An age-old question

Why do men spend so long in the bathroom?  I know this is a question pondered by wives across the world, but seriously…what is UP with that? And why does this always happen at the most “convenient” times for them?  Rarely is Snoop struck by stomach cramps that cause him to miss half of a football game.  And I’ve never seen him unfortunately holed up in the bathroom during a UFC fight.  Or when dinner is served.  Noooo.  These “problems” seem to arise at times like…bedtime.  Bathtime.  Clean the room time.  Etcetera and on and on…  Now, I’m certainly not accusing him of lying about having to go…there is evidence to support his claims wafting out from under the door.  I am, however, accusing him men of hiding in there.  Because there is no way that it should regularly take you over a half hour to take a shit.  No way, no how.  Now, perhaps if you had some sort of viral infection or had eaten a raw chicken breast I’d be more forgiving.  But given the frequency of these visits to the bathroom (frequently with cell phone and laptop in tow) I’m calling you out.  You can either confess now, or be forced to go to the doctor with your wife who will tell every detail of your apparent difficulty voiding your bowels and risk a visit from the dreaded scope and a horribly bland high-fiber diet.

 

P.S.  I just want to say that I know hiding in bathrooms happens, because I’ve done it.  When I was pregnant with Drama, I went grocery shopping and bought the most amazing looking fudge from a bake sale.  When I got home, I feigned stomach problems and hid in the bathroom to inhale my fudge because I knew neither my husband or greedy little one year old would dare come in there.  So I totally get it.

But I’m still calling you out.

A brilliant plan

I’ve got an idea.  Probably the best idea I’ve ever had.  Perhaps the greatest idea ever thought.  It’s a sure-fire idea, and would certainly make whoever has the smarts to create it a multi-zillionaire who never have to work another day in their life.  And I’ll only charge a small amount for my idea…a “finder’s fee,” if you will. 

What we need is some sort of gadget that you can somehow hook to your body that is able to convert the amount of mental energy expended in a day into calories. 

Who wouldn’t want that?!?

If there was some way of doing this, I really think that a lot of my problems would be solved.  I know I need to exercise.  There was a day…not all that long ago, really…when I used to work out every day.  Hard.  And I loved it.  Then something happened.  Life.  I went back to work.  My kids got slightly older and involved in more activities.  My piles of laundry started to multiply and the dust bunnies mated.  And just like that…I was off the wagon. 

I’ve done a lot to avoid falling into this trap.  No time for the gym?  No problem…there’s a treadmill in the playroom and a giant weight bench in the garage.  Too cold to go out to the garage?  No prob…there’s a set of kettle bells right next to the dog toys in the living room.  Only have a few minutes to spare?  Grab the yoga ball and do some squats.  I’m telling ya…any excuse I could think of, I found a solution for.  But as it turns out, none of those are the problem.  It’s not that I don’t have time (though I don’t).  It’s not that it’s too cold in the garage (though it will be soon).  It’s that I don’t have the energy.  The mental energy.  I am going 100 mph…all day…every day.  I am biting off more than I can chew at work.  I have good intentions…it’s all building up the foundation that I need to be able to (*fingers crossed*) open up a private practice in a few years.  But in the meantime…it’s killing me.  I’m trying to squeeze 16 hours worth of work in an 8 hr day.  I could work 10 hr days…12 hr days…14 hr days…and maybe eventually get caught up.  But then what? I’d totally miss out on my kids’ lives.  So what do I do?  I work my mind numb all day at work and somehow on my 20-minute drive to pick them up, find the mental strength to give them 100%.  To make dinner and sit down at the table as a family and create memories I can only hope are as good as those I treasure from my own childhood.  To play.  To laugh.  To listen to their stories.  To read.  To snuggle.  To tuck them in and make them feel as safe and loved as they are. 

And then…

I collapse.  I’m spent.  I’m done.  And I can’t get the oomph I need to get my ass upstairs and work out.

That is exactly why we need my idea.  I’d be one hell of a skinny bitch.

We have a problem…

I haven’t blogged in so long, that I forgot my password.  I only have, like…3 passwords that I ever use, and NONE of them worked!  And my address bar up there didn’t respond when I started typing “www…wo-” I had to actually type the entire address!  This indicates to me that I have been away for waaay too long.  I have missed blogging so much, and every time I’ve thought about doing it I’m overcome by this huge feeling of *something*.  I’m not sure what it is…kind of like guilt, kind of overwhelming, kind of just all mixed up.  My life has been such a mixed up bag of tricks and emotions the past few months, and never has there been a time when I’ve felt less like sitting down at the end of the (way too) long day and typing.  Yet never has there been a time when I’ve needed it more.  I could sit here and explain exactly how I’m feeling, or I could just let Mama Smurf say it for me here.  My blog following habits have kind of fallen by the wayside a bit in recent months as well (if I’m being honest…most things have fallen by the wayside), but recently I’ve found myself visiting old “friends” and thinking to myself…I wanna do it again.  Just like Mama Smurf…Facebook has taken over what little time I do steal for myself, and just like her…I found myself overwhelmed by the “demands” of being a blogger.  Trying to be witty.  Wondering if what I was about to put out there was really “worthy” of being a blog.  But then I started to think about why I started blogging in the first place.  To vent.  To reflect.  To have a place that I could look back upon for memories of my children (because, c’mon…let’s face it, I’m CRAPPY at the whole baby book/picture printing/memory keeping stuff).  To express myself in my words, by myself, for myself.  *sidenote…the word “myself” has just totally lost all meaning*  So I’m back. 

But not for you.  For me. 😉

Weekend alone…part 2

Today started at 7 AM, when my internal alarm clock (and a very affectionate cat spoiled by all of the lovin’ received last night) woke me from a deep slumber on the couch.  Last night actually turned into a very fun night…thanks to many more beers and conversation with my awesome friends.  I took one look at the clock, got mad at my internal alarm clock, pushed the furry mass from my face, took some Excedrin and went back to sleep.  Until 10:30!!! It was amazing!  I got up, showered, and headed in to my office.  I had been dreading this part of the weekend…this is myweekend, dammit, and I didn’t want to have to go in there and do work.  I checked my email, facebook, and considered doing some work.  But I was sidetracked by something, which led me to be sidetracked by something else, which eventually led me to people.com.  Where I was further distracted by pictures of Zac.  Which then led me to reading his bio.  Which told me he starred in a Lifetime TV movie a few years ago in which he played a child with autism.  Which, of course I HAD to watch.  So I logged into youtube, and spent the next hour and a half watching Miracle Run in 10 minute segments.  What a great movie!!! I had a twinge of guilt about coming to work and watching a movie, but it wasn’t that hard to justify my behavior.  After all, the movie was about twins with autism.  And I am an autism therapist.  So, technically, I could call it research.  Not that there’s anything I learned that I didn’t already know…other than the fact that Zac is actually a pretty good actor.  He obviously did some research for the roll…he had the mannerisms, the voice, everything down pat.  Even more fuel to the disgusting fire that is my cougar crush. 

So after I finished my research…I headed home.  Stopped on the way at my friend’s son’s t-ball game, then came back to do a little bit of nothing. At. All.  It was a beautiful day outside, so I took to an Adirondack chair in the backyard with a new book and a sense of relaxation and calm I haven’t felt in a long long time.  The next hour or so was one of the best I’ve had in months.  Maybe even years. 

Then I got ready for the world to end.  I’ll provide a little background on this one…  About 2 1/2 years ago, Snoop was deployed to Afghanistan and I was a stay at home mom and miserable.  We had only lived here a few months and I didn’t have much of a life outside of the kids and one close friend.  Snoop sent me an email link to some girl’s myspace page, and said he had been checking out profiles of people who lived in our area and he saw hers and “thought we could be friends.”  I thought it was really weird, but checked it out anyway.  She seemed a lot like me…she was a psychologist turned stay-at-home-mom and felt like she had totally lost herself in mommyhood.  She was a complete smart-ass.  So I sent her a message and we started chatting.  We “talked” (all IM, facebook, , text, etc…) a lot, shared a lot, and I really felt like I got to know her well.  There were many times we almost got together, but for one reason or another it never happened.  She’s got 2 little boys with autism, and even came into my office one day but I was, of course, in a meeting and again…didn’t have the chance to meet her (she did leave me a cool present though!).  She and I always joke that we can’t actually meet or something disastrous could happen.  So last night she and I made plans to get together today.  We met up for dinner and drinks, and guess what?! Nothing happened.  No earthquakes…no Armageddon… Just a fabulous time with a fabulous “new” friend.  Yay!

So after a few hours getting to know this person I’ve actually “known” for years, I came back home.  And it’s been a few more fantastical hours.  I talked to my kiddos, who are having a fantastic weekend with their daddy (something that was so needed!).  I snuggled the cats.  I watched a movie.  I had a few drinks and I enjoyed being with me and only me.  I so needed this weekend…

Weekend alone, part 1

So far, in my time alone I have:

• folded and hung up tons of laundry
• eaten a McDonald’s salad
• pet my cats
• talked to the kids on the phone
• enjoyed 4 beers
• took care of my kids’ webkinz
• watched HGTV
• texted with friends who actually have a life
• pet the cats again
• tortured myself with sad music on youtube
• bored my BFFLMNOP to death on the phone
• got mad at myself for not doing anything fun
• got angrier with myself for not even knowing what fun is
• looked at the possible movies to watch on demand
• got annoyed with myself for sitting on my ass
• 25 sit ups
• pet the cats again
• opened another beer
• ate a cadbury cream egg
• read a few blogs
• typed this blog

Seriously…I fuckin’ suck.  This has got to get better.  The vicadin in my kitchen is looking more and more appealing.

Dear annoying high school classmate who I haven’t seen since graduation whose Facebook friend request I didn’t have the heart to reject,

I am more than just a little bit tired of your constant monopolizing of my Facebook homepage.  The reason I signed up for Facebook was to reconnect with old friendS.  Plural.  Not to be forced to look at your 724 quizzes, scripture quotes, mind-numbing status messages, notes, youtube videos and otherwise stupid shit.  Do I care that you are struggling to knit a sock?  No.  Do I need to see a video clip of how to correctly knit a sock?  No.  Do I care about your score on the “know it all about Harry Potter” trivia challenge?  No.  Do I give a shit about the fact that you are a “nympho” according to the “how sex crazed are u?” quiz?  Hell no.  In fact, that last one really disgusts me, and is what finally put me over the edge…prompting this letter.  Don’t get me wrong…I’m all for the occasional silly quiz or fun poll.  Hell, I found it amusing to share that I’m “just plain white” according to the “how black are you?” quiz.  (which, by the way…I think is a little off. I’m at least a little bit black. I love rap, watermelon, and LL’s lips.)  But what’s great about those little applications is that you are always given the option to publish the results.  Or not.  May I suggest that the next time you’re bored and need to know “what’s your bible IQ?” you select the “no thanks” option when asked if you’d like to publish your results.  It’s getting a little out of hand…I’m wasting inordinate amounts of time scrolling through your ridiculous bullshit to get to the happenings of people I actually care about.

And just so that you know…I’m not the only one that feels this way.  I’ve spoken to one of our mutual Facebook friends, who happened to speak to another of your Facebook friends and we are all in agreement that this is worthy of deletion.  Now, I’m not sure if you can tell if you’ve been deleted as someone’s “friend” (and I only use that word as a technicality in this case), so I’ve been hesitant to do so.  I don’t want to show up at the high school reunion as the bitch that deletes people from her Facebook account.  I have a reputation as a very nice person to uphold.

Thanks so much,

Amanda

This is what happens when you don’t blog for months…

Why is it that throughout my entire blog hibernation, I had a million experiences and thought “I really need to blog about this,” but now that I’m actually back from my hiatus…I got nothin’.  I have lots of little blips of thoughts, but nothing significant.  Maybe it just takes some practice to get back into it again.  Like roller skating.  I used to be a kick ass roller skater back in the day, so I was thrilled when Drama had a birthday party at the local roller skating rink a few weeks ago.  Yeah…ya know what?  I friggin’ SUCK at roller skating.  I mean…I didn’t fall down or anything (though I was thisclose more than a few times).  But my performance was laughable. 

You know what else is laughable? Or embarrassing…I’m not sure which one.  My “yeah, he’s kinda cute” crush on Zac Efron has morphed into a massive butterflies-in-my-stomach crush reminiscent of my feelings for Johnny Depp or River Phoenix back when I was a good roller skater.  I don’t know if it’s my psyche’s way of making the endless, mind-numbing hours of High School Musicals I’ve been made to endure more tolerable…but something about that boy (and yes…I’m aware he is a boy) makes me want to kiss the TV screen.  It has been somewhat of a professional advantage though…I can really relate to a lot of my tween and adolescent clients.  My boss thinks it’s great that I’m able to get down on their level and feign interest in what’s “cool.”  Little does he know I’m not “getting down” anywhere.  I am on their level. 

Maybe that’swhy I haven’t been blogging!  Maybe I’ve known all along that my fingers would hit the keys and I’d admit my lust for a young (but legal, mind you) boy man. 

To change the subject…because I think this has gone too far… I’m so looking forward to coming home from work tomorrow. Not because it’s Friday (though that’s awesome).  Not because I have a good bottle of wine waiting for me.  And definitely not because I have a few extra Vicodin from my dental experience yesterday.  It’s because when I get home…I will be alone.  Until Sunday.  Snoop is taking the kids to his parents’ for the weekend and leaving me to have some time alone (which I so desperately need).  Don’t get me wrong…I’m gonna miss those little stinkers sooo much.  By the time they roll in the driveway Sunday night I’ll be beyond ready to wrap my arms around all 3 of them and listen to every word they have to say. But until then I will be savoring the silence…  I am a little unsure what I’ll do with myself.  I do have to go into the office for a few hours on Saturday, but after that…who knows?  Coffee shop?  Book store?  Lake?  Funky shops downtown?  My couch?  Gardening?  Friend’s son’s t-ball game?  Exercise?  Drink?  Cook?  Clean?  The possibilities are endless and I love it!

Maybe I’ll go see 17 Again…

I’m going to hell.

Dear Bret Michaels,

Please stop sucking women’s faces off.  It’s gross, OK?  I’ve put up with this human vacuum action for 3 seasons of Rock of Love now, and it seems to be getting worse and worse each season.  As if it’s not bad enough to listen to you talk about “feeling it in your soul” and watch you “connect” with women faster than I brush my teeth.  I started watching your show because I was truly a fan.  Back in the day, I supported your love of eyeliner and addiction to Aquanet.  I defended your tight pleather pants as artistic expression and when you sang “Every Rose has its Thorn” my belief that you were a true romantic was proven true.  When you showed up again…as a has-been, extension-wearing fool in a cowboy hat, I again defended you.  I can no longer do this.  You tease me with the possibility of being a real man by (eventually) dismissing the women who keep the silicone industry in business.  You make me think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a decent man inside those weird muscle shirts and sparkly jackets.   You almost choose a semi-normal woman as your “rock of love.” (whiny and full of mood swings, but given the competition….) But then…after way too many rounds with the human vacuum, you choose the girl with the immobile forehead.  The one whose visits to the doctor for Botox injections can only be rivaled by her visits to the Penthouse studios.  It’s ridiculous. I’m not sure what weight I pull in your decisions, but I’m sure I can’t be the only one who is sick and tired of watching you stick those damn lips out, slowly insert your tongue into more mouths than I ever care to be around, and suck the life out of these attention seeking whores.  

Rock on,

Amanda

 

P.S…I love this commercial.  You should do something more like this…

Don’t call it a comeback…

So I’ve been hibernating for the winter (or my laptop has been broken and I’ve been really REALLY stressed and overwhelmed…hibernating sounds better), and I thought it fit to welcome myself back with a classic LL Cool J lyric.  Cause I’m cool like that.

I’m still really REALLY stressed and overwhelmed…words cannot even describe it.  But my laptop has returned from it’s cross country repair voyage, so there’s really no reason for me not to blog any longer.  In fact…I think I really need the therapy.  Maybe that’s exactly why I’m feeling this way…I haven’t had the creative outlet and I’m all pent up.  Kinda like when someone’s really cranky and people say “she needs to get laid.”  Well, apparently I need to get blogged.  So here I am.  With my pent up frustrations and crankiness will undoubtedly come lots of snarky, smart-ass posts and musings.  The best kind of therapy, indeed.

The first annual “Oh hell no” list of Christmas decor

As anyone who knows me knows…I am a total snob when it comes to outdoor Christmas decorations.  Don’t get me wrong…I’m not a Scrooge.  Very far from it, in fact.  I LOVE the holidays, and there’s nothing I love more than a beautifully decorated home.  I’m pretty particular about my taste for all decor, but I don’t really spend too much time getting all worked up over what people do inside their houses.  I don’t have to see that.  But I do have to see what’s outside.  And people…some of it is just uncalled for.  So, for the benefit of my thousands tens of readers…I present to you my (first) annual “Oh hell no” list. 

1. First and foremost…inflatable shit is ridiculous.  Now, if you happen to own a car lot and you want to generate some holiday sales by having a giant waving Santa on top of your showroom…go for it.  But if you’re living in the middle of suburbia, there is absolutely no reason for having anything that blows up in your yard.  Sadly, these stupid things keep gaining popularity, and there are now multiple sub-groups of horrible inflatable crap.  The worst of the worst  are the ginormous cartoon characters. You know you’ve seen them…the 15 foot tall Grinch, Bart Simpson sitting on a stack of presents, Mickey Mouse dressed as Santa.  Blech.  What possesses people to think they look good?  Now, I realize that many people obviously like them, and if that’s you…please do me a favor.  If you must have the shit, at least keep it inflated.  Nothing gives me the Christmas chills like a giant lump of uninflated nonsense on someone’s front yard at two in the afternoon.  What the hell is that???
2. Christmas Lights.  I love lights.  But if you’re going to choose to have lights…please choose a f’in theme and stick with it.  White lights or colored?  Not both.  Big bulbs or small?  Consistently on or blinking?  Nothing (well, aside from those things already mentioned in #1) makes me more irritated than a house that has continuously illuminated colored lights…except for that one blue string mixed in there that’s blinking in a pattern that is sure to induce a seizure in someone.  I just don’t understand how someone can stand back after finishing their day of decorating, and look at that one obnoxious bit of blinking madness and think “That looks fabulous.”  Trust me, I know what a pain in the ass hanging lights is.  I know you don’t want to redo it.  But that’s why you test the lights.  If 9 out of 10 strands are doing the same thing…for God’s sake, take that last one out. 
3. Along the same lines…Christmas lights are just that.  Christmas lights.  Not February lights.  Not July lights.  Take the shit down.  Please.  And if you just can’t, for whatever reason, take them down…at least turn them on!  I hate driving down the street in September and seeing nasty old icicle lights hanging from someone’s awning.  Tasteless.
4. Themes.  Pick one.  Are you going tasteful and classy…white lights and swags on the windows?  Are you going whimsical Santas?  Or maybe you’re more conservative and go for the religious theme?  Even within my strict rules…there is room for everyone.  As long as you pick a genre and go with it.  Don’t have your inflatable Snoopy in a sled smack up against your illuminated nativity scene.  Or block the view of the simple white candles in your windows with a snow globe that sings Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. 
5. Animated reindeer.  You know what I’m talking about.  Those lit-up things (some are white wire, others are brown twiggy things) that people put in their yard with the moving heads.  I don’t actually mind the idea of them…as long as they aren’t moving.  You aren’t fooling anyone.  We know those reindeer aren’t actually grazing on your grass or leaping into the sky.   And when they get old and don’t move as well as they did when you bought them…they just look spazzy and weird. 
6. LED Crap.  I’m not actually sure what this type of decoration is really called.  Is it hologram?  LED?  It’s a relatively new thing, and until I know for sure what it’s called I’m just going to call it fucking ugly.  These things take tasteless lights to a whole new level.  Even worse is when they’re animated.  Animated things in general are just bad.   Just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about…



7. Candy canes.  Candy canes are meant to be small, sugary, minty pieces of heaven that you eat.  Not giant plastic stakes that you place along your walkway in a lame attempt to decorate.   Enough said.

I honestly could go on forever.  I told y’all…I’m a total snob when it comes to this.  My snobbery has lead to many arguments with my kids throughout the years, but I’ve stood my ground and my efforts are beginning to pay off.  In fact, just last year while at WalMart (looking for simple, tasteful white lights), Boog saw a couple looking at the obnoxious inflatable shit and said “Why do they want that? Those are ugly!”  Normally, I’d be embarrassed by his lack of social etiquette and I’d have a talk with him about the art of biting your tongue.  But in this case, I let it go.  His wife will thank me for it later. 

Although, I do have to finish this off by saying that if you’re going to go tacky…then go tacky.  The only time I find blinking lights, inflatable eyesores, and a path of plastic candle sticks circa 1974 leading to a beautifully illuminated nativity next to the Grinch is when it’s all there.  In all it’s shameless glory.  I have many fond memories as a kid of driving around looking at the “crazy houses” with my family, and my kids love it just as much as me.  So if you’re gonna go big…dammit, do it right. 

   

 

***sorry to anyone this offended.  You’re entitled to your taste (yes, I’m talking to you, Julie) and I’m entitled to my opinion.  Happy decorating everyone!!!