What EVERY woman SHOULD have

• The perfect mascara for every occasion (hey, sometimes you want “sexy”; sometimes “voluptuous”; sometimes not so much);
• A man who thinks that she is the greatest thing to happen to him;
• Someone in her past that still thinks of her often and laments over the fact that she is “the one that got away”;
• Courage to be alone;
• The desire to sometimes want to be “alone”;
• The strength to stand on her own two feet – even when they hurt like hell;
• Children who thinks she is “magic” because she found the lost toy, shoe, or DVD;
• A fire in her eye that tells the world: “do you REALLY want to mess with me today?”;
• A love for herself that is unmatched by any love or admiration that a man could offer;
• The right to want to be a “missing person”, even if for an hour;
• Valium, vodka, extra salt and limes, or other “happies” at her discretion – always;
• The knowledge to know when to stand up for herself and NOT let anyone knock her down;
• Moments every now and again when she walks into a room and FEELS as though she’s the most beautiful person in the room;
• People who look at her every once in a while as though she IS the most beautiful person in the room.

To ALL the beautiful women out there - this one is for you!

If we weren't all CRAZY we would go insane....

...at least I WOULD. …and not to further quote the greatest man to ever walk the face of the earth in a pair of flip flops (not counting Jesus, of course, but his were more of the “Jesus-of-Nazarath" type sandals, so…yes, Jimmy IS the greatest man to walk the face of the earth in a pair of flip flops), but I need a serious “change in latitude”!!!

As if the opening sentence (hell, let’s call it what it was – paragraph) didn’t give you some sort of inclination that this would be another trip to Crazyville, please let this serve as your official warning that this is where the tour bus is headed. I haven’t been on the blog for days and days, and therefore I have so much to ramble about!!! There will be no rhyme or reason to any of this, so if you are afraid go ahead and depart the tour now. No harm, no foul.

Crazy Tour Stop #1:
I don’t know if any of you are following the Caylee Anthony case out of Florida, but those who aren’t, let me briefly recap for you: Caylee Anthony is a 3 year old who has been missing since sometime in June, but her crazy ass mom didn’t report her missing for 31 days because she was “trying to find her by herself.” Well, I doubt that the baby girl was lost in the bars, where the mom was participating in “hot body contests” during these 31 days. The mom has been arrested, bailed out by a bounty hunter, and still NO WORD on the baby. And the mom supposedly knows who has her, but isn’t talking because “she’s afraid.” I am SO obsessed with this case. Like, creepily. So I follow it everyday. I just want the mom to say something, anything. Even if it’s that a “dingo ate my baby.” I don’t care – just make the crazy bitch talk.

Crazy Tour Stop #2:
So, I should not be this happy, but I am. I got me some more of my little happy pills and have been taking my chemical vacations often. But the only reason I have them is because I have systemic lupus, and at the moment it is effecting my bones and joints, and they are so painful by the mid-afternoon that I can barely wipe my own ass, much less help my little boys wipe theirs. So, I got me some little mommy's helpers to ease the pain. An since I’m trying to find the “silver lining” in all these dark clouds right now, I’m happy for my little chem buddies. Oh, and let’s not forget the recent diagnosis of osteoporosis. Yep, I’m 31 and have the bones of an 85 year old woman. Goodie. At least the bones match the boobies now. BUT, let’s look for the silver lining – if I’m losing bone mass, then SURELY I’m also losing weight, right? Helluva diet plan, but I say whatever works. You know, I really used to care – but then I took a pill for that!

Crazy Tour Stop #3:
So, maybe the school teacher WAS right and it HAS gotten better with little man. He now LOVES school, and not only does he run in to school everyday, but if I even want to try and give him a kiss I have to do it to the back of his beautiful little head. Go figure. And now, here’s the kicker, they apprarently want to use me as a “testimonial” for other parents who are having a rough time adjusting. Seriously. What I can’t figure out is if I should be flattered or embarrassed. I’m sure that I should be embarrassed. Maybe they want me to be a poster child for the Crazy Mom Society. I think I should get a medal for not causing anyone bodily harm during these hellacious 3 weeks.

Crazy Tour Stop #4: So, I’ve come to believe that my life is a reality show in some foreign country, and every time some random craziness occurs there is an audience out their peeing in their pants with laughter. I swear – I really do believe this. Like every time (hell, who am I kidding – the once every 6 months time) I go to get a pedicure, I expect the little foot filer man to say to me “what color you want today.” And then, in complete excitement, he figures out that I am THAT GIRL on the show in his homeland, the one that he had posters of in his room growing up, and tells me how much he loves me, his whole family-even grandma loves me- and they sit around watching MY LIFE every night. Then he’ll tell me “you so booful”.
I swear. I am my own reality show star.

I think my happiness is wearing off now – time for my next dosage. For those of you who stayed with me this far, I’m glad you joined the ride. Let me know if you want my autograph – you need to hit me up now before my show hits the states and then I can’t promise that I will be available for comment.

And remember – “It’s a jungle out there kiddies….have a very fruitful day”!

Where is the epidural when you REALLY need it?

So, my baby boys have started daycare/preschool and I must say that this is harder on me than giving birth to the big 'uns. I mean, at least with childbirth I had really, really good drugs. The kind that make you say things you don't mean - or you really do mean them, but wouldn't say them out loud unless under the pretense of "being highly medicated" so that you can at least have an excuse to fall back on, should anyone's feelings get really hurt beyond repair. But I can't seem to get those same drugs for "pushing my children out" into the world of preschool.

Anyway, the littlest man isn't doing so well at this transition thing, and as I sit here with my heart hurting so damn bad I swear I'm about to go into cardiac arrest (yes, I watched Hopkins last night and everyone on the show was in cardiac arrest, so this must be what I'm experiencing), all I really want to do is quit my job, pick up my babies, and homeschool them. Or something very dramatic like that. I know that he will eventually LOVE it, but right now he doesn't. And he looks to me to fix that - I mean, he REALLY looks at me every single morning with those green eyes full of pain and misery and asks me to "please take me home. I don't like school." GULP. Big dose of the mom guilt I talked about in my earlier post - the kind of guilt that if anyone ever wrote a book about, then human reproduction just might come to a halt and we'd all become an aging population, dying off at this point.

And here's the kicker - the director had the audacity to tell me, as I was leaving my 3yr old son (and my heart and soul, for that matter) crying on the floor of his room, "it does get better". I swear, it took every ounce of strength in my body not to drop kick her to the floor. Then kick her in the head. Twice. And throw in a little of beating the shit out of her. And then beating her for shitting.

But, because I love my freedom and do not want to be locked away in prison, I said a little mantra to myself "prison orange would not look good on you", "prison orange would not look good on you" and instead walked out of the building. As quick as possible. Nobody hurt.

Somebody out there, tell me that this gets easier. At least the parenthood aspect (marriage, not so sure...)

Crazyville

For my very first blog, I thought I'd go ahead and let all of my crazy hang out for you and take you on a tour of Crazyville (a.k.a. My World). Please keep arms and legs in at all times, and no flash photography.


I'll start with letting you know that the reason you don't see my picture (or any of my gorgeous children or husband) is because I watch too much Dateline and Chris Hansen has made me even more paranoid than normal and I'm afraid that some Creepy McCreeperson will harm my babies. Or post their cute little faces on really bad websites where balding, dirty men will think dirty things while looking at them. I could go on forever about this....

For an even deeper tour into Crazyville, let me just share with you things that completely baffle me - not to beat a dead horse, but WHY DON'T CHILDREN COME WITH INSTRUCTIONS?

I mean, female hygeine products come with instructions. And those things can only go in one of two places. And if you should put it in the WRONG place, well, you'll only do it once. And then you'll know better. And condoms come with instructions and they seem to be pretty self explanatory - even for a man. You're either going to blow it up like a balloon animal, or put it where it belongs. And for the love of God, even shampoo comes with instructions. Phoebe sings about the 3 easy steps that are involved - lather, rinse, repeat. But we can't get instructions for kids?!?!?

I know that there are cute little "owners manual" books out there about children, but I want something more (don't we all??). Tell me about the guilt that a mom carries every moment of every day. You know what I'm talking about - it's when you buy yourself a new pair of shoes because not only were they on sale, but they will go with most anything and somehow they make you look 2 inches taller and 5 pounds lighter. And this purchase would only come AFTER spending unsightly amounts of cash on some walking, talking toy-of-the-moment for your children - and they won't even know where the damn thing is by this time tomorrow. Tell me how to fix what's wrong, even when I don't know what's wrong with them when they go from crying to laughing to crying again, all within a 30 second span. Instruct me on how to be a good mommy, when all I really want to be at the moment is a missing person. Give me instructions for something that seems a bit more demanding and critical to warrant instructions, rather than how to shampoo my hair.


Well, I'm thinking I may need to get back to work this morning. You know, earn my paycheck so I can buy some latest and greatest toy for my boys. 'Cause I sure won't be buying myself that beautiful little handbag that I've had my eye on (and it has been watching me, too, everytime I walk by it in the store - I swear!) - my mommy guilt factor would go through the roof.

This concludes our tour of Crazyville. Thanks for visiting.