Wednesday, May 28, 2008
1. First, what kind of suit are you looking for?
c) As many damn pieces as I can possibly cram on and still be buoyant.
2. Which style of swimsuit do you like best?
c) 1920's head-to-toe bathing costume made out of wool-ini
3. What shape best describes your body?
a) A Pear
b) An Apple
c) A value-sized mixed fruit tray from Costco
4. Would you say your bust is:
c) Something resembling a couple of lazy-ass sock puppets on holiday
5. Your lower body can best be described as:
a) Slim and boyish
b) Curvy and rounded
c) Damn, guuurrllll, you sure got you a Badonka Donka Donk
6. What type of swimwear coverage do you prefer?
a) A Little
b) A Lot
c) A Hyberbolic Chamber
7. Do you need tummy control?
a) Does Laverne need Shirley?
8. When trying on swimsuits, do you prefer a dressing room with:
a) A full-length mirror and bright, fluorescent lighting
b) A small, cracked mirror and flickering, feeble candlelight
c) A bottle of Jack, a box of Kleenex and Jenny Craig on speed-dial
9. Which activity do you plan on doing most often in your swimwear?
b) Laying out
c) Slamming six-packs of wine coolers and thinking evil thoughts about the 21 year-old in a tiny bikini who's lying right next to me and just so totally flaunting it, the nasty, little wench
10. Finally, how much would you like to pay for your new swimsuit?
c) If it makes me look like a size-4, I'll give you my Volvo, my 401K and my wedding ring, no questions asked.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
In just a couple of weeks, my boys, who I've missed terribly this school year, will finally be home for the summer, both of them smiling, happy and totally excited to spend each and every waking moment with their adoring mother.
I cannot let that happen.
Oh, sure, our summers always start off well. We swim, we play, we picnic. We’re practically the unpaid poster children for Target's "Summer Is Awesome!" campaign. But by the time August blazes in, things have changed. Dramatically. Now we're hot, we're tired, we're crabby and the only poster that would possibly even consider putting our picture on it is probably hanging in the Department of Mental Health. It's not pretty.
By the end of last summer, when it was so hot outside that you could burn your hand on a plant if you weren't careful, we’d been stuck inside the house so much that the boys were bouncing off the walls. Literally. I mean, how someone can think that the best way to get the book they want out of the bookcase is to jump off of the couch and crash, arms outstretched, into said bookcase is beyond me. It really is.
When they weren't bouncing off the walls, Sam and Jack had decided to spend the last few days of their precious vacation time embroiled in what was by now their favorite activity: fighting. While they usually get along really well, they'd somehow suddenly turned into a bitter, middle-aged couple on the brink of divorce. Our house was like the set of a preschooler remake of The War of the Roses.
Sam would say, “I like this purple crayon.”
Jack would instantly counter with, “No, you DON’T LIKE IT!”
Sam, slowly licking the crayon, would then reply, “Oh, yeah, I do. It’s my faaa-vvv-orite crayon.”
Jack then completely snaps and leaps on Sam like a Croc-wearing jungle cat, grabbing for the crayon while simultaneously pulling Sam’s hair and screaming, “STOP IT! THAT’S MY CRAYON! STOP LICKING DA PURPLE! MOMMY! HE’S LICKING MY PURPLE CRAYYYYONNN!”
To which Sam, the crown prince of self-preservation, would then calmly respond, “No, I’m not, mommy. I was just cleaning it for him.”
At this point, Jack's had enough of this bullshit and decides to finish the discussion Russell Crowe-style by whacking the crap out of Sam’s foot with something perfect for the job, like a glue bottle with a loose cap, thereby causing Sam to dramatically wail “OW OW OW!!” while he holds The Most Amazing Purple Crayon Ever Made In The History Of Amazing Purple Crayons over his head like it’s the world heavyweight championship belt.
This is usually when I can no longer pretend I can’t hear them because I know the neighbors down the street are probably in the process of calling for an emergency vehicle, so I have to reluctantly stop checking my e-mail and stomp upstairs to throw down some mommy justice. I barge into the playroom, pull them apart and oh-so-calmly point out that the crayon box right in front of them has no less than five purple crayons just sitting there, hell-ooo?, but by then they’ve already moved on to something much more pressing like “Dis is my empty Ziploc bag, you sucka!” and the psycho preschooler beach party starts all over again. It’s just like living in the Fox News studio, only with slightly better haircuts.
So right now, I'm in the process of making plans to ensure that this summer will be different. Yep, this August, we won't be holed up inside the house like a bunch of pale survivalists waiting for our spaceship to arrive. Instead, we'll be traveling. Going to camp. Taking so many swimming lessons that our hair will be the color of spinach by the time we're done. And, honestly, I think that all of that will definitely keep the boys from fighting this summer. I really do. But just in case it doesn't, I'm going to destroy every purple crayon I can get my hands on.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Have you seen my toenail clippers?
Which toenail clippers?
The ones I use to clip my toenails.
Yeah, they're in my car.
What are they doing in your car?
I don't know. Probably wondering why someone would opt for black, leather seats when they live in Texas.
WHY are they in your car?
Because the light's much better in there.
To do what? Clip your toenails?
Of course not. That'd be ridiculous.
Then what were you doing in the car with my toenail clippers?
Plucking my eyebrows.
(long pause) Oh, well, that's not ridiculous at all.
OK, so you know my really great eyebrow tweezers? The pink ones that are angled, not pointy, so I don't accidentally blind myself if I happen to sneeze while I'm in the middle of a plucking episode? Well, I couldn't find them anywhere.
And I desperately needed them because my one gray eyebrow hair had returned with a vengeance and I knew that if I didn't remove it IMMEDIATELY, it'd sprout up like a mofo, meaning that by Tuesday, I'd be walking around the neighborhood looking like a deranged Muppet in Bermuda shorts.
And I couldn't go to the salon to have it removed because the last time I was there, I innocently said to my waxer, Sheena, that, boy, isn't she lucky to work there because her upper lip probably needs to be waxed A LOT and for some reason, she took offense to that, which means that I'm now terrified to let her near me with tubs of hot, boiling wax.
So then I thought, why don't I just try pulling The Old Gray Lady out with these toenail clippers? Easy, right? Of course, I rinsed them off in alcohol first just to be sure I wouldn't catch some kind of freaky foot fungus on my eyebrow because then I'd have to wear a big, black eye patch on my eye for a few weeks and, quite honestly, I really don't think I can pull of the whole "Modern Pirate" look, even if I did accessorize with a puffy, white shirt and chunky gold jewelry, but then again, I do like parrots so...wait, where are you going?
To the drugstore.
Well, can you get me a new pair of eyebrow tweezers while you're there?
Not unless they're found in the pain medication aisle.
Fine. But just don't take my car, OK? I think I might need to shave my legs later.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
For The Stressed-Out Mom:
Juicy watermelon or vanilla cupcake-scented candles!
For The Popular Mom:
The Key West Margaritaville Drink Maker!
For The Unpopular Mom:
The Single-Serve Coffeemaker!
For The Really Unpopular Mom:
The One-Touch Can Opener!
For The Why Even Bother? Mom:
The Cuddle-Up Robe!
For The Wants To Lose Her Baby Weight Because Her Baby Is Now 19 Years-Old And Has A Goatee Mom:
The Leg Magic Exercise Toner!
For The Damn, Woman, You Sho Got Some Nasty Feet Mom:
The Ped Egg Foot File!
For The Let's See...Which Do I Have More Of--Wrinkles Or Pimples? Mom:
A Wide Selection Of Vanity Mirrors!
For The When I Said I Wanted A Massage, I Meant From Someone Named Sven, Not From This Piece Of Crap Mom:
The Massage Cushion With Heat!
And For The Honestly, Is This What You Think Of Me Cause If It Is, I'm Gonna Leave This House So Damn Fast It'll Make Your Head Spin, Therefore I Suggest You Get Your Lame Ass In Gear And Head To The First Store That Doesn't Have An "'n" In Its Name To Immediately Buy Mama Somethin' Shiny Mom:
The Steam Mop!
Thursday, May 01, 2008
I don't usually do more than one blog post a week. Mostly because if I write more than 100 words at a sitting, I'm suddenly stricken by the vapors and must then take to my bed with a hot water bottle, a lavender compress and a Bettye LaVette CD until it passes. What can I say? I'm very delicate.
Today, however, I'm making an exception. You see, after my rather pathetic hang-over announcement a few days ago, I received quite an outpouring of care and concern via e-mails like, "Toughen up, lightweight", "How's the stomach, Nancy?" and, from Cheryl in Atlanta, "Feelin' better, Princess?"
It was incredibly touching.
That's why I want everyone to know that I didn't, in fact, go into the light on Monday. Yes, there was one point, while sprawled on my closet floor, desperately trying not to dry heave into my husband's hurraches, when I did consider just giving up and letting go, but then I reached deep down and decided to fight. After all, I had too much to live for, too many things yet to accomplish, two kids to raise. Plus, there was a big shoe sale coming up at Nordstrom and it's not like I was going to miss that, hello.
Anyway, I thank you for all of the tips on hang-over preventions and cures. I hope I won't have to use any of them any time soon, but you never know. I hear there's a mom with a minivan rarin' to go O.U.T. and I don't want to miss out on that action. Besides, how fun would it be to go on a pub crawl in a Honda Odyssey?
One more thing: I usually never recommend movies because my taste runs a little different from most people's. ("What do you mean you liked, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days? More like How to Lose Your Will To Live In 10 Minutes. I mean, come on, it wasn't exactly Tracy/Hepburn, was it? Especially when that chucklehead McConaughey tried to...wait, where are you going?") But if you get a chance, go see Young@Heart, an amazing documentary about a choir of senior citizens who sing songs like "I Wanna Be Sedated". It's heartwarming, it's funny and it even made Shorty-cake cry harder than that time Bruce Springsteen touched her arm in Boston. Trust me on this.
OK, now where's my lavender compress? I think I'm getting woozy.