I started working out recently. You have to understand how ridiculous that statement is. I am as lazy as they come when it comes to exercise. I think the walk to the mailbox is too far. It just really isn't my thing. However, dressing the part - totally my thing. I look like I belong in the gym once I get there. But aside from the cute tank, sneaks and spandex pants, I am an obvious mess. Half-way into any aerobic class - or whatever the hell modern term is used - I am gasping like a fish and looking like I am about five seconds from a heart attack. I sweat like a roasting chicken and what little hair I have, is matted to my face and the back of my neck. I think I might even smell like a mix of onions and feet. I want it all to end the minute I start. People say they get energized. I lay on the floor for a crunch and I want to nap. But nevertheless, I am trying. Or was trying. I really don't want to go back to the gym because of course I had to have a small snafu. Or maybe it would be better to say "sna-pu". I was just lying there, stretching out like the instructor was saying...minding my own business at the end of class...wondering if anyone would miss me from the death that I felt was near upon me...when the instructor guy walks up to me, kneels down and takes my leg in his hand. The music was soft and his move was slow. I said nothing, I looked around - no one seemed to care. I looked at him and looked away quickly. He was saying something to the class about relaxing. He now had my leg up over my head and was pushing it down into my shoulder as far as it would go - I could practically lick my kneecap. What? What was he doing? Oh God, now he was leaning on me and slowly pushing my leg in little pulses. Some stretch thing? Something else? I was too unfamiliar with this to really know what was going on and he knew it. He was totally fucking with me...right? He kept talking to me and the class about relaxing. I looked around again. Everyone looked chill but all I could think was not to get too relaxed that I would toot in this guy's face with my big leg in the air and my ass all up towards him. He finished with me and proclaimed the class complete. I stood up as he turned to walk away. Geeze, after that, the guy could maybe buy me dinner. Huh. I passed the mirror to get my stuff and noticed at that point that my ass crack was one huge line of sweat. It was spreading down my thigh and when I swiveled to look at my front, I had two lines of sweat where my fleshy thighs made a "V" around my vag. I looked like I might have pissed my pants there was so much wetness. Why? Why? Why? OMG - did that guy see my perspiration problem? Ew. This is why I hate gyms, and working out and swussy (swampy pussy, for those of you not in-the-know). No girl should have to have her heated-up lady bits on display, if no one is getting laid in the end. I once saw some motivational poster that read "sweat is fat crying". Well apparently, my ass was crying me a river. I couldn't wait to get out of there and back home where I would happily drown my fat sobbing sorrows. But first - a shower!! Ick!
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My friend and I took our kids to the movies. Between us we have three girls and two boys. Or rather - three walking hormones and two daredevils. In a range from the ages of 7 through 10, there are five of them beside us - and a thousand Minions in front of us. So what mother wouldn't try and sneak in a little beverage or two to find some personal enjoyment in a situation that was set up to be quite the opposite. Between fights about who was sitting next to who, who had more snacks, one fallen bag of popcorn and a spilled Slurpee, we were screwed way before the 15-minutes of trailers even began. But in fairness to our beastly, little gang, once the movie started, they were all behaving. It was my friend and I who were the two to get us in trouble. With the lights dimmed and the movie well underway, I opened the first small bottle of wine. It was a travel-size, personal bottle. We had four, four ounce bottle between us and a long way to go. As I opened the first bottle, the metal casing around the twist-off cap made a loud cracking sound. To an avid drinker like me, I would have guessed what that noise was from the back row of the theater - but no one seemed to notice. Glug, glug, glug our glasses filled. This all sounded so loud and so familiar to me - but again, not one person paid any mind to us. Woo-hoo! We sat there with our chilled Pinot G's watching the movie, periodically checking our texts or popping online to shop (OK, the second part of that was me. But how could I not? I was comfy, I had my wine, and my kids were quiet and preoccupied. This was fantastic!) Naturally, just as I was about to hit send on the order for a new (must have!) pair of shoes - one of the kids had to go to the bathroom. As I stood up, I totally forgot about the two empty wine bottles on my lap. They didnt just crash to the floor as I rose from my seat. No - that would have ended things. Instead they rolled....and rolled...and rolled. Making a clattering noise along the way. They stopped at the front - literally right up to the screen. I couldn't have done that again if I tried....it was nearly seven aisles! People turned to look to see where the bottles had some from. If I wasn't holding my breath, I'd would obviously be me since I could probably start a fire with a sharp, alcoholic exhale. My oldest daughter would be the other thing that would give me away since she pointed at the bottles and yelled "Moooooom." OK. So much for discretion. I whispered to her that they weren't mine but everyone knew they were. I swear even that one-eyed little yellow character was looking down from the screen at us. Just as my friend and I were whispering frantically about what to do, feeling like we did when we were five years old and getting in trouble, a loud part of the movie grabbed everyone's attention. We let the moment pass....and it passed throughout the final hour of the show. When the lights came on we dared not move. Beside us, the kids were yammering that they wanted to leave. We needed to wait and walked out of the empty theater before the staff came in to clean the place. As we were walking out, I tossed my purse high onto my shoulder where the two remaining mini-bottles of wine were kept for the duration of the movie. The bottles in my bag clinked loudly together as one of the staff was walking by me with a sweeper set. He and I both paused for a beat. "Do you have any recycling?", he asked. "Nope. I'm good" I said. And my friend and I hurriedly left with the kids, saving the remaining drinks for the drive home. Just kidding. Not really. Yes I am. We opened them once we were in my driveway and the kids were babysitting themselves in the house, causing havoc of uncertain proportions (thank you movie food!). Forget the movie, I'd give our parenting "two thumbs up."
Let me spare you any humiliation......the “Catcher in the Rye” has nothing to do with baseball. So if you are playing charades and this book title is your word – using baseball cues or acting like being a catcher or pointing to your hand as if it’s a mitt - is not going to get you any points. It will only piss you off when no one is guessing your awesomely acted out clues. Whatever. Aside from a stupid game, who the hell is talking about that old book anyway? Ha. Somewhere, some Lit teacher’s head just blew off. Whoopsie!
I shop online for pretty much everything – clothes, shoes, appliances, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, cases of gum - anything. I wasn’t always this way. I used to love going into stores – the bright lights, all the pretty things, the smell of new clothes and plastic shopping bags! (OK sorry, that last one might be weird). But it changed when I became a mom and it seemed impossible to take the kids shopping. In fact, I remember the exact moment I said I would never shop in a store again. I had both girls with me and was going to try on a bathing suit. Ella was around six and Vanessa was about three, still in a stroller. Since the stroller wouldn’t fit in the fitting room, I sat Ella on the bench and put Vanessa on the floor on my jacket in our small dressing space. I turned around for a split second to look at myself in the mirror and Vanessa crawled out under the dressing room door. This may have been fine if the dressing rooms were tucked in the back of the store. Instead, they were right in the middle of the place. She crawled away fast like a little bug scurrying for it’s life. I tried to open the door and couldn’t – it was completely locked or stuck or something. It tried for seconds to open the door, twisting the knob furiously. In a state of panic, I crawled under the door after her. Do you know what that must have looked like? Here I was a giant grown woman, wearing an ill-fitting bikini waaaaaay before it was flattering. I was crunched up like a ball to make it under the door – all my milky white middle was stacked like rolls on top of each other and my big fleshy ass was high up in the air. When I caught up to her I picked her up to hug her because I was glad I didn’t lose her. And, holding her was helping to cover up my half undressed body. Look, I never care about being overexposed but it has to be on my terms. Because then I am sucking in or I know my tits are hard (and looking perky) or I am standing in a position that flatters. This was not one of those moments. At all. I walked back towards the dressing room, still using Vanessa as my body shield. I found Ella playing with a tampon that she clearly pulled out of my purse. She held it up and said “candy?” I shook my head in disbelief and defeat. That would make this a perfect shopping excursion – everyone seeing me leave the store with my runaway baby and my other kid sucking on a vagina cork. That night I started my online Amazon account. Can you blame me?
Nothing is sacred when you have children. Not even the bedside table and that one drawer that everyone knows usually holds private things. Clearly not respecting that fact, I found Vanessa rummaging around in my personal drawer looking for a pen. OF COURSE instead she whipped out my vibrator - I was only mildly stunned by this because truthfully, I haven’t used it in quite some time and kind of forgot it was there (well, now at least something good comes out of this! Happy Day to me!) Thank God it is a mini, bullet-like thing and so when she asked me what it was, it was easy for someone uneducated in sex toys, to believe that it was lipstick in a purple case. When she went to turn up the base to see what color lipstick it was, it turned on. She asked why it was buzzing. Damn her! I stumbled a little and told her it was also lip plumper and the vibrations would tickle your lips and make them bigger. This was going down a sick path of lies and producing really terrible mental images. I grabbed the hot little device and told Vanessa to head into the kitchen and we’d go find that pen she was looking for. As I walked out of the room I opened up Adam’s underwear drawer and threw it in there - I was certain that the girls would never have a reason to rummage through his boxers. And well maybe his find would be my lucky gain….well now, Happy Tomorrow to me too!
Sometimes my girls are in a mood and I will ask them “why the puss face?” Today Vanessa tried to say something similar and she yelled “Ella you have a pussy face”. Oh my. That would be unfortunate.
My mom is always telling me not to say things in front of my kids, if I am worried that they might repeat it to the wrong person or at the wrong time. I hate admitting when she is right – but I have to hand it to her this time.
If you know me, you know I am pretty open about anything and everything - whether it is right or wrong, I am the same way with my kids. And sometimes I turn it up a little just to be funny for them. Case in point….the other day, I was taking a shower and since like most moms, the bathroom is no longer a private place, my kids were standing outside the shower doors, knocking on them and trying to talk to me like I wasn’t trying to have a personal moment. The water made it hard to hear them and the hot steam, made it even harder. As their voices were muffled under the constant cleansing stream, all I could think was “Fucking – go away….let me be”. But they didn’t – they wouldn’t. It was if they waited for me to go in the shower, to determine that this was the optimal time to engage in conversation. So as I was shaving all my parts, I thought it would make them laugh and get grossed out enough to go away if I told them something silly. My youngest was mid-sentence about an annoying thing her sister did to her when I said "Vanessa, please, stop talking, I am trying to shave my asshole and I cant do this with you going on and on.” She cracked up. So did I. Because isn't it ridiculous that I would say that to a child? (I’d say it was ridiculous to say I was shaving my ass, but hey, I am Italian and firmly believe that all women should groom generously). And wouldn’t it be just my ridiculous luck that the next day, Vanessa told her class that her mom “shaves her butt”. I am not even sure I can put into words the feeling I had when she told me she said this and that she got in trouble for it. Ok – I was glad she didn’t use the curse word, per se but OMG – this was wrong on so many levels – I honestly didn’t even know how to do damage control. So I let it go. I never brought it up again. It was too embarrassing - which again, says a lot for me. I really don’t get easily embarrassed. Luckily, in having a good kid (for the most part), the teacher didn’t seem to really want to bring up something uncomfortable for either of us – so it became something never addressed, never to speak about again. It was a definitive end to the subject of my end. Each day I have to pick my kids up from aftercare at their school. This after-school assistance is basically a program that the town offers for working parents so that we can get our kids up until 6pm instead of the school-day dismissal at 3:00. The parking lot for this pick-up is really quite narrow. True to form, I am also often late which leaves the parking spot choices pretty slim pickings. The other night, I didn’t even bother trying to find something and instead, I parked in a non-spot and got myself in a jam. As the girls and I were trying to leave, I had to keep maneuvering the car back and forth to try and shimmy out of the spot. It reminded me of that scene in Austin Powers where he is stuck in a hall on a that little cart. Back and forth, back and forth. At one point, I guess I got a little impatient or heavy with my foot and I stepped on the gas and my car smashed into the school wall. The kids and I all jerked forward. In unison -I yelped, Ella yelled “Mooooom!” and Vanessa gasped. We then all started laughing. I am such a bad driver that I hit things all the time – but the school?! Really?! I got out of the car to look at the potential damage to the building. The tannish brick wall had a huge black streak on it but nothing else. My car, ironically had no marks. I am so not sure how that was possible, the impact sounded like my bumper would be crunched! Another mom standing near the scene, grabbed her son close to her upon hearing the loud smash (she was a little over-dramatic if you ask me - but who am I to judge. I just crashed into my kid's school). As we pulled away I asked the girls not to say anything to Adam – especially since my car had no evidence of the incident. Flash-forward two days and Adam picks up the kids. At dinner that same night, he mentions that he knows I hit the school and tells me that the kids showed him “mommy’s mark” on the wall. I look at the kids like “what the hell?!” But, whatever. I always said if I go somewhere, I want to leave my mark. Not really what I meant, but I guess I can consider it done at the local elementary school.
One year I was a chaperon for my daughter's school trip to the Liberty Science Center. This wasn't the best fit for me, considering I don't know much about science at all. Or Math, or History or, come to think of it - how the hell did I graduate?! Well whatever...of course I had to have a kid in my group that asked a hundred questions about each exhibit. I got by most of the day by reading the plaques that told the purpose of each display but when there was one station - the sedimentary table (or something) which didn't have a plaque - I made something up when he asked me a question. I mean, how hard this could be? It looked like a wooden table with a bunch of rocks, sand and some water. Well or course whatever I said was incorrect and the little shit just had to call me out on it - he was like "Mrs. M, that's not right" and he proceeded to tell me and the kids in our group the correct thing. At that point he had gotten on my nerves; I cut him off mid-sentence and said briskly "Ok so maybe what I said wasn't right, but I'm not here to answer questions, I'm here to make sure you don't get kidnapped or die on this trip". I should have known this would freak out a kid like this and I honestly didn't mean to scare him but I couldn't handle anymore questions!! Feeling bad I told him to stick with me to head to what I proclaimed was the next exhibit - the gift shop!! And I told him I would welcome any question about shopping - and he could bet his ass I'd be right this time.
Sometimes I go shopping. OK, I go shopping a lot. Too much, if you ask Adam. And even if you don’t ask, he’ll gladly tell you that I am “bankrupting” our family. Seeing that he obviously will never understand my actual need to shop for clothes, shoes, accessories, bags – anything that isn't nailed down in one of my favorite stores - I realized I needed a strategy to deal with his complaining and my charging.
So of course I go right to my girlfriends and ask them what tactics they use. And I am not surprised that I am not alone in this situation and they all have creative ways to trick their husbands into thinking that a shopping spree didn't just take place. Some of my faves…. •Use a red pen and draw a line through whatever price is on the tag and then lower it. Even if you leave the tag on, you can say you bought it for a bargain- then hold up the tag with the red discounted slash and say “see!!!” •Put the purchased items into grocery store bags as if you just went to the food store and then carry them into the house. You should have a few decoy apples or something to make it look legit. What is supposed to be bread in your bag is really a new blouse! Yay for him not caring about what food you buy! •Say that you bought something for yourself to make yourself feel better so that you were in a good mood for your family because it’s “that time”. Cry and ramble on about a million other things if that further impresses your PMS craziness and you know it sends him running away from you. Discussion, over. •Order things to your office or a friend’s house. If you are only using your purse or computer bag to smuggle in the goods, and depending on the size of the order, you may have to make a few trips over a few days to bring your new things into their new home. •If you must use a credit or debt card while at the store, at least pay half of the total in cash so it doesn't seem so bad, if and when he sees the bill. Be sure to throw away the receipt! Cash and charges are each transaction line items and will add up to the actual sale total. (Why are the stores not helping us here?! Tsk!) •Cry and say that you need new things to make him look good! It’s not easy being a woman….and eye candy too! Geesh! •Have a secret area in the garage, foyer, bedroom or wherever you first enter your home so that you can stuff the bags in that hidden area and go and retrieve them while he is busy or sleeping. •Buy a sexy pair of underwear with your total purchase. Lead his mind in another direction. But – be aware – you will need to seal the deal. Don’t leave him hanging…get it done so you can get to hanging up your stuff! •When he asks if what you are wearing is new – just say “I’ve had this for years!” Have a function or something in mind where you might have worn the item and say it with conviction. Make him feel bad that he didn’t remember how good you looked when you wore it the first time. SMH. •Tell him a friend gave it to you because she didn’t like it any more, grew out of it - anything that comes to mind depending on what he knows about your friend and what he believes would be the case. •Buy a little something for him too so you don’t seem so selfish. Present it to him before you start putting away your new pretty things. •Tell him your mom or dad bought it for you. If you are a total wise-ass and want to have some fun or just to demonstrate that you two could have bigger problems - tell him that your boyfriend did. |
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