Thursday, September 30, 2010

Fred's Mowing Diggs

Some people are such idiots. REALLY.

While I maintain an immaculate, pristinely kept home where the bed sheets are ironed, and there are decorative soaps in each of the bathrooms, Fred and Barnes handle all things "outdoors". The two of them are responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the yard. That's just the way it is.  And when they are tending to the yard, the guys always wear their finest. :) Fred wears old shorts, a grubby hat, some boots, and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off during the summer months. He won't be featured on GQ, but he dresses for WORK. Nuttin' but the finest, folks!

Several of our neighbors also do their own yard work.  One of our particular favorites is a clown who has a riding lawnmower and wears a pair of those headphones that the gun range lug nuts use to protect their ears from the loud noises.  The houses in our area are built on about 1/3 of an acre, so it's totally manageable with a regular mower.  Oh yeah, and he frequently sports his Revenge of the Nerds physique...SHIRTLESS!

I got a phone call from this particular neighbor's wife one Saturday morning.  She called giggling...

NW:  Hey Ethel, I was just looking out my front window and saw Fred out there mowing the yard.  (chuckling)

Me:  Oh yeah!?

NW:  Have you ever seen that show "Swamp People"?  (more laughing)

Me:  Yeah, we love it!

NW:  Well I was just thinking that Fred looks like he could be on that show!  He's dressed about like they do on the show.  You know, with the hat, boots, and the pretty shirt?

Me:  He really dresses up, doesn't he?

NW:  Yep!  I just thought it was too funny, so I thought I would give you a buzz and have a laugh.  :)

Me:  Thanks.  He doesn't exactly mow shirtless, but he does have his own brand of class, right?

....we chatted awkwardly for about 30 seconds longer and then said "good-bye" after a few niceties.

How nervy that this wife-of-a-lug-nut would call me just to say that my husband resembles the kind of knuckle draggers that are featured on "Swamp People"?  Those people need SUBTITLES, bitch!

I couldn't even mask my irritation.  We haven't really run into eachother since that fateful morning.  Peculiar!?  I think not.  She should rethink her angle before punching my digits into her phone next time.  After all, she's married to the dude who mows his 100 sq ft on a RIDER!  Maybe this is his idea of "a warm up" before he starts shopping in "The Scooter Store" catalog?  MAYBE?  Hmm?  Hmm?  Idiot.


Wednesday, September 29, 2010

It's Time To MAN UP!

I'm sick. Terribly sick. I think I have the flu. I went to the doctor yesterday and was told that it is some sort of "virus." I should be good to go in 7-10 days. The problem is, my dear husband doesn't get it. He thinks that I'm not-so-sick just because I didn't get a prescription. Perhaps I should appease him by taking some sugar pills? I don't know.

Last night, he dragged me all over town running errands, with the promise of dinner on the other end. I was so tired I could barely eat. He did the same last Friday, the day I first got sick. He expects me to keep up with the kids, laundry, chores, and all just because I'm a woman and that's what I normally do anyway. Yeah, it's my job. Well, guess what? He's off work this week. If he's going to invite his brother over to dinner (which he did, he comes tonight), then why can't my dear husband get off his lazy ass and pick up all of his crap?! If the doctor sends me home to bed, then why can't I just go there? Why? Oh, right, because I'm not that sick.

Now, in all fairness, my dear dear husband has spent the better part of the past few weekends working around the house, doing home improvement-type projects. He's in the middle of one now. But, you know what? The project is outside and it rained all day yesterday, yet who do you think was still stuck changing the baby's poopy diapers?  Man, he needs to man up. I'm going to bed. I'll get up when my cough, aches, and fever are gone or the house falls in.


Discover a myriad of musings, tales, recipes, random thoughts, and quotes of the day, all taken from snapshots of the adventures of One Creative Housewife.

Thanks Lindsey for being our first ever Guest Blogger!!  Come on back and sit a spell...there's dirt to dish, and friends who want to hear what you have to say.

Monday, September 27, 2010

The Soccer Gospel According to Lucy

Dear Soccer Parents of Three-and-Four-Year-Olds:

First of all, the Parent Information Letter you received when you signed your sweet, tiny little soccer star up stated very clearly that this league is instructional only.  That the sole purpose is to begin to teach the kids to dribble the ball, not to touch it with their hands and touch on other fundamentals such as passing.  It all clearly stated that because this is most of the children's first soccer experience, once coach cannot possibly cover the entire team and parents are EXPECTED TO PARTICIPATE WITH THEIR CHILD.  

Just to clarify- and I realize this is MY interpretation of the above- but "participating" does not mean pulling up your folding chair to the sideline and texting/making phone calls/ updating your Facebook status/armchair coaching from the sidelines.  It means get off your lazy ass and get out on the field with your child and help them understand what it is the coach is asking of them.

 I do.  Every bloody week I haul my non-athletic ass out on that field and I help my three year old understand the instructions.  I'm not there to stand in for your lazy ass and help your kid too.  I think your kids are adorable, all of them, but I'm trying to concentrate on my child. So, your child constantly tapping me on the shoulder and saying,  " Umm... my dad spanked me on the way here."  and "Excuse me... I has new pink shoes." while very informative,  is really taking away from my task at hand.   I'm trying to help MY child... I can't help it that your child is feeling neglected.  That's because your ass is sitting on the sidelines not even watching except to glance up every once in awhile and shout, "Go, Timmy!" which is actually inappropriate because Timmy is currently sitting midfield picking his nose.

And I'm a bit annoyed that because no one else.. not one of you fucking stellar parents got up to help and it was just myself and the coach, that I sort of ended up being the "assistant coach" and asked desperately by the coach to help by taking half the team and running drills with them.  Here's a tip:  I don't know anything about soccer beyond- you gotta kick it in the goal and then shout, "GOOOOAL!"- so do you really want my fat ass responsible for teaching your child soccer rudiments?

Because if you don't, then get off your lethargic lazy ass and get out there and help me.  And if you don't care who teaches your kid or if I even know anything about soccer- then you'd better look up from your iPhone once in awhile.  Or else I will teach them to kick you in the nuts/nutella.


Friday, September 24, 2010

10 Things I Am SICK Of...

  1. Fixing dinner EVERY night of the week...well, most nights anyway.  I've gotten lazy lately, and am just sick and tired of opening the pantry door to discover that nothing excites my taste buds.  Just the same old boring shit, that no one else is going to make.  Which means that, YEP, once again I'm on the hook for cookin' up the grub.
  2. Skid marks.  Not the skid marks on pavement, I'm talking about the ability that my kids have to lay tread in every damn pair of drawers that they put on.  I potty trained them myself, so it comes as a bit of a shock that they have since forgotten how to wipe their little asses.  Doesn't that start to itch at some point?!
  3. Bad grammer/speling.  The red squiggly lines under the shit meaningful prose that you are typing means that you jacked it up folks!  Give the little backspace button some love and TRY AGAIN, genius!
  4. Hood-rat pants.  These would be the obscenely over-sized shorts/pants that guys wear.  I think that these pants are actually intended to be an "accessory" to the boxer shorts that they are wearing.  They probably wouldn't wear their pants in this manner if they knew what this means in prison.  OUCH!!!  
  5. Hot weather.  It's almost October and we are STILL suffering in temps that are just a few degrees cooler than HELL.
  6. Employees who don't want to A) work hard, B) get along with eachother, C) keep an accurate time card, and D) all of the above.  NEWS FLASH:  There are millions of other Americans out there who would give 150% MORE effort and just be thankful for a regular paycheck.  Think about it and let me know if you still want to come to work tomorrow.  No hard feelings if you decide otherwise.  Really.
  7. Homework.  I've finished my education, but now I have my kids' homework to contend with....and they bring home A LOT.
  8. The cat's litter box.  I clean it out, and by the end of the day it's shitty and stinky again.  Oh, who am I trying to kid, I just dump it all out once a week.  or two
  9. Moms who don't make their children behave.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, can I beat your rotten heathen for you?!  Because no one in Chick-Fil-A gives a rats ass that you're just trying to teach him to "use his words".  He's screaming and ruining everyone's lunch, you daft moron.  Here's $20 to take your brand of crazy some place else um-kay?
  10. Cleaning my house.  Self explanatory.  Our house is clean, but I am not one of those women who gets warm fuzzies when I walk down the cleaning supply aisle at WalMart because there's a new Pine-Sol scent that I can't wait to go home and mop my floors with.  It's called houseWORK for a reason, not houseFUN.



Death By Spork

Yeah. You read the title right - Death By Spork.  It sounds like a plausible consideration at the moment.

Shelly, the woman who dreams of yesteryear when she dated Fred in high school, has inquired about "sitting together" at the homecoming football game. I mean, REALLY? Are we still teenagers passing notes in the halls or something?

Anyway.  When she brought up the whole "your daddy was my boyfriend in high school" thing to Scarlett a few weeks ago, it really put an edge on any friendliness that I may have been inclined to indulge her in.  After pulling that little stunt, the walls are up and I intend to stay on MY side of the fence.  I mean, who's to say that she wouldn't decide to show up at the game with her afore mentioned Memory Book just to take a walk down memory lane?!?  'Cause that's just what I need, you know.  Some nut job pushing me to the natural limits of sanity at a high school football game, surrounded by my REAL friends, while she opens Mary Poppins' magic carpet bag chock FULL of hearts, rainbows, and bubble-letter-writing. *bleck!*

Here's a clue SHELLS-BELLS, you made a seemingly normal situation unbelievably AWKWARD!!! It's not my problem anymore - it's all yours.

What makes this whole scenario fucking hysterical slightly amusing, is that she has worked Fred's last nerve too.  He avoids answering her comments or posts on social networking sites.  Even before she that nasty case of diarrhea of the mouth, she was starting to get a little to cozy for his taste.  LOL

We aren't meeting up at the game.  We won't be sitting together.  I am not answering the "Where are you?" texts.

I am done.


Thursday, September 23, 2010

I Fought the Law(yers) and I Won

I'm very non-confrontational.  Hence my passive-aggressive venting on this anonymous blog.  Because I'm too chicken shit to own up to some things.  But, I digress.

I used to work in the corporate world for some partners that were cut-throat.  They were more interested in the money we generated for them and less in our own mental and physical well-being.  The place was a poisonous place to work with people pretending to be your friend left and right only to sell you out to get ahead themselves.  I always just quietly did my work and vented to my husband at home at the end of the day.  It's funny, really, that they continuously surprised me with their inconsiderate management and lack of human decency.

Then one day, I had enough.

Apparently, some people had been abusing overtime and a new policy came down that we were not to work overtime without prior approval of our supervisor.  It made sense.  Some were deciding they could use a little extra money and doing the work they should be doing during normal business hours after hours for more pay.  Therefore, a supervisor needed to review our load, our average progress during the day (those kinds of things were carefully monitored and tracked) and determine if we truly had extra work that needed to be finished or if we were slacking during the day.  Understood.

Now, our regular work week was only 37.5 hours so, even a few minutes of "working over" did not equate to overtime pay.  One week, during a time my husband had been deployed to an undetermined location, I was under stress from all directions.  I didn't know where my husband was, when he would be home or if he was safe and I had, as one of my clients, the notorious client known around the workplace as really, really demanding.  The entire office was aware of the demands of this client and no one wanted to deal with.   So I don't know if it was because I was professional and patient with my clients or because I just sucked it up and did my work without complaining but the dreaded client landed in my workload along with several others.

One particular day, our receptionist put a call through to me at 4:45.  It was an irate person whom had just received a summons.  I listened/took the verbal abuse and managed to calm the person down and get them actually talking calmly to me and we went over their account and my patience with them paid off in that I managed to talk them into a legal payment arrangement.  The call was over at 5:35 but we were never allowed to leave something unfinished, especially when it involved money.  So, I spent the time typing up the legal arrangement along with what happened if the person followed through and paid off the debt as well as what would happen if the person defaulted on the agreement.  When I was finished, at 6:00, I logged out of the system and left.  The rest of my department, including my supervisor were already gone for the day.

I forgot about the whole incident until the following week on payday when I was sitting at my desk having just arrived to work getting ready to start my day.  While reviewing my emails, one of the clerks walked around the corner and dropped my paycheck with a big hot pink sticky note on it into my in-bin. I picked it up to see: " PAID 37.5 HOURS EXTRA HOUR WORKED NOT APPROVED PER MEMO DATED[date of stupid memo] STATING PRIOR APPROVAL IS NEEDED BY SUPERVISOR FOR ALL OVERTIME"

I was livid.  Still in control of myself, I calmly walked to my supervisor's office where I explained what happened.  She would not budge.  She said I was well aware of the rules and did not have prior approval to work that extra hour.  I calmly ( but perhaps a little sarcastically) asked if in the future, I should either a) tell the receptionist I would not take a call past 4:30 in case it might go over b) take the call, but at exactly 5, tell the person I am talking to that I am sorry, but I am off the clock now, and they will have to call me back at 8:30 in the morning when I am back on and hang up or c) tell the person on the phone to hold at 5 while I go ask my supervisor if I am allowed to complete the call and to assume if I don't come back within five minutes, that I cannot and they can feel free to hang up and call back first thing the next morning.  She basically told me not to be a smartass, but never answered how I was to handle the situation.  And she still would not bend on the pay for staying an extra hour.

I walked back to my cubicle, picked up my phone and called downstairs to the personnel office and told them I would be taking a personal day and I grabbed my purse to walk out the door.  My cubicle partner peeked around the corner when I slammed the phone down and asked if everything was okay.  It was at that precise moment that I lost complete control of myself.  I answered, very loudly, " NO I AM NOT ALRIGHT! THESE BUNCH OF ASSHOLES DECIDED NOT TO FUCKING PAY ME FOR THAT HOUR LAST WEEK THAT I SPENT DEALING WITH THAT [client name] ACCOUNT THAT I DIDN'T WANT IN THE FIRST DAMNED PLACE.  I DIDN'T ASK FOR THAT FUCKING CLIENT, I DIDN'T ASK FOR A PHONE CALL AT QUITTING TIME, BUT I GOT IT AND IT WORKED IT BECAUSE IF I HADN'T THEN THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING UNPROFESSIONAL OF ME AND GOD FORBID I'M UNPROFESSIONAL AT A PLACE OF BUSINESS THAT IS SO OBVIOUSLY FUCKING PROFESSIONAL...... (and I went on and on and on.... I couldn't stop)

By that point, I could see heads popping out from around cubicles all over the place wide-eyed because the quiet, calm, girl had lost her mind and her temper.  I left and had a forty-five minute drive home during which my cell phone was blowing up with phone calls from people in the office telling me to get back there before I ended up being fired.  I said I would be GLAD if they fired me because I hated it there, they were ungrateful bastards and if they fired me, they would have to pay my unemployment.

I went back in the next day fully expecting to get fired.  Of course I didn't because they would have had to pay me benefits and we couldn't possibly have that.  Instead, I got called in the Office Managers office and totally yelled at like I was a three-year-old.  He told me not to EVER act that way again.  I still, calmly, held my ground on the issue and he held theirs.  No pay.  Suck it up.

One week after that, I found out I was pregnant.  Three weeks after that, I had a miscarriage.  Two weeks later, I quit.  I didn't want to put myself and any future pregnancies through that kind of stress.

But, damn, it felt good to throw that tantrum.

**inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, Prompt #2- "Tell us about a day you were sure you wouldn't get through."

Mama's Losin' It


Wednesday, September 22, 2010

If I Had a Hammer...

...and my name was Ricky Ricardo, I would put the fucking thing back where it belongs so my lovely, dear wife Lucy could find it.

Ricky and I have been married awhile.  This isn't a new complaint.  In fact, in order to live in harmony, I bought myself my own little tool kit within the first five years of our marriage and kept it under the kitchen sink.  It was a small box with a hammer, screw driver, measuring tape and various sizes of screws and nails.  That's all I need, really.  And then one day, I went to find it and it was missing.

I asked my dear sweet Babalu if he happened to know what happened to it.  "Umm, yeah... I got it out because I didn't feel like going outside and I broke the hammer."

So I went awhile without one and complained enough that Ricky bought a new one to replace the one he hijacked.  It's been sitting happily under the sink ever since.

So, this morning, I decided to put out all my fall/Halloween decorations.  Ricky is away on business and I can't find the fucking toolbox.  I just spent the last hour in his stupid shed and found an assortment of sockets in every size, wrenches, screws, other "I-don't-give-a-shit-what-this-does-and-therefore-don't-know-it's-official-name" tools.  But not one fucking hammer or one fucking nail.

That's all I need.  A hammer and a nail. 

How hard is that, really?


Thursday, September 16, 2010

Thanksgiving Throw Down

In the not-so-distant past, we were pleased to celebrate Thanksgiving with the outlaws at our house. Everyone from far and near had descended on the Mertz household to roast the turkey, make delicious pies, savory casseroles and watch some football. The morning had started out wonderfully, everyone was chatting, snacking, putting puzzles together, enjoying the time together....the way that holidays are supposed to be spent.

Customarily, in the extended Mertz family, anyone coming to share the day will bring a dish, beverages, snacks or SOMETHING to contribute and share with the crowd. It helps ease the pressure off of the hostess, and honestly, that's just that's just good manners folks! At this particular point in time, Fred and I had just recently relocated and were in the process of settling, so I even asked for a couple of the ladies to bring some extra serving bowls, serving utensils, etc. Not a big deal. So here were are.... Chaos and craziness in the kitchen as the women are preparing the meal. And there's the boisterous hootin' and hollerin' by the guys in the family room over calls that the refs are making.

As the morning progressed and assembly started begin, Fred's grandmother Josephine, came into the kitchen and stood watch to see all that was going on. She kindly asked if she could help do anything, and of course (being the gracious hostess), I told her that everything was under control, but would let her know if anything changed. So she continued to stand, watch, and chit chat. Now keep in mind that Josephine is KNOWN for not having a filter on what she says, and can be quite a thorn in my side bitter pill to swallow contrary at times.

After what seemed like only a few minutes had passed, the mashed potatoes were finally ready to be put in a serving dish, so I asked Sarah (my mother in law) if she could grab the serving bowl that she had brought with her.  It was at this particular moment that Josephine turned her withered, irritable head to me and said, "What would you do if we hadn't all brought dishes and things for you to use today?"

To which I replied, "We wouldn't be having Thanksgiving at my house".

Once the words were out of my mouth, I was positive that we were going to have a grudge match right there in my kitchen....just sure of it! The other ladies standing in close proximity could be seen with eyes wide open, holding their breath. It's no secret that I have a low bull shit threshold when it comes to people making rude comments directed at me.  And I DO get that sometimes things just "need to be said".  But if you're going to let it all hang out and go balls to the wall trying to make ME look inferior in my own damn kitchen, you better brace yourself and expect that your TART comment will get a firm reply.

Prompt#5 - Describe an awkward conversation you had with someone recently.


Sunday, September 12, 2010

I've Done My Time

I remember how it felt when my children were young. It was fun, exciting, chaotic, noisy, adventurous, and busy. I worked full time until our first was well into school, and then became a SAHM when the others came along. When the juggling act would become a little overwhelming, I would sometimes think about how many more years I had until they were all graduated and out of the house. It sounds awful, I know, but anyone who says that those thoughts NEVER cross their mind is just flat lying.

At any rate... It is fucking irritating amusing to me when I am having one of "those" days and mention my struggles on a certain social networking site, only to have someone say "Well I have a lot longer to go than you do". Whaaaat? Are you kidding me? Because last I checked, I started having my babies when you were in elementary school biznatch!!

I have EARNED each and every day of mothering that I have under my belt, and if you don't like it I really don't give a shit! Suck it up and breathe through it. Motherhood is no picnic, so if you need someone to pat you on the back or give you a hug when you've had a hard day - I'm your girl, I've been there too. Just save the sappy, needy responses about how much worse your lot in life is than mine.  Even though my kids were reading on a collegiate level in preschool (hahaha!), my kids didn't exactly potty train themselves.

No more potty training, no more weening them from the binkie, no more screaming temper tantrums in the grocery stores, no more preschool. I have traded all of that for trying to make sure that my child doesn't sneak out of the house at night, arguments before school about appropriate school attire, why MY money is not THEIR money, discussions about a first car (that's a laugh), and being "The Enforcer" on days when homework doesn't have quite the same appeal as playing outside.

I've done my time!


Thursday, September 9, 2010

I Need to Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair

My husband, Ricky, was transferred to a new job with a whole new schedule about five months ago. His new job sucks. He works "twelve hours shifts" from 7pm to 7am. I put that in quotes because more often than not, it is 14 and 15 hour shifts. There is no overtime pay. We rarely see him.

A friend told me that I would like it much more when the kids started school and I had them out of my hair and I could accomplish tasks and would have the added benefit of spending my husband's days off with him. Just as a couple, sans kids. I was excited about this prospect. My husband works weekends too, so his days off are Wednesday through Friday night.

The kids started school this past Tuesday and having just come off his shift, my husband slept most of the day. I got some things accomplished, but I couldn't vacuum, or put away laundry or clean out the attic because he was sleeping. I told myself no big deal because I could do that on his days off.

Yesterday, I drove Ramona to school while Ricky stayed home to put Geezer on the bus. I got home around ten a.m. and Ricky was sitting on the couch watching television. That's fine with me, he works hard, he can rest and relax. I put some groceries away and fixed myself a late breakfast and sat down on the couch when husband smiled at me and said, " Let's go have sex."


I can see this plan is really going to suck. It isn't that I don't love my husband or that I don't enjoy being intimate with him, but I have been waiting all goddammed summer to clean out the fucking attic and on the first bloody day I get a chance to do it, all he can do is think about sex.

Then, after that little detour in my plan, he passed out and went to sleep (of course). I climbed up in the attic and began tossing things down. I was apparently too loud and woke him up upon which he began stomping around the house with attitude because he was trying to sleep and I interrupted him.

I have had LESS time to myself than I did with the kids home! I only got to sit down here and play with blogger because, thank God, he is napping again. Shit... it's like I finally got to send BOTH my kids off to school only to gain another one at home. And this one is MORE demanding and temperamental.

Where the hell is my ME time? FUCK FUCK FUCK. Thank you very much almighty governmental establishment that screwed up his job and hours. When duty calls, it is all about YOU and not about ME. And we all fucking know.. it IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL ABOUT ME!



Sunday, September 5, 2010

Memory Book Upset

Barnes has a date for Homecoming this year.  (YAY!)  I don't know where the tradition of mums came from, or who thought of such a thing, but we are tradition followers, and therefore "Project Mum 2010" is officially in action. My hot glue gun is ready for action, and I have tons of gaudy ribbons, bells, glittery lettering, and items to create the wonderfulness that every high school girl looks forward to.

Fred has a friend from high school, named Shelly, that had offered to help answer any questions that I might have on putting one of these deals together. So after a couple of trips to the stores to collect a preliminary batch of supplies, I began to feel the need to make sure I do it right the first time, and decided to take her up on her offer. She kindly said that we could drop by that afternoon, at our leisure.

NOW, according to Fred, he and Shelly dated in high school but it was never a big deal, they were always more friends than anything else. He maintains that it was never really a serious relationship. They reconnected through FB about a year ago, and we've even gone to dinner with she and her current boyfriend. They're really nice couple and it's been a pretty positive experience as of yet.

So I told him that I was going to go have her look at my preliminary collection of SHIT and let me know if there was anything else that we needed to get. He just laughed and said, "She made mums all through high school, so she'll be a good person to ask. I'll bet you $20 she even still has her memory book!" HAHAHAHA....whatever. Scarlett (our daughter) decided that she wanted to go along with me, so we loaded up the goods and drove over to Shelly's house.

Shelly was VERY helpful! She gave me tips on the assembly, ideas for little things to add, and let me look at some of other mums as a reference. Then, as we were talking I mentioned, "Hey, Fred was laughing when I told him that I was going to come over, and said to ask you if you still had your memory book!" LOL ....Of course she did!! Her daughter found the box and brought it right down for us to see.

As she was flipping through the book she showed Scarlett and I several pictures of her Senior mum. THEN she flipped to the pages (yes, not one but TWO full pages) that were solely devoted to her and Fred. She had drawn hearts. His full name written in her very best handwriting. Pictures of them together, hugging at various events. Yeah, they weren't just friends...they were HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS!!! Looking at the book made me feel like someone had just punched me in the stomach. She cheerfully said that, at some point after high school, someone had told her that she should try to get back together with Fred. She also told me that when we were on our way over to her house, her son had asked her who Fred was, and her current boyfriend said "Your mother's high school sweetheart". ....Nice.

Scarlett and I didn't stay very much longer after that whole revelation. I don't know that there's a Hallmark thank you card that would quite capture how I felt. Maybe....

"Thanks for the help! Now it's time to get a grip and move the fuck on!?"


"Thanks for the help! I liked you BEFORE, but now you seem less interesting and more ignorant."

I think that there are appropriate ways to discuss prior relationships with someone's wife. Mentioning that there were considerations about trying to rekindle the old flame?....not so much! Needless to say, if I have any questions about mum assembly from this point on, I will be looking for answers elsewhere.


Saturday, September 4, 2010

Lucy's Introduction

Hi, I'm Lucy (not my real name) and you've already met my friend, Ethel.  Ethel and I have been friends for a very long time.  We were best friends growing up and spent many nights giggling and gossiping.  When Ethel had to move away, we corresponded through letters and occasional visits, but have kept up the relationship all these years.  We both have a love of writing, sarcasm and seeing the humorous side of motherhood.  We both also have blogs where we blog about our families and children.

The problem with having a blog followed by your friends and family, is that sometimes you have to censor yourself and some topics are completely off-limits.  Like the fact that my sister got a boob job just for attention; and instead of getting a comfortable, normal size, she got Pamela Andersonesque juggs that make her tiny, bony self look like she might fall forward at any moment.  Then proceeded to post pictures of herself on a social networking sight in a low-cut top and wondered why people kept inquiring about her new rack.   There is also the fact that despite being almost 30 years old, she can't seem to function without someone holding her hand.  She has a husband and two children, but still needs others to do simple things for her.  It is a source of both frustration and amusement for me.  She once called my mom who was living in another state seven hundred miles away to tell her she was walking around our local hometown grocery store and couldn't figure out where the marshmallows were.  Seriously.  Instead of just finding a store employee or asking someone walking down the aisle, she called my mother in another state to ask her where these items were.  I can't make this shit up.

So yeah, welcome to my life.  I'm Lucy.  I'm a thirty-something wife and mom of two children.  My husband is Ricky and my children are Ramona and Geezer.  Ramona is preschool aged and mischievous, Geezer is in elementary school but acts like a crotchety little old man.

This is my life.  Stay tuned for my dirty laundry.


Are they REALLY your books?

I love reading, and tend to be a snob about the condition that I like my books to be in.

Should I get a paperback and lend it to you, it damn well better not come back with the spine cracked, crunchy from being dropped in the bathtub, or have a sweat ring on the cover where you left your glass of ice water instead of using a coaster.  If it's a book that I know will be on my shelves forever I will usually buy it in hardback.  And if the book in question is part of a set, I will buy the whole set at the same time so that they are all the same size and the covers coordinate.

A couple of years ago when there was this explosion of interest about the "Twilight" series, I was a little slow to get on board with the hype.  Who would want to read books about a romantic love triangle between a human, a werewolf, and a vampire?  But as time passed, I began to watch some of my friends slip into this bizarre land of not feeding their children dinner, talking in terms like "sparkly vampires" and "The Volturi", and fawning over dudes named Jacob and Edward.  They were so consumed by reading these books that it was almost comical!  After continually hearing about how amazing the books were, I finally got the hunger for a taste of all things Cullen and found a boxed set of HARDBACKS...bliss!

I poured through the books.  

They were wonderful.  

I am "Team Jacob".  

Edward is emo.

CHRISTMAS 2007.  We had finished eating dinner, and some of the women folk were sitting around talking about great books that we had enjoyed reading.  The Twilight series came up, and Fred's aunt Lorraine mentioned that she would like to borrow my set.  (AS IF?!)  I gave her the nod action (like a good niece) and made a mental note to hide them as soon as we got home so that she didn't happened to spy them the next time she came to visit.  Of course she DIDN'T forget, and I ended up giving some lame excuse (that she totally bought) and only lent her New Moon instead of all four.

Months passed and I was beginning to get a little antsy that Lorraine hadn't returned my book, so I decided to ask her about it.  When I mentioned that I would like to grab the book the next time we saw eachother, she said, "Well, I have my copy of New Moon that you are more than welcome to borrow, but I already returned yours to you."  Whaaaaat?  We went back and forth, in a friendly way, about how I didn't remember ever getting my copy mine was a hardback was part of a SET....I was only missing the one Twilight book that she (coincidentally) HAD on her bookshelf.  But it just fell flat.  And I was soooo PISSED.  Aunt Lorraine was officially not getting anything but dog shit for Christmas as long as I am alive.  PERIOD.

MORE time passed, and finally around Easter of this year I decided - Hey, if she borrowed the book from me, I will borrow my shit right back!  Right?  So I sent her a text.

Me:  Hey there!  When Poindexter (her husband) goes over to Archie's dad's house, would you mind sending your copy of New Moon with him?  I am starting to read the series again.

Lorraine:  Sure

Me:  Thanks!  I really appreciate you letting me borrow it from you.

Lorraine:  It's your copy, I'm just returning it.

WTF?!?  I just about shit a brick when I read her text.  She had sat there, looked me in the eye, and emphatically argued with me that she had purchased a copy of New Moon, and had already returned my copy back to me.  She had even argued the point so well that I was beginning to believe that maybe she HAD returned the book and I had just misplaced it.

Idiot.  Next time Lorraine needs to call a board meeting with all of the other voices in her head and figure out what her story/angle is.  Or here's an even better idea.....GET A LIBRARY CARD!!