The Shit Will Kill You

Fidel was at the dinner table tonight and he said that he wanted to go look for some mushrooms. I've been into the wine so at first I was like, "Alright!" but then I heard the voice of reason telling me that mushrooms aren't a good idea unless you know what you are doing. I most definitely do not know a thing about mushrooms except for the wrong one will kill your ass. I also know that in the 12 years that I have known my husband he's never picked one mushroom so he must understand my apprehension at eating any of his poisonous foraged fungi. I just looked at him and said "What are you planning to do with the mushrooms that you may find" and he explained how he would quarter them and fry them blah blah blah. After he was done I looked at him and said, "Well I'm not eating them". He asked, of course, why not so I said, "That shit will make your liver fly out of your butthole". He knew that the crazy had taken over by that point so he dropped the mushroom talk. How could he really argue with my reasoning, though.

Tick Tock Ya Don't Stop

I'm sitting here on the computer trying to muster up the strength and energy to start cleaning the house and doing preparations for my departure on Thursday. Mommy Detox III is scheduled for May 1-5 and Fidel will be taking care of the girls, the dogs and the house while I'm gone. Most of me feels sorry for leaving him with them but then a tiny part of me wants to cartwheel down the street, laughing hysterically and screaming "SUCKERRRRR". I blame that selfish part on the fact that the girls have managed to drive me completely batshit. Moggie is 4 and can read, write, work the tv remote (with the satellite guide and all), do anything she wants on a laptop but ask her to pick up a box of Legos that she dumped and she turns stupid all of a sudden. It's really infuriating.

I've finished my second cup of coffee so it's officially time for the household drudgery to begin.

Nature Girls

I have a horrible habit of nicknaming individuals and types of people. One group in particular is the Nature Girls. I saw a NG at Target yesterday and wanted to kidnap her to do a little un-unibrowing for her. I don't know if the NGs are all taking the same kind of supplements but they all look pale and frumpy and have fuzzy mustaches. The NG at Target got into a minivan with a "Doula" license plate on the front of it. Are these the modern-day hippies? Who are their role models? Do they listen to that flutey music playing in Cost Plus/World Market? I bet they do listen to that crap.

*ETA - I have to say that I was wearing the makeup remnants from the day before and had a bad case of bed head. I was wearing clothes that I had worn the day before as well. I bet NG was calling me the Day-Old girl while I was calling her Nature Girl.

Random Friday Crap

I had errands to run after dropping Moggie at preschool. I went to Kohls and Kroger and when I got home I figured out that I had a dryer sheet sticking way out of the top of my underwear the entire morning.

I went to DSW and came to the conclusion that I will never wear high heels again. Mid-height heels still work but big old high heels make my back hurt.

I was up all night between the Jimmy Legs and being woken up by having "Roll over" grumbled at me repeatedly. I really feel sorry for Fidel having to sleep with me and I'm going to have to bite the bullet and go get checked out for this horrible snoring crap. He says I stop breathing and then gasp for air. The bags under my eyes are making me look old.

I've lost 5 lbs this week. I don't know how smart it is to start eating right shortly before a cruise but I'm not one to do things the conventional way. I think I'll eat healthy meals and indulge in the booze only.

I'm fighting the urge to go buy some plants and spend the weekend digging in the dirt. I love doing yard work, except for mowing the grass and cleaning crap up. I guess all I love is planting and pruning.

I don't remember the last time I made dinner. I guess I should cook something tonight.

Got It!

I found a dress. It looks better on. I was worried the ruffles would make my rump look bigger but it doesn't. No bigger, no smaller.

The sparkly brooch is removable, in case you wondered.

If I Procrastinate It May Go Away

This morning, I have to girdle and Spanx myself within an inch of my life and head over to Nordstrom to try on some dresses. I ordered a dress over the phone with Spiegel instead of ordering it online (because of some mega discount codes I found on www.retailmenot.com) so I can't obsessively track it's progress through all-too-familiar UPS hubs and that makes me fear that it won't be here on time. Plus I have a week in Charleston with my dear Fidel planned for June and I really would rather have a different dress so I can return the one I got at Spiegel if I need to. Which means I'll be in Nordstrom and Dillards this morning trying to find something that I like. And something that I fit into. Pray that those two worlds overlap for me.

Also on the agenda is ordering a birthday cookie cake for my sweet Tootie who turns six tomorrow. She will share that with her classmates at school and then I have to come up with another cake for her bowling party on Sunday. I think I have Publix's number memorized so I'm good there.

If I don't come back, just Google "Woman stuck in dress rescued from dressing room" and you should get a good update on my status.

911 Or Weight Watchers

I'm going on our annual mommy detox cruise in nine days so being the planner that I am (not) I tried on my formal wear to see what I wanted to wear for formal night. The first outfit that came to mind was a pretty black beaded top and black pants. I got the pants on over the rump but they were nowhere near zipped. Not even within 4 inches. I did the maternity tuck-under (you know you did this too) and my very unpregnant belly was there for the world to see. Not good. I grabbed the top to put it on, and I got my arms through the back opening and got stuck in the shirt. That's right, I was stuck in a shirt with my arms straight up over my head. I was home all alone and started to panic. I didn't know whether to call 911 or Weight Watchers. During my decision process I started to sweat like a bull and the shirt slid right on up my arms. It was kind of like Free Willy getting cut from a fishing net.

I ran downstairs and ordered a new dress since nothing I had fit me and I pray that it gets here in time. I'll head out to Dillard's in the morning to find backup number two. And some shoes. And a mega girdle and some Spanx.

Sweet Senility

My grandmother and grandfather are both pretty senile. Actually my Grandmother is absolutely senile and my grandfather has good days and bad days since his stroke, and lives in the past a lot. My grandmother walked by him last week and he had her stop, pulled up her shirt to expose her belly and smiled as big as anything and said, "Look, we're having a baby" and smiled all day long about it. By the next morning, apparently my grandmother had admitted to running around on him (ha ha) so he was pouting all day. Luckily for everyone the third day was back to normal and no one was pregnant or an adulterer.

Happy Pills

Fidel and I took the girls to a bowling party this morning for a friend's kid's birthday. While the girls were bowling with their friends, I was hanging out with MomZ gossiping and she remarked that Fidel was unusually chipper. She said, "Did Fidel take his happy pills this morning or something?" and I said, "No, I did him before we came". It was pretty funny but she looked at me after she stopped laughing and said, "You should do that before you take him out of the house from now on".

Hello, Beautiful

I am in love with this purse. I'm not normally a big animal print person but I just want this purse so bad I can't stand it. It makes no sense because I hate switching purses and normally only do it once in the spring and then again in the fall, but I think I would carry this purse a good bit. I don't think that Fidel believes that I need another purse. Isn't she pretty though?

Tax Day

In a stroke of sheer genius, Fidel's business partners decided that today would be a good day to begin a 3-day executive conference at a Ritz-Carlton resort about an hour and a half from town. Guess who ended up having to sit in the post office line for 45 minutes to mail the tax returns that the CPA hired by the geniuses who are currently enjoying the Ritz just got to us at 7 pm yesterday? I'll give you a hint: She does not have a penis, a job or any reason whatsoever to stand in a post office line for anything. Give up? It was me. With my devil child, Moggie. For 45 minutes in a crowded, dinky post office. Doesn't that sound like orientation day in Hell?

For some strange reason (maybe she has rabies) Moggie was on her very best behavior. She didn't run around, didn't cry, didn't steal any wallets. I showered her with bountiful praise and took her for a nice lunch. We split a little chocolate cake for dessert and she told me that it was the best day ever. It was a pretty good day. She's turning into a little lady at 4 years old and she can be a ton of fun. Hopefully I'll be reminded of good days like today the next time I'm pulling my hair out because of her.

Monday Minutiae

I love dropping the word minutiae every now and then. Every shred of me tells me that it's spelled wrong but my happy pills tell me to just go with it.

In order to get rid of my extended-visitor stress, I did a little craft shopping therapy this morning. I have some really cute home decor themed crafts going on here this week. Luckily I have found (and my dad bought me a new one) my memory card for my camera so you will be able to see what I'm doing. I know you are on the edge of your seats.

I must go sniff some paint fumes and try to avoid losing any fingers to the exacto knife. When you have the attention span of a fruit fly you cannot procrastinate on a project because six to nine months from now you will find a canvas in your garage and have no idea what you bought it for.

Separated at Birth

Rollo from Sanford and Son and the carnie from Wii Carnival Games.

I love playing the Wii Carnival Games and Fidel laughs at me when Rollo the carnie heckles me because I like to talk back to him.

Sorry, Master Kwon

Moggie and Tootie were invited to Neighbor Kid's birthday party this afternoon at the local karate place. Tootie refused to go until I reminded her of the fact that she and her little girl friend down the street had made a pact to meet each other there.

We got dressed and made our mad sprint down to the Wal-Mart to get the present fifteen minutes before the party began. I threw a little bag of peanut M&Ms at the girls in the car since I forgot to feed them lunch and off we went to the karate studio.

When we arrived, a karate chick asked Moggie what her name was and she wrote it in Japanese. Moggie looked at her and said, "Excuse me, that is not my name. You spell my name M-O-G-G-I-E. Try again, please". I just have to add here that my children's actual names are not Moggie and Tootie. Those are their nicknames. I'm demented but not demented enough to actually name them Moggie and Tootie.

Tootie refused to participate in the karate deal so she sat on my feet during the party. Moggie was all up in the mix with the karate stuff but she has to do her own thing. They did a little crouching move and Moggie did a plie and said, "I'm a ballet girl, so I'm doing a plie. And here is first position, second position, here's a condou, I do a wonderful condou". Poor Master Kwon had to have a power struggle with a four-year old ballet girl.

Hello, Sugar

MIL and I escaped the madness of my house last night to hit the mall. We went to Bath and Body works to look for this soft cozy blanket I got from there at Christmas time (that oddly enough I had wrapped to give to MIL for Christmas but she got sick and couldn't come down and I took it as a sign from God that he wanted me to have that blanket that I was dreaming about so I kept it for me) but as luck would have it, they had none.

I know that was a horrible run-on sentence and it's a disservice to every English teacher that I've had. Sometimes a good run-on adds a bit of artistic flair. Plus, I'm a rebel and I just have to break some rules (or completely forget them) here and there.

Back to the original topic here. Concentrate, we were in Bath and Body Works. I saw a table with a scent called "Hello Sugar" and I flipped the lid on the tester bottle of lotion and heard angels sing. It smells like a wonderful cake with just a tiny hint of lemon. You know you've taken a bite of a wonderful homemade pound cake with a crunchy sugary glaze on top and wondered, "Do I taste a little lemon?". That is what this line is like. I bought the Shimmer Lotion and the Lip Gloss and I will be taking my booty back to the mall to get the bodywash/shampoo/bubble bath all-in-one. The lip gloss has the tiny glittery stuff in it, perfect for bumming around the pool this summer.

There you have it, a product review courtesy of Adult ADD. Enjoy, sugars.

Can You Divorce Your Children?

This morning, I got Grandma loaded up and we took the girls to a park to play. We went to our favorite pizza place for lunch, then wandered around this cute little gift store until the girls got antsy. Grandma was still browsing (she is slow as Christmas) so I walked the girls a few doors down to a little bakery. Tootie and I were at the counter ordering a little cake for her (single serving size) and the other lady working at the bakery gasped and said, "Sweetie, don't touch that!!", but it was too late. Moggie had already poked her finger in to the side of the big ass wedding cake that they had sitting out in the middle of the bakery. I made my apologies and the lady said that she could fix it and I got the hell out of there.

I just don't understand what I can do to make that child keep her hands to herself. She is constantly messing with shit that doesn't belong to her. Fidel spent the weekend priming and painting walls in our house because Moggie decided to put hand soap all over her hands and make handprints all over the walls. She started writing her name on a wall as well. I really can't deal with the destruction. I asked Fidel if we could send her to an orphanage for a year so that she could realize how good of a life she has but he assured me that she would be worse when she got home, instead of better. Once that option was off the table I started wondering how I could get myself committed for a year or even a few months, but you really have to jump through some major hoops to get a nice vacation in a padded room. I suppose I should applaud the progress of treating mental issues but I need a good "nervous breakdown" deal like there used to be, where you had a meltdown, took Valium for a month and everyone left you alone to deal with your shit. The good old days.

Nice to Veet You

I went to Wal-Mart yesterday (yes, I know that I'm repeating myself) and I got a tube of Veet. Not the kind with the scraper, the kind with the scrubby sponge. I used it today on my legs and bikini area (and yes, I went there) and I love the results! I recommend this product if you hate shaving as much as I do. I just rubbed this on like a lotion, turned on the shower and by the time the water was warm I hopped in and scrubbed away my winter coat. It's very exfoliating so I didn't even need to use scrubbing gel afterwards.

The New Babysitter

It's Spring Break here in Georgia and Grandma is here from out of town, so my kids have been driving me batshit. We took an outing to Wal-Mart this morning and miraculously stumbled upon a Wii, and Grandma wanted to buy that for the girls as a joint birthday present. Those monkeys bowled for 4 hours straight. I had to pause it to make them go pee. I'm thinking I'll scatter a bag of popcorn about and turn on the Wii and have plenty of time to go get a mani/pedi before they miss me.

When I was at the Wal-Mart I noticed that I'm not the only mom worn out on this fine Tuesday of Spring Break. We didn't get through the doors before a kid had a meltdown. I watched the mom drag her into the store and have her I swear I will haul you out of here by your ear if I don't whip your ass in the band-aid aisle speech through clenched teeth. I walked by her and said, "You go, girl" and whacked my two in the head for good measure. Well, to be honest I saved the head whacking for the toy section because I had their mouths stuffed with lollipops I snagged from the bank. But I was ready to smack them if they got out of line.

Shoe Love

MIL and I went out shopping this afternoon. I have been wanting to hit the Lands End store inside Sears so we had to drive down to the mall with Sears to shop. I ended up finding a great swimsuit (chubby girls- try the Lands End faille collection). I'll be going back down there next week for a cute giraffe-print lawn shirt that isn't available online.

Anyway, our second stop was a shoe store for comfortable shoes (think Birkenstocks, Dansko, Ecco), where we spent over two and a half hours. For real. We were in there for so long that I had to walk down a few doors to make a smoothie run to give us some energy. This is not a warehouse store measured in acres, it's a small boutique shop with a sales floor the size of the average 2-car garage. My Double Up program with the happy pills is working because I had the patience of a saint. I spent money like the devil, though. I found two pairs of Uggs that I couldn't live without.

How Many Gerbils Do You Have?

MIL is all drugged up and living in la-la land this evening. She falls asleep constantly and wakes up saying the funniest things. She was in a room with me and Fidel earlier and we were both on our laptops IMing each other and she hopped up and said, "How many gerbils do you have? I can hear them scratching the walls", and quickly fell back to sleep. Next time she woke up she was saying, "She's got a stick in her ear, but it's not all the way in". I spent nearly 3 hours in one shoe store while she tried on 25 pairs of shoes three or four times each, at least, so I think I'm allowed to laugh at her a little.

Double Up

We are on day 5 of the 10-day Mother In Law visit and I think I started doubling up on my happy pills on day 2. By day 4 I had started drinking. At this rate I'll be shooting heroin under my eyelids by Friday.

We are under the 4 week mark for our Mommy Detox cruise and I'm chomping at the bit to go. I'm using that weekend getaway as an anchor for my sanity at this point.

In other news, I bought some of the Breathe Right strips to see if they helped my snoring and used one for the first time last night. Fidel said that the strip just made me snore louder. I dreamed I was living in a turquoise doublewide trailer so he was probably hearing my moans of sorrow and pain.

Foot Shufflers

We entertain a good bit in our house, and I have noticed that some people have a strange habit of shuffling their feet on the floor if they are sitting down. The CFO from Fidel's company was over here in February and the next day, I noticed balls of wool on the rug near the chair he was sitting in. Our old neighbor always left balls on the carpet underneath our dining table. Why do people do this? Surely they see the damage they do to the carpets in their own home! Perhaps it's just that they are nervous in social situations and their foot shuffling is their little "tick" to cope. I wish they would pick a more appropriate tick, like drinking.

All Clear

Well, mostly all clear. I have a dilated duct that needs further exploration (appointment on Monday) but overall, looks like I'm ok.

When I was ordered to have a mammogram, the first thing I googled was, "Do mammograms hurt?" and I couldn't find a definitive answer. I know pain is unique to each person but I will tell you, mammograms do hurt. Luckily it's only for a moment. And since your boob is stuck in a vice grip while you are contorted around the machine like a monkey, and you have to hold your breath (which is good since you stink to high heaven due to the no-deodorant rule), the claustrophobia/entrapment sensation overrides the actual pain.

I just know that if men had to endure a test where their nuts are mashed flat in a vice, there would be a better test widely available and covered by insurance. Insurance companies cater to men anyway. How ridiculous is it that a man can get a prescription for a pill to make his pecker hard for just a co-pay and women have to pay for birth control out of pocket? Last time I checked, giving birth costs a lot of money. Hard peckers are a direct cause of pregnancy. I've been pregnant twice and both times, there was a hard pecker involved.

Husband of the Year

This morning, I had an appointment for my mammogram and ultrasound for my boob problem. Fidel had an interview/audit/inquisition/whatever with the EEOC because of a bitch whore employee who quit her job, then went to the EEOC to report the company for firing her unjustly, so he couldn't be with me this morning. I told him last night that if I got told that I had breast cancer while he was tied up with a meritless claim that I was going to track that bitch down and kick her ass. I guess he took that seriously and he showed up and surprised me in the waiting room this morning, then took me to lunch. I just had to brag on him because he really came through!

Deja Vu

I got off of my ass this morning to do some cleaning before I got changed to take Moggie to buy the Chipmunks movie. I reached for the vacuum, only to see that our freaking wiener dog has chewed off the cord, again. I just had this thing repaired in February and here it is, April 1, and the $40 cord is gnawed to bits. She always has excellent timing with this crap, too. Last time, it was days before a big work function here at our house, then this time it's days before MIL is due to land for a long visit. I'm currently PMSing like a mo-fo and I love to vacuum because it drowns out the constant begging for shit from the children.

The Big One

Last night, Fidel and I watched the Monday night lineup on CBS. I don't know if I reached comedic overload or what, but by the time The New Adventures of Old Christine came on, I was hysterical. I was laughing so hard at absolutely nothing and I really thought I was cracking up, like nut house cracking up. I couldn't stop laughing. I thought that I was either ready to be committed or else I was having one hell of a drug flashback, if that's what you call that. I haven't done anything that would cause a flashback to my knowledge but my memory can't exactly be trusted. Thankfully I got over my giggle fit before Fidel seized the chance to put me away.