And the snuggie plot thickens...

Eight year old son #1 asks me if I want to hear a "really freaky ghoststory."  With a lead-in like that, who wouldn't?  So he lays it out:

Son #1:  "Chris and I were in his driveway and you know that house behind him?  We thought no one lived there and that it was haunted so we were looking through the windows.  Then you know what happened?"

Me:  "No, what?"

Son #1: "A real guy walked by the window and totally freaked us out!"

Me:  "It would have been funny if he saw you looking at him and got freaked out too." (I'm imagining some awesome Scooby Doo antics).

Son #1:  "He did see us I think."  (And now the TRULY scary part) "I think he was wearing a snuggie.  A red one."

Me:  Audible gasp.  Now I'm the one effing freaked out.

postscript:

Son #2 (4 yrs) in the background:  Can we PLEASE get a snuggie! 

If I don't stop picking my face

I'm going to the nearest vet and asking to be fitted.  I need one big enough that I can't reach my paws inside to avoid (more) permanent scarring.

p.s. I laughed at the caption of this photo "Amish dog".

p.p.s. Lemonade out of lemons realization:  I do have new concealer.

Financial crisis

I got some insight into it today from my younger son (4).  I'm in the kitchen cooking, he's in the living room with his babysitter (whose name is ironically "spongebob").  

He hollers to me:  "Hey mom, a snuggie is only $95 dollars!"

Me:  "$95 dollars is a lot of money!"

Him:  "No, if it was $96 THEN it would be bad."

I'm sending this information to the Treasury first thing in the a.m.

P.S. A snuggie is actually $19.95 but c'mon he's only 4.

Take your time do it right.

I am hereby inducting myself into the dorko hall of fame.  Word to the wise, do not shop for cosmetics while with a hungry four year old and trying to get home in time for the arrival of anxiety prone eight year old.

Here's how it went down.  I ran to Target, an approximately 8 minute drive from my house each way with traffic, with roughly 20 minutes total to get there & back and run in and look for the one thing I needed: A kids yoga dvd for a thing at my son's school tomorrow.  So this left with me four minutes to get the dvd and decide that I needed lip gloss.  I needed this lip gloss because I am addicted to lip gloss.  I can't stand the feeling of dry lips and chapstick just doesn't cut it.  I usually only use one browny color (mac viva glam) but I hate going to the mall.  So I thought, hey with all this time on my hands, why not look for a similar shade?  

Even the four year old knew better.  He kept saying "why do you need that?  Can't we just go home?"  I just grabbed something that looked remotely close and we were on our way.

Cut to a few hours later and my lips are feeling parched.  I think "ooh, I'll try that new lip gloss."  It was hideous.  And not moisturizing at all.  I thought to myself, "how can they ACTUALLY sell this it's so bad."  I considered taking it back to Target for refund.

Thankfully I didn't.  Because 2 hours later I realized it was concealer.

I went to yoga.

So I'm not so pissed off.  Here's a gift to make up for my ugliness yesterday.  His name is Elmer Fudd.  Don't you want to just eat him?  Or at least pick him up and rub him all over you?

Not my rabbit BTW, but I want it.

The broccoli pretty much sums it up.

I will warn you now, if you are offended by swearing this is not the post for you.  I am so, so, so angry at myself that this could get ugly and fast.  This is going to sound stupid and petty and every other synonym for the word petty but it's because of the six pounds I gained over the last four weeks.  I KNOW that six pounds is not the end of the world.  But here's why I'm so mother fucking pissed off.

Since turning 35 or so losing weight (for me) has been akin to climbing Mt. Everest or cracking the human genome.  All possible, but really goddamn hard.  After I had both kids I lost the weight but had started about 8 lbs. heavier than I'd been most of my adult life.  So last Spring I set a goal to finally, once and for all, lose those 8 lbs.  It was kind of like a personal challenge.  And I did it.  And it wasn't easy.  But the way my body works is that once I get to a plateau it's relatively easy for me to stay there unless I completely lose my fucking mind, which apparently is what I did.

It was almost like I was testing myself.  With every giant holiday bag of M & M's I bought, with every 2nd and 3rd (and shut up) glass of wine, with the pecan pie...the list is endless...  I kept weighing myself everyday throughout the holidays and wasn't gaining any weight and I got cocky.  Then, and I kid you not, January 1st I step on the scale and it's SIX PIECE OF SHIT POUNDS.  I am not a tall or big boned person, six pounds shows up.  For you mathematicians out there this is more than a 5% increase.  I have this vision of all the fat cells holding their breath until they get the signal (I think Dick Clark gives it) and then they puff up like that dinosaur in Jurassic Park that ironically kills the fat guy.

So because this is my form of a diary and my place to air things, I am going to use some feeling words now.  I feel pissed.  I feel stupid.  I feel like I let myself down.  I feel like I should have known better.  I feel lazy.  I feel the button on my pants boring into my gut.

I feel like angry broccoli.

Drum roll please!

I'm so excited to have my first guest blogger!  My friend from high school a.k.a. the "pirate" turned 40 yesterday.  So without further ado...

"A Pirate Looks at 40"

Listening to Jimmy Buffet's "A Pirate Looks At 40" back in the 1970's conjured imagery of 40 as being an "old man."  The reality of turning 40 has not been so bad.

I originally envisioned my "Mama Likes" porn star name to be something like 'Long Dong Silver' (wishful thinking), but somehow 'Pirate' seems more fitting.

"40 is the new 30", as they say.  But with Viagra commercials claiming "60 is the new 50" and Gen Y Facebook pages stating "30 is the new 20", the software designer/deconstructionist in me is led to conclude that "X ξ (X-10)", where X is a decadial birthday (I'm not sure what the symbol "ξ" actually means, but it looks pretty cool and seems like a fitting substitute for "Is the New").

Turning 40 is fortunately absent of the symptom known as "erectile disfunction"...knock on wood (pun intended).  It doesn't take much more than regular exercise and some expresso to get me exited over Britney Spears' "Womanizer" video on YouTube.

Having a birthday on New Year's Eve has its obvious benefits when it comes to celebrating.  Except for the birthday I spent at parade rest for pissing off an Army sergeant, most every New Year's Eve has been filled with "champagne wishes and caviar dreams."

(Excerpt from Jimmy Buffet's 'A Pirate Looks At 40')

Yes I am a pirate

Two hundred years too late

The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder

I'm an over-forty victim of fate

Arriving too late, arriving too late

"A Pirate Looks at 40"