I have a serious red wine and chick flick addiction. Point proven by the 4 bottles of wine that have been polished off in the last few days and the facial tic that Eric has mysteriously developed. He also keeps waking up at night screaming something about John Hughes and Andrew McCarthy trying to kill him, but I can't quite sort it out.
I read an article last week about all the antioxidants in red wine and how that is supposed to be really great for your health. At the rate I have been consuming the stuff I might actually live forever.
The good news? It's all in my master plan to take over the world.
Step 1 - live forever
Step 2 -
Well, I am still working on step 2 and will have to update you at a later date. I am hoping it has something to do with eating lots of cheesecake or creme brulee.
Last post I talked about how Lexy has led me down the primrose path to the Fountain of "You Are Fucking Old." Well, guess what? I AM STILL OLD. And getting older. But, just informing me of my complete and utter lack of coolness wasn't enough. Oh, no. That is too easy for teenagers. Apparently they need a little challenge just to see if they can get us to voluntarily check into an assisted living facility. TODAY.
In my case, I was showing Lexy some pictures of me from my senior prom. She was amazed and blown away at how beautiful the dress was and my hair and my makeup and everything. Then comes this:
"You were so pretty! And skinny! I mean, seriously skinny! How did you get fat?"
And she was SERIOUS.
I closed the album, walked downstairs to the kitchen and opened a beer.
I am currently planning my revenge.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Nothing makes you feel quite as old as living with a teenager...
We recently had a teenager officially join our family. I thought I had several more years to prepare myself for a teenager. I have always been that person who thought I would be the cool Mom. I was going to be that Mom who listened to the same music they did and drove a cool car and wore cool clothes and never said stupid stuff that embarrassed my kid.
Yeah. That'll happen.
I am now getting a clear picture of what living with a teenager is like and you know what? Me? I'M A DORK.
Lexy has been a regular visitor to our house ever since Drew was tiny. She was about 13 when we first met. When she was younger I was kind of cool because I wasn't quite as old as a Mom would be, but not quite close enough in age to be just like her friends. Instead I was like this older sister type that she didn't actually grow up with, but who bought her shit all the time. It helped that I bought copious amounts of Starbucks for the two of us. I also never enforced bedtime, encouraged late night cookie dough binging, fully sponsored all night chick flick marathons, made sure she played hooky from responsibility whenever possible, kept the fridge fully stocked with Pepsi and paid her WAY too much when she would babysit.
Flash forward to today. Lexy is 18, about to graduate high school and has moved in with us. I am now five years older than when we met, five years more jaded and five years more removed from anything resembling modern teenage culture. I am also bugging her about school, job, grades and going to college in the fall. I think I have officially entered that purgatory between cool older sister and nagging Mom. I still encourage late night cookie dough binges, but there is no playing hooky from responsibility. I can most definitely plant at least one foot in the "old camp." It doesn't help that I got a social security statement in the mail today.
Thanks Mr. Government Man. Your timing is impeccable as usual.
Anyway, this evening's family festivities have consisted of eating hotdogs and french fries while scaring ourselves silly watching Ghost Hunters. Then we sat around watching Pants Off/Dance Off and shouted incredibly rude comments about the contestants. I must interject that I may be old, but I am still the Queen of the insanely-rude-but-still-funny commentary.
In between my loud and quite snarky musings, Lexy played portions of rap songs and attempted to educate Eric and I on modern teenage culture. It's fabulous how incredibly out of touch we are. We feel like Martians. And not cool Martians. The uncool Martians that Marvin the Martian would zap with his death ray. You might even say that we are mullet-wearing butt rockers trying to hang with Jay-Z and Beyonce and throw out gang signs.
Here is some of what I have learned:
1. I could not possibly text message as much as teenagers do. Even if I texted every single person in my Outlook address book 10 times every day I still couldn't keep up with the volume of text messages flying back and forth.
2. I don't understand the fashion. I just can't get comfortable with showing my underwear. Even on days where the underwear are pretty AND clean. I still don't want to show them in public. Oh. And boys in pants that sit somewhere around their knees and their undies are all hanging out? I just want to pants them.
3. I can't understand half of what teenagers are saying. Some examples:
"Beezie" = this is sort of like being called a bitch, but worse.
"Crunk" = wasted. Crazy drunk.
"Hyphy" = this means going dumb or going stupid.
"Ghost riding" = getting out and dancing on your car while your car is still moving and no one is driving.
"Whip" = car
"spit your game" = hit on a girl
"Super soak that 'ho" = not just hitting on a girl, but giving her your best game
"what it do" = what's up
"yadidi mean" = do you know what I mean
"yada digga my jig" = do you like what I am doing, do you feel me
"yada digga my jigga my cut" = do you like my song, do you like my music
I am sure you can understand my complete and utter confusion. You can also understand how I came to the horrific discovery that FEELING like you are still 18 and actually BEING 18 are SO NOT THE SAME THING.
Sometimes when I am driving Lexy and her friends somewhere and they are so sweetly trying to include me in their conversation I feel like that part from Finding Nemo where the little turtle is trying to tell Marlin and Dory how to exit the East Australian current and Marlin says, "It's like he's trying to speak to me!"
I don't think Lexy thinks I am all that cool anymore. She very kindly tells me I am not a dork, but I know that I am only slightly less dorky than I would be if I was her Mom. I think that is only because I still buy lots of Starbucks for the two of us.
Yeah. That'll happen.
I am now getting a clear picture of what living with a teenager is like and you know what? Me? I'M A DORK.
Lexy has been a regular visitor to our house ever since Drew was tiny. She was about 13 when we first met. When she was younger I was kind of cool because I wasn't quite as old as a Mom would be, but not quite close enough in age to be just like her friends. Instead I was like this older sister type that she didn't actually grow up with, but who bought her shit all the time. It helped that I bought copious amounts of Starbucks for the two of us. I also never enforced bedtime, encouraged late night cookie dough binging, fully sponsored all night chick flick marathons, made sure she played hooky from responsibility whenever possible, kept the fridge fully stocked with Pepsi and paid her WAY too much when she would babysit.
Flash forward to today. Lexy is 18, about to graduate high school and has moved in with us. I am now five years older than when we met, five years more jaded and five years more removed from anything resembling modern teenage culture. I am also bugging her about school, job, grades and going to college in the fall. I think I have officially entered that purgatory between cool older sister and nagging Mom. I still encourage late night cookie dough binges, but there is no playing hooky from responsibility. I can most definitely plant at least one foot in the "old camp." It doesn't help that I got a social security statement in the mail today.
Thanks Mr. Government Man. Your timing is impeccable as usual.
Anyway, this evening's family festivities have consisted of eating hotdogs and french fries while scaring ourselves silly watching Ghost Hunters. Then we sat around watching Pants Off/Dance Off and shouted incredibly rude comments about the contestants. I must interject that I may be old, but I am still the Queen of the insanely-rude-but-still-funny commentary.
In between my loud and quite snarky musings, Lexy played portions of rap songs and attempted to educate Eric and I on modern teenage culture. It's fabulous how incredibly out of touch we are. We feel like Martians. And not cool Martians. The uncool Martians that Marvin the Martian would zap with his death ray. You might even say that we are mullet-wearing butt rockers trying to hang with Jay-Z and Beyonce and throw out gang signs.
Here is some of what I have learned:
1. I could not possibly text message as much as teenagers do. Even if I texted every single person in my Outlook address book 10 times every day I still couldn't keep up with the volume of text messages flying back and forth.
2. I don't understand the fashion. I just can't get comfortable with showing my underwear. Even on days where the underwear are pretty AND clean. I still don't want to show them in public. Oh. And boys in pants that sit somewhere around their knees and their undies are all hanging out? I just want to pants them.
3. I can't understand half of what teenagers are saying. Some examples:
"Beezie" = this is sort of like being called a bitch, but worse.
"Crunk" = wasted. Crazy drunk.
"Hyphy" = this means going dumb or going stupid.
"Ghost riding" = getting out and dancing on your car while your car is still moving and no one is driving.
"Whip" = car
"spit your game" = hit on a girl
"Super soak that 'ho" = not just hitting on a girl, but giving her your best game
"what it do" = what's up
"yadidi mean" = do you know what I mean
"yada digga my jig" = do you like what I am doing, do you feel me
"yada digga my jigga my cut" = do you like my song, do you like my music
I am sure you can understand my complete and utter confusion. You can also understand how I came to the horrific discovery that FEELING like you are still 18 and actually BEING 18 are SO NOT THE SAME THING.
Sometimes when I am driving Lexy and her friends somewhere and they are so sweetly trying to include me in their conversation I feel like that part from Finding Nemo where the little turtle is trying to tell Marlin and Dory how to exit the East Australian current and Marlin says, "It's like he's trying to speak to me!"
I don't think Lexy thinks I am all that cool anymore. She very kindly tells me I am not a dork, but I know that I am only slightly less dorky than I would be if I was her Mom. I think that is only because I still buy lots of Starbucks for the two of us.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
No matter how old I am I still need my Mom.
I miss my Mom. Every day. It's been just over 6 years since she passed away and I still have a hard time talking about her. Today I am going to try.
My Mom was one of the greatest people I have ever known. She was funny and suppportive and strong and caring. I look back and I remember how she made growing up fun. She taught me how to be adventurous. She taught me unconditional love and how to stay postive no matter what is thrown at you. She taught me how to try every day - even on the tough days - to make life fun for my son. I only wish she had lived to meet him. I know she would get such a kick out of the little guy.
Here are some of my favorite things about my Mom:
I remember the slumber party when my Mom came running into the living room and mooned all of my friends for no reason and then ran giggling down the hallway to her bedroom. We took chase and all mooned her back while she laughed uncontrollably while hiding under the covers on her bed.
I remember another slumber party where she bought rolls and rolls of toilet paper, helped us all get dressed in head to toe black, shoe polish our faces, take pictures for posterity and then sent us out at midnight to toilet paper one of my best friend's evil ex-boyfriend's houses.
I remember when my grandfather gave me a big, green, 1960-something Ford Fairlane with no power steering and no power brakes. I was completely unable to drive it so my 5'2" Mom traded cars with me. She could barely see over the steering wheel and still reach the pedals, but she used to race punk kids in sports cars because she knew that big old engine would blow them off the road. She would giggle and grin the entire time because they looked so shocked!
I remember when I was 16 and mouthing off for the 10-millionth time. Mom had a sack of bread in her hand and she got so ticked she hurled it at my head. I ducked. It hit the china hutch behind me. My jaw dropped and then she just cracked up. It was one of the last times my Mom and I had one of those stupid teenage stand-offs. After that we started to be friends.
I remember sitting on the front yard swing after she got sick making bead necklaces and talking about life and love and marriage.
I remember all the letters she used to write me just because she had a feeling I might need to be cheered up. I still don't know how she knew I needed her when I was living so far away, but she always did. She picked me up from the floor more times than she ever knew.
I'll never, ever forget the sound of her voice when she would leave her silly message on my voicemail. "Dees is yo Mama. Call yo Mama."
I remember sitting on her bed when I was little listening to her sing and play the guitar. She was the most beautiful, talented woman I ever saw. I sing because of her.
I remember watching her, front row center, at every dance recital, piano recital, twirling lesson, drill team performance, baseball game, beauty pageant that I was ever in. She was a constant supporter, always smiling, always making sure I knew she would be there no matter what I wanted to do. Or how well I did it.
I love you Mom. Thank you.
In September I am walking in the Susan G. Komen breast cancer 3-day in Seattle. I am walking 60-miles over the course of 3 days and I am walking every step of it for her. I hope that each person reading this will take a minute to click on this link and learn a little more about this incredible event. I need to raise a minimum of $2200 in order to walk and if any of you would be willing to donate whatever you can to help me I would be unbelieveably grateful.
My Mom was one of the greatest people I have ever known. She was funny and suppportive and strong and caring. I look back and I remember how she made growing up fun. She taught me how to be adventurous. She taught me unconditional love and how to stay postive no matter what is thrown at you. She taught me how to try every day - even on the tough days - to make life fun for my son. I only wish she had lived to meet him. I know she would get such a kick out of the little guy.
Here are some of my favorite things about my Mom:
I remember the slumber party when my Mom came running into the living room and mooned all of my friends for no reason and then ran giggling down the hallway to her bedroom. We took chase and all mooned her back while she laughed uncontrollably while hiding under the covers on her bed.
I remember another slumber party where she bought rolls and rolls of toilet paper, helped us all get dressed in head to toe black, shoe polish our faces, take pictures for posterity and then sent us out at midnight to toilet paper one of my best friend's evil ex-boyfriend's houses.
I remember when my grandfather gave me a big, green, 1960-something Ford Fairlane with no power steering and no power brakes. I was completely unable to drive it so my 5'2" Mom traded cars with me. She could barely see over the steering wheel and still reach the pedals, but she used to race punk kids in sports cars because she knew that big old engine would blow them off the road. She would giggle and grin the entire time because they looked so shocked!
I remember when I was 16 and mouthing off for the 10-millionth time. Mom had a sack of bread in her hand and she got so ticked she hurled it at my head. I ducked. It hit the china hutch behind me. My jaw dropped and then she just cracked up. It was one of the last times my Mom and I had one of those stupid teenage stand-offs. After that we started to be friends.
I remember sitting on the front yard swing after she got sick making bead necklaces and talking about life and love and marriage.
I remember all the letters she used to write me just because she had a feeling I might need to be cheered up. I still don't know how she knew I needed her when I was living so far away, but she always did. She picked me up from the floor more times than she ever knew.
I'll never, ever forget the sound of her voice when she would leave her silly message on my voicemail. "Dees is yo Mama. Call yo Mama."
I remember sitting on her bed when I was little listening to her sing and play the guitar. She was the most beautiful, talented woman I ever saw. I sing because of her.
I remember watching her, front row center, at every dance recital, piano recital, twirling lesson, drill team performance, baseball game, beauty pageant that I was ever in. She was a constant supporter, always smiling, always making sure I knew she would be there no matter what I wanted to do. Or how well I did it.
I love you Mom. Thank you.
In September I am walking in the Susan G. Komen breast cancer 3-day in Seattle. I am walking 60-miles over the course of 3 days and I am walking every step of it for her. I hope that each person reading this will take a minute to click on this link and learn a little more about this incredible event. I need to raise a minimum of $2200 in order to walk and if any of you would be willing to donate whatever you can to help me I would be unbelieveably grateful.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Sick and tired of being sick and tired...and fat.
I don't know what kind of evil, uber-bug is running rampant in my house, but I am about ready to open a big 'ole can o'whup ass on it. Whup Ass thy name is LYSOL. I am home sick for day 2 and I am really tired of my chair. It has a big imprint of my ass in it and that? So not good for my self-esteem.
I wandered outside today to enjoy the spectacular weather and to throw the tennis ball for Mazie. I sat out in the grass in the backyard and it was quite glorious. Until I stood up and saw the imprint of my butt in the grass. I hereby decree that I shalt never sit in the grass again. Or sand. Or mud. Or anything that could potentially end up with an imprint of my ginormous derriere.
One of my very best friends called me today to tell me about a dream she had. It was about me. Gotta love it when my friends are so enamored of all that is my awesomeness that they DREAM about me! Hee! Anyway, in her dream I had my current job, my current part-time second job and I had decided to go and work at a bar, too. Apparantly in dreamland I not only don't need sleep, but I get super skinny from the stress of three jobs. I'm not even gonna lie - I considered it. For longer than you might imagine. I do have to stop and ponder, however, why my friend is dreaming that I am skinny. Is it because I am constantly complaining through my mouthful of chocolate about how much I am sick of being overweight and I reallly, really, really need to do something about it? I plan to do something about it. Right after the Easter candy is gone.
On another note: Saturday was our wedding anniversary. Six whole years of wedded bliss! It was kinda funny because we got up Saturday morning and were cleaning the house when all of a sudden I went, "Holy crap! It's our anniversary!" And Eric goes, "Shit. You're right!" Then he put down the can of Comet and I put down the Windex and we high-fived our mutual awesomeness. Then I called my lovely friend Misti and conned her into babysitting. Unfortunately, by the time the evening rolled around I was starting to get this lovely flu and all we did was go to dinner and then to the drugstore for Nyquil and then home where I took my Nyquil and went straight to bed. I think that in some countries cold medicine is the official 6 year anniversary gift so it wasn't a total bust.
Sunday we went to a 4-year old's birthday party and ate hot dogs and cake and then we came home and I fell asleep on the couch while trying like a champ to keep down the hot dogs and cake. Note to self: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT eat hot dogs or cake or both when sick with the flu.
Yesterday I slept until 3 and then moved to the couch and played Ratchet and Clank for about 6 hours straight. Such is the life. Tomorrow it's back to work. I tried to work today, but my brain isn't cooperating what with all the stomach cramping. I am trying to do some planning around a new employee that starts on Monday and I keep getting derailed. My thought process goes a bit like this:
"I think she will need to spend 25% of her time working on...shit...that hurt...does that mean I have to poop? Again? Ok. Maybe not. Anyway, if she spends most of her time recruiting then that means I can...ouch...maybe I just need to burp. Or fart. Or both. Man, this sucks. Well, at least I'm not puking. That would really be sucky. Ahem. Ok. Recruiting first and then some business devel...EEK! this is not a drill. I repeat - not a drill. Get to the bathroom now! Go! Go! Go!"
Do I really have to tell you how much I hate the flu?
I wandered outside today to enjoy the spectacular weather and to throw the tennis ball for Mazie. I sat out in the grass in the backyard and it was quite glorious. Until I stood up and saw the imprint of my butt in the grass. I hereby decree that I shalt never sit in the grass again. Or sand. Or mud. Or anything that could potentially end up with an imprint of my ginormous derriere.
One of my very best friends called me today to tell me about a dream she had. It was about me. Gotta love it when my friends are so enamored of all that is my awesomeness that they DREAM about me! Hee! Anyway, in her dream I had my current job, my current part-time second job and I had decided to go and work at a bar, too. Apparantly in dreamland I not only don't need sleep, but I get super skinny from the stress of three jobs. I'm not even gonna lie - I considered it. For longer than you might imagine. I do have to stop and ponder, however, why my friend is dreaming that I am skinny. Is it because I am constantly complaining through my mouthful of chocolate about how much I am sick of being overweight and I reallly, really, really need to do something about it? I plan to do something about it. Right after the Easter candy is gone.
On another note: Saturday was our wedding anniversary. Six whole years of wedded bliss! It was kinda funny because we got up Saturday morning and were cleaning the house when all of a sudden I went, "Holy crap! It's our anniversary!" And Eric goes, "Shit. You're right!" Then he put down the can of Comet and I put down the Windex and we high-fived our mutual awesomeness. Then I called my lovely friend Misti and conned her into babysitting. Unfortunately, by the time the evening rolled around I was starting to get this lovely flu and all we did was go to dinner and then to the drugstore for Nyquil and then home where I took my Nyquil and went straight to bed. I think that in some countries cold medicine is the official 6 year anniversary gift so it wasn't a total bust.
Sunday we went to a 4-year old's birthday party and ate hot dogs and cake and then we came home and I fell asleep on the couch while trying like a champ to keep down the hot dogs and cake. Note to self: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT eat hot dogs or cake or both when sick with the flu.
Yesterday I slept until 3 and then moved to the couch and played Ratchet and Clank for about 6 hours straight. Such is the life. Tomorrow it's back to work. I tried to work today, but my brain isn't cooperating what with all the stomach cramping. I am trying to do some planning around a new employee that starts on Monday and I keep getting derailed. My thought process goes a bit like this:
"I think she will need to spend 25% of her time working on...shit...that hurt...does that mean I have to poop? Again? Ok. Maybe not. Anyway, if she spends most of her time recruiting then that means I can...ouch...maybe I just need to burp. Or fart. Or both. Man, this sucks. Well, at least I'm not puking. That would really be sucky. Ahem. Ok. Recruiting first and then some business devel...EEK! this is not a drill. I repeat - not a drill. Get to the bathroom now! Go! Go! Go!"
Do I really have to tell you how much I hate the flu?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)