dis for me?" Gina gingerly takes the sucker from Jack's hand and as he begins to rip open the present, she waggles the sucker at me as if saying: Here! Take this and hide it! Stealth like, I casually lean over and the contraband is secured and swiftly deposited on a plate well out of Jack's sight. He gets through the first wrapped present and as Gina hands him another, he asks: "Where'd dat suckeR go?" Gina ignores him and re-focuses him on the present at hand. Jack is engaged for about 5minutes, playing with his new dump truck, when out of the side of his mouth he muses: "Wonderin' 'bout dat suckeR...."
This continues throughout the entire present opening process- Jack musing about his sucker and where it got off to; all the while Auntie M is dissolving into a fit of giggles over the fact that her nephew likes his 50 cent (and most likely stale) sucker more than the bevy of birthday loot splayed out before him! When all the presents were opened, Gina exclaimed to Jack that his presents were "so cool" and asked him what he'd like to say to everyone. The little man turned to us all and yelled: "Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!.........where's my suckeR? "
I'll spare you the details of the three old eating his dinosaur cupcake; the mountains of green frosting ending up all over his face and shirt and hands. I'll spare you the details of my nephew's sugar HIGH, so great that the little man ran circles around the tables, his plastic parachute man waving behind him as he screamed "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I'll spare you the details of Jack deciding he was finally ready for some real food; sitting at the table, picking the pineapple off his pizza one by one and mumbling: "peetha, peetha, peetha......... peetha!" over and over and in between bites!
As we were all leaving, I made my way over to my favorite midget and, upon seeing me coming his way, he screamed with delight. And then turned and ran the other way! I caught up to him in three steps, scooped him up and flipped him around so he was now facing me. Holding him above my head, his little face just inches from mine, he squealed with delight and cupped my face with his tiny hands. I could feel my heart swell with love as I said: "Auntie M loves you......now give me some smoochies before I go." I positioned Jack so that he was straddling my hips; still face to face with his hands now around my neck, he leaned in and said: "What aRe deese smoocheeeez?"
I giggled and said, "You know smoochies!"
"Ine don't know deese smoocheeeez....", his face scrunched in disbelief. I tell him to pucker up his lips, and show him what I mean by doing it myself. Jack puckers his mouth, giggling because he knows what's coming. But when I lean forward with my puckered lips, I give him a big, fat RASPBERRY! He yells: "Dose smoocheeeezies aRe gross!", then squeals with delight and begins to squirm as I then plant smoochies all over his face.
As I set him down and we begin to walk towards the others to leave, he turns to me and says: "Whoze got da peetha? "
Um......No.
More whispering in his ear; more careful thinking on Jack's part; and more looking right at me while absolutely not saying a word to me. His mother, in the motherly voice I know so well (cuz I might have perfected the whole prompt your child through gritted teeth with a smile plastered on your face look!) says: "Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack........."
"Welcomed to my pardy!", he shouts and then squirms from his mother's grip, running off to join his kids. I knew right then and there it was gonna be a long "pardy" and cursed myself for not bringing my stash of Tic Tacs!
I received a smidgen of attention from Jack when I took interest in his cupcakes. Each cupcake was topped with green frosting and green coconut shavings to look like grass; peanut M&M's and a tiny dinosaur (Yes. My sister made them from scratch; Yes. She is that creative; And, YES. It really is that annoying!).
"Doze are my cupcakes....", Jack decrees.
"I love them, Jack! What are these right here?", I ask while pointing to the M&M's.
"Doze are the dina-sores egths! Doze are mine too.", Jack replies as he points to each and every M&M on each and every cupcake.
Did I mention Jack is three.....?
His birthday party was held in a pizza parlor located in The Sham. There was a good mix of Little People and adults, and the kids could play in the small arcade that was clearly visible from where we were all sitting. Each and every child spent the majority of the party begging for quarters like street urchins from every adult in attendance, regardless of whether the urchin belonged to that adult or not! Jack was positively smitten with the machine that had the big scoop. See, you spun it around and then it dropped into a pile of cheap ass toys, er.....I mean, really cool, age appropriate toys. The scoop would then pick up a big lot of toys and right before it deposited said toys into the germ infested receptacle, every freakin toy would fall out but ONE. This was completely lost on the three old, but don't think the 43 year old (Uncle Mark) didn't feel gypped every time! In a span of 20minutes, Jack had come to our table to show us his prizes which consisted of 5 super balls, 3 plastic parachute men, a key chain with a rubber flip-flop dangling from it, a tiny, plastic car (perfect for a toddler to choke on)and the prize of all prizes: a green and red striped lollipop!
Running as fast as his little legs could carry him, he zipped to the table holding up the lollipop- as if carrying the Olympic torch- and yelled to all of us: "Hey Guys! Look at my suckeR!" Many oohs and aahs were exchanged as Jack went down the table showing us all his sucker. When he reached his mother, instead of oohs and aahs, he was greeted with: "Wow, that is so neat....but we're not going to eat that right now........or you're gonna be on a sugar high for days!", that last quip said under her breath.
"But I want dat suckeR!", Jack says.
"No, we're going to save it, " his mom replies.
"BUT I WANT DAT SUCKER!", Jack yells.
"I know you do, but we're going to save it.......because we'll be having cupcakes soon".
As you can imagine, this sound reasoning is completely lost on Jack and he bursts into tears, all the while wailing that he wants DAT SUCKER!
Now, when it comes to my Sister, she's always been lucky enough to experience TWO sides of my stellar personality. Not only does she know me as The Snarky Brunette, but she's spent her entire life listening to the many pearls of wisdom I like to spout forth, all in the name of Older, Condescending Sister . And believe me when I tell you- there have been some gems. Keep this in mind, and then couple it with the fact that my nephew is, at this very moment, whipping himself into a frenzy over a sucker while my Sister is trying to a limit her three year old's sugar intake. Older, Condescending Sister gets BIG POINTS for keeping the following to herself:
"Give the kid the goddamn sucker! It's his birthday, for Christ sake!"
But as if on cue, Uncle Mark leans over and whispers into my ear: "If she wants happy birthday pictures, she better give him the sucker." And I smile knowingly (read: smugly) and reply in a whisper back to him: "That's what I'm not sayin'!"
I'm going to assume this thought has now occurred to Gina because at that very moment, when all "Good Mom Reasoning" had clearly failed, she sees Jack for what he's spiraled into: a deflated birthday boy with streaks of tears now visible on his red face; his mouth turned down into a dejected frown, mumbling over and over: IwantdatsuckeR.......butIwantdatsuckeR......IwantdatsuckeR........"
With a defeated sigh my sister caves: "Alright. Here's the sucker.......but should we open some presents?" And Jack says, without missing a beat and stuffing the sucker into his now smiling mouth: "Oh yeah we should!"
Everyone gathers around Jack, who is standing on a chair at the head of the table, holding his sucker in his right hand and licking it. One lick at a time. Now the presents in the gift bags are fairly easy for him to open and keep a firm grip on the sucker, but when Gina hands him the wrapped presents, his whole face reads quandary:
If I wanna open dis present, ine gonna haf to put down dis suckeR cuz I need bof hans to open dis present.
A few seconds tick by......his massive head cocked to the side, he takes one final lick of his sucker, turns to his mom and asks: "You hole dis for me?" Gina gingerly takes the sucker from Jack's hand and as he begins to rip open the present, she waggles the sucker at me as if saying: Here! Take this and hide it! Stealth like, I casually lean over and the contraband is secured and swiftly deposited on a plate well out of Jack's sight. He gets through the first wrapped present and as Gina hands him another, he asks: "Where'd dat suckeR go?" Gina ignores him and re-focuses him on the present at hand. Jack is engaged for about 5minutes, playing with his new dump truck, when out of the side of his mouth he muses: "Wonderin' 'bout dat suckeR...."
This continues throughout the entire present opening process- Jack musing about his sucker and where it got off to; all the while Auntie M is dissolving into a fit of giggles over the fact that her nephew likes his 50 cent (and most likely stale) sucker more than the bevy of birthday loot splayed out before him! When all the presents were opened, Gina exclaimed to Jack that his presents were "so cool" and asked him what he'd like to say to everyone. The little man turned to us all and yelled: "Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!.........where's my suckeR? "
I'll spare you the details of the three old eating his dinosaur cupcake; the mountains of green frosting ending up all over his face and shirt and hands. I'll spare you the details of my nephew's sugar HIGH, so great that the little man ran circles around the tables, his plastic parachute man waving behind him as he screamed "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I'll spare you the details of Jack deciding he was finally ready for some real food; sitting at the table, picking the pineapple off his pizza one by one and mumbling: "peetha, peetha, peetha......... peetha!" over and over and in between bites!
As we were all leaving, I made my way over to my favorite midget and, upon seeing me coming his way, he screamed with delight. And then turned and ran the other way! I caught up to him in three steps, scooped him up and flipped him around so he was now facing me. Holding him above my head, his little face just inches from mine, he squealed with delight and cupped my face with his tiny hands. I could feel my heart swell with love as I said: "Auntie M loves you......now give me some smoochies before I go." I positioned Jack so that he was straddling my hips; still face to face with his hands now around my neck, he leaned in and said: "What aRe deese smoocheeeez?"
I giggled and said, "You know smoochies!"
"Ine don't know deese smoocheeeez....", his face scrunched in disbelief. I tell him to pucker up his lips, and show him what I mean by doing it myself. Jack puckers his mouth, giggling because he knows what's coming. But when I lean forward with my puckered lips, I give him a big, fat RASPBERRY! He yells: "Dose smoocheeeezies aRe gross!", then squeals with delight and begins to squirm as I then plant smoochies all over his face.
As I set him down and we begin to walk towards the others to leave, he turns to me and says: "Whoze got da peetha? "
Friday, January 1, 2010
Love Life
It's New Year's Eve, People. A time for reflection. And if you either (a) know me, OR (b) have been reading my blog, then you know that tonight of all nights, there will be drinking. I find that reflecting and drinking make sweet companions.
(Editor's note: Ruminating and drinking also make wonderful partners, but ruminating requires more time, more effort and isn't quite as festive.)
It seems the logical starting point for my reflecting should begin with Christmas, which would require a confession. You're getting reflection and confession, People.....I'm a giver.....that's me!
So, here goes: for all my bitching, and pissing and moaning.....Christmas was delightful. (It's everything leading up to Christmas that is positively painful.....!) From me to you, here you go:
My Top Five Moments of Christmas 2009:
5. Mark not setting the kitchen on fire. (Seriously....I'm prone to embellish but this really did happen last year.).
4. My children finding pleasure in the simplest of gifts (They each received a new stuffy- little dogs that neither one of them have put down since finding said dogs in their stockings).
3. Listening to my Father -in- Law say grace before Christmas dinner (Not a dry eye in the room and watching my nephew fold his little hands in his lap and bow his head- PRICELESS.).
2. Having my nephew, Jack, burst into song mid-way through the Christmas meal. Is there anything more precious than a 3yr old singing "Jingle Bells" at the top of his lungs whilst standing on his chair at the table (The answer would be N-O!)?
1. Watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" with my children, on Christmas Eve. This is simply the greatest Christmas movie, EVER. Listening to my children as they sing with the Who's down in Whoville; watching the Grinch as his heart grows three sizes on Christmas; the sheer joy on his face when he realizes Christmas doesn't come from a store. It's everything I believe in and hope to pass on to my own Monsters. This movie is my tradition.
So....I've Confessed. Let's Reflect, shall we?
Crickets.....crickets......crickets........
Yeah...... I've got nothing.
Ok, I've got a few things. But really, for a year.......shouldn't there be more?
Top Five Moments in 2oo9.....good or bad, this is the shit that sticks with me!
5. Taking my kids on their first plane ride (It was to BoHo. Thank you, KB! Best part- we hit turbulence as we descended into Portland on the return flight and my Monsters SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER and the entire plane erupted in laughter. Type A Momma Monster says: Whew!).
4. Coaching my kids' baseball team with Mark. There was some sort of Little People Meeting in the dug out and it was decided that even though I was a Coach, I'd be referred to as "Mrs. Healy". Guess who spent the entire season looking over her shoulder for her Mother-in-Law?
3. An entire bottle of bleach exploding in my laundry room. I was HIGH for days following this particular clean up and you can still eat off the floor in this room. That's how F*&^-ing clean this room is! Still!
2. Vegas with Kristin. Contractual obligations prohibit me from disclosing anything more......
1. Disneyland with my family. For the first time! Sure, the drive down and back was pure torture (nothing says "kill me now" like a 9yr old who doesn't believe her parents can actually read a map and get her to California safely and who decides that now would be a good time to suffer from panic attacks!), but everything in between was bliss.
So where does that leave us? Or, more importantly, me? What am I hoping for in the New Year? That list would take far too long......and I'm working on deadline. Quickly~
I'd like a Gay Boy Friend. I've got my eye on a certain someone and NO. He is not part of the Tracy Gay Harem.
I'd like to win the Lottery.
I'd like a Range Rover Sport. Black. With the sporty, white interior & black stitching.
I'd like to take Ballroom Dance Lessons.
I'd like to learn French.
And what would a New Year be without the typical, PLEASE GOD, LET ME LOSE A GOOD 15 POUNDS!!!
But really, as I slide into 2010....and approach my 4oth year...... I'd like to Be Brave. I'd like to believe that I really am a Super Woman. That I can do anything I set my mind to. I'd like to see myself as others see me, which is, apparently, splendid. And glorious.
And Snarky.
And, of course, naturally, Brunette.
Happy New Year!
(Editor's note: Ruminating and drinking also make wonderful partners, but ruminating requires more time, more effort and isn't quite as festive.)
It seems the logical starting point for my reflecting should begin with Christmas, which would require a confession. You're getting reflection and confession, People.....I'm a giver.....that's me!
So, here goes: for all my bitching, and pissing and moaning.....Christmas was delightful. (It's everything leading up to Christmas that is positively painful.....!) From me to you, here you go:
My Top Five Moments of Christmas 2009:
5. Mark not setting the kitchen on fire. (Seriously....I'm prone to embellish but this really did happen last year.).
4. My children finding pleasure in the simplest of gifts (They each received a new stuffy- little dogs that neither one of them have put down since finding said dogs in their stockings).
3. Listening to my Father -in- Law say grace before Christmas dinner (Not a dry eye in the room and watching my nephew fold his little hands in his lap and bow his head- PRICELESS.).
2. Having my nephew, Jack, burst into song mid-way through the Christmas meal. Is there anything more precious than a 3yr old singing "Jingle Bells" at the top of his lungs whilst standing on his chair at the table (The answer would be N-O!)?
1. Watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" with my children, on Christmas Eve. This is simply the greatest Christmas movie, EVER. Listening to my children as they sing with the Who's down in Whoville; watching the Grinch as his heart grows three sizes on Christmas; the sheer joy on his face when he realizes Christmas doesn't come from a store. It's everything I believe in and hope to pass on to my own Monsters. This movie is my tradition.
So....I've Confessed. Let's Reflect, shall we?
Crickets.....crickets......crickets........
Yeah...... I've got nothing.
Ok, I've got a few things. But really, for a year.......shouldn't there be more?
Top Five Moments in 2oo9.....good or bad, this is the shit that sticks with me!
5. Taking my kids on their first plane ride (It was to BoHo. Thank you, KB! Best part- we hit turbulence as we descended into Portland on the return flight and my Monsters SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER and the entire plane erupted in laughter. Type A Momma Monster says: Whew!).
4. Coaching my kids' baseball team with Mark. There was some sort of Little People Meeting in the dug out and it was decided that even though I was a Coach, I'd be referred to as "Mrs. Healy". Guess who spent the entire season looking over her shoulder for her Mother-in-Law?
3. An entire bottle of bleach exploding in my laundry room. I was HIGH for days following this particular clean up and you can still eat off the floor in this room. That's how F*&^-ing clean this room is! Still!
2. Vegas with Kristin. Contractual obligations prohibit me from disclosing anything more......
1. Disneyland with my family. For the first time! Sure, the drive down and back was pure torture (nothing says "kill me now" like a 9yr old who doesn't believe her parents can actually read a map and get her to California safely and who decides that now would be a good time to suffer from panic attacks!), but everything in between was bliss.
So where does that leave us? Or, more importantly, me? What am I hoping for in the New Year? That list would take far too long......and I'm working on deadline. Quickly~
I'd like a Gay Boy Friend. I've got my eye on a certain someone and NO. He is not part of the Tracy Gay Harem.
I'd like to win the Lottery.
I'd like a Range Rover Sport. Black. With the sporty, white interior & black stitching.
I'd like to take Ballroom Dance Lessons.
I'd like to learn French.
And what would a New Year be without the typical, PLEASE GOD, LET ME LOSE A GOOD 15 POUNDS!!!
But really, as I slide into 2010....and approach my 4oth year...... I'd like to Be Brave. I'd like to believe that I really am a Super Woman. That I can do anything I set my mind to. I'd like to see myself as others see me, which is, apparently, splendid. And glorious.
And Snarky.
And, of course, naturally, Brunette.
Happy New Year!
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