Today, there was great potential for me to feel depressed and cry a lot. The last day of school for my boys, friends not speaking to me because I am a Horrible Person and also, fat, blahblahblahwahwahwah. But then, the greatest thing EVER happened! I recieved an email from The Bride To Be which contained totally embarrassing and yet totally awesome pictures of a certain someone doing a certain type of dance and Ha! Depression averted!
(Ok. Not really, but can we pretend? Please? Thank you!)
I can’t decide on what to title the following picture, so let me give you a few of the choices.
“Proof that I am sometimes a jackass”
“Proof that I am a happy drunk”
“Proof that I need to get out more”
Or (and I think I’ll go with this one)
“Proof that I did the worm on the floor of the bowling alley bar.”
I take my reality television seriously, people.
Is anyone else watching Last Comic Standing? And if so, is anyone else experiencing RAGE at the comics that were chosen to move on last night?
Stella made it, but Doug Benson didn’t? (Hello, lame ass judges, the “Segue” bit? Brilliant.)
Dude. DUDES. Hate.Rage.Anger.
But seriously, folks, STELLA?
You know how sometimes I delete entries because I think they’re dumb? Yeah.
On Saturday night, Tony and I went to a couples bridal shower.
At the bowling alley.
Sounds crazy, right? A Bridal Shower, at the bowling alley. WHAT?
But I’m here to tell you, it is so NOT crazy. Well, unless by “crazy”, you mean “The Greatest Idea in the History of Bridal Showers.”
The best part about the shower was that it was a surprise to the bride and groom to be. I’m a SUCKAH for surprises. They make me uncontrollably happy. As we were standing there in the bowling alley waiting for the bride to show up, I kept asking people “Do you think she knows? Do you think she knows? Do you think she’ll freak out when she sees us? What about when she sees the guys? Do you think she’ll cry? OMG. DO you think she knows?” As I was asking the questions, repeatedly, my mouth was watering (from the excitment) and I kept jumping up and down whilst clapping and squeeling because EEEEEEEEE! SURPRISE!
I seriously geek the hell out.
The groom arrived first and found a room full of family, friends and one crazed out psycho surprise lover in the bar. Everyone was all “SURPRISE!” and Oh my God, I think I made sweet pee pee in my pants because SURPRISE ACHIEVED!
As soon as he arrived, he was given a pair of pink boxers that he had to wear. (Do I need to tell you how crazy that made me inside, it was like THIS IS THE GREATEST SURPRISE BRIDAL SHOWER IN HISTORY AND IT HASN’T EVEN STARTED YET!)
After everyone explained to the groom what was going on, the girls went and waited for the bride. Once she walked through the doors, we totally tricked her. We were like “This is your shower, girl, let’s bowl!” Little did she know that her fiance, her brothers, uncles and male friends were waiting for her outside. (With roses in hand! But that was supposed to be a surprise! Sorry! I can’t help it, I’m so excited to tell you about this!)
As we started to put on our socks and bowling shoes, her fiance snuck in the door and surprised her with a pink ring, a rose and a pink veil. She started laughing hysterically, which made me so happy because it worked! We surprised her! Sweet pee pee! After they had their moment, the guys walked in one at a time, each giving her a rose and a kiss on the cheek and a little joy to a certain little dork sitting on chair feeling so lucky to be a part of such an awesome moment in history.
Since I hardly ever get a night out with my husband and since I am no longer a nursing mother, I decided I was going to have me a few drinks of some hard liquor.
Ha! Ha! I said “A few.”
After my 3rd double rum and diet coke, my friends were like “Hey, how many of those have you had? Are you ok?”
And I was all “I’m GREAT! You just better hope that they don’t turn on any music!” Because, people? When I’m drinking, it’s all fun and games until the DJ busts out The Hip Hop and R&B.
Well, um, after we were done bowling, everyone decided to go hang out in the pool room/BAR. And HOLY CRAP, there was music. Sweet hip hop music. I started out calm, with just a little bobbing of the head and gentle thrusts of the hips. But then, some dude, (Sorry, Michelle, I can’t remember his name!) challenged me to some sort of dance off. Obviously, he had NO CLUE who he was dealing with. At one point, he uttered the words “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Big mistake, dude. Big. Freaking. Mistake.
The next words out of his mouth? “OHHHHH, SHE DROPPED IT LIKE IT’S HOT.” I’ll let you “imagine” the move I busted out. But just remember “drop” and “hot.”
What happened next marked the moment that my husband decided it was probably time to go home. We were all standing around the bar and the same dude who had challenged me before was still talking smack about my dancing, so I was like “DUDE, do NOT make me bust out The Worm, because I will.”
Two seconds later, I fell to the floor, forgetting that I was wearing a skirt. And granny panties. Because WHOOPS, I was on The Rag.
Funny how liquor makes you forget little things like that.
Let me show you a little post that I wrote when I got home before I continue.
Because I love you all so much, I am going to give you some awesomeadvice.
If you’ve had um, a great deal to drink and you are wearing a skirt and also your granny panties because haha who’s goign to see your chonies? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT BUST OUT WITH THE WORM IN THE MIDDL EOF THE BAR OF THE BOWLING ALLEY.
seriously. Do not. No one needs to see all of that white chunky goodness that are your thighs and also your lower ass. NO ONE.
And when peopel call you “stripper” it’s not a compliment. It’s more like a HAHAHAAAA we’ve got you on film doing “the worm “in yourskirt you drunken dumbass.
I am goign to kick people’s asses tomorrow for encourgaing me to do such things.
(But honestly? You’ve not liveduntil you’ve seen me do the worm, people. Jus tmake sure I’m notwearing a skirt when youa sk me to do it.)
So, yeah, I wasn’t thinking about the skirt flying up on my first attempt of The Worm. But, I quickly fixed the problem by tucking my skirt between my legs and proceeded to show them all that when you issue me any type of challenge that involves “Dancing”? YOU LOSE.
(P.S. Attention Wimmins attending Blogher. FEAR NOT! I will not be packing any skirts! Unlike the unlucky few at the bowling alley on Saturday night, your eyes will be spared the White Chunky Goodness that are my thighs and lower buttocks!)
On the way home, Tony made me cry. He said he was mortified when the skirt flew up because (and these are his exact words) “No one needs to see your pad, woman.”
First of all, no one saw The Pad. It’s not like I lifted up my skirt, spread my legs and bent over. My skirt lifted up a little. BIG FREAKING DEAL. He only said that to be An Ass and to make me feel like an ass. And I did for about 2 minutes, but you know what? The same way that “No one puts Baby in a corner?”
“No one makes me feel about about doing The Worm.”
(Well, except if you send me in email the day AFTER I do the worm and say “Everyone talked about the worm at the game, but no worries, it’s all good!” Because that will make me all paranoid and shit and wish I had kept my worm to myself and done The Monkey instead.)
They love each’udder
Excuse me for bragging, but my youngest son kicked ass at the End of the Year School Awards ceremony.
My GOD. I’m so proud to be his mother.
He recieved a “Citizenship” award, a “Recognition with HONORS” award, a “Service” award for outstanding service as a student council Representive (one of only TWO for the entire 3rd grade class, thank you very much) and (this one is my most favorite for obvious reasons) “The School District Writing Celebration, Young Authors” ribbon for excellence in writing. His was one of only THREE stories chosen to be displayed at the district office as being one of the “best written stories” of 2006.
Hello, Future Blogger of America! (I know, poor kid, I should lower my expectations.)
As he stood up there, with all of his awards in hand and a huge smile across his face, my heart was bursting with pride and I had to hold back from standing on my chair and screaming out “LOOK AT THE KID! HE’S AWESOME! AND I’M HIS MOTHER!”
I am pretty sure that the fact that my son kicks so much acedemic ass makes me a “good breeder.”
He’s such an awesome kid and seriously? One of the funniest human beings I’ve ever known. He’s also fiercly loyal, protective and affectionate.
Oh, and? He loves The Ladies.
He once deemed himself “The Protector of Girls.” And man, he takes his self given title seriously.
Like the one time some boy was picking on a girl at a party, my son got right in the kids face and said “DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HAPPY FACE, DUDE?”
What makes that so funny is that the kid was about 10 years old and Ethan was 6. He didn’t care, he was just “doing his job.”
One of the greatest joys of my life (OMG! The Cheese&trade, is has returned)has been watching him with my daughter. He’s incredibly loving with her, sensitive to her feelings, and extremely protective of her.
Every once in a while, he’ll stand in her bedroom and stare at her baby pictures. He’lll start to cry and say things like “This picture just makes me cry mom, because she’s growing up so fast, I can’t believe that’s the little baby I held in my arms at the hospital.”
The other day, I asked him what it felt like when he held her for this first time.
“Mom, it was like, the greatest moment of my life. I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. I loved her right away.”
He loves her deeply and she loves him right back. Her face lights up when she sees him in the morning and when he leaves for school, she hugs him, kisses him and says “Bye Boo.”
The most exciting part of her day is when she hears his bus come roaring down the street. She literally freaks the hell out. She jumps up and down, squeels, laughs. I try to make sure we’re outside everyday so that she can be there to see him when he gets off the bus because when what happens when he steps off of the bus is honestly one of the most precious things that I have ever witnessed as a mother.
She watches intently as the kids start filing out of the bus, waiting for the moment that her Brubber appears. The minute she sees him step off, she takes off running towards him. And then he runs towards her. And they run and run until the finally meet and he sweeps her off of her tiny little feet, and they hug and giggle.
And I cry. Every single time. Corny? Yes! But maybe if you saw it yourself, you’d understand how it could make a mother cry.

Not the Kind of Lesson My Dad Paid For
On this day, I was an innocent, happy, trusting 11 year old girl excited to learn more chords on my guitar.
My guitar lessons were at my his house. My dad usually waited inside the house, but on this day my dad decided to drop me off so he could run some errands during my lessons.
I knocked on the door and expected Larry’s wife, Debbi, to answer the door like she usually did. But today, Larry answered. My dad sat in the car waiting until someone answered the door. I asked Larry where Debbi was. “She’s at the store, she’ll be right back.” I didn’t like that she wasn’t there and I didn’t want my dad to leave. Larry waved at my dad and shouted “We’ll see you in a few!” My dad didn’t have any idea that Debbi wasn’t home. I wanted to shout out “Don’t leave!” But I didn’t. I watched as my dad drove off.
***
I started to open my guitar case right there in the living room. I assumed since no one else was home, we would have the lessons downstairs. “What are you doing?” He asked. “Taking my guitar out so we can start.” I replied.
He looked at me in a way that made my stomach turn and said “No, I have other plans for you tonight.”
Fear swept through my body. I had no idea what he meant, but at that young, innocent age, I knew that something was terribly wrong. I felt panicked, scared and confused.
“Leave your guitar here and let’s go upstairs.”
I wanted to run. And scream. And tell him “NO!” But, just like the little girl who peed her pants in kindergarten because she was too afraid to speak up, I kept my mouth shut and did what he told me.
I could feel the tears welling up inside, but I fought them back. I didn’t want him to see me cry.
As we were walking up the stairs, he started to take his shirt off.
Jesus. Help me. Help me Dear Jesus.
He took me by the hand and said “I want you to give me a good massage.” He then went on to tell me that I was such a good student and he just KNEW that I’d give good massages. He told me that I was his favorite student and he felt closer to me than to anyone else.
I thought I was going to puke. I was shaking. I told him that I needed to go to the bathroom first.
“That’s fine, you go ahead, but HURRY. We don’t have much time.”
I locked the bathroom door and started to cry. I tried to keep it quiet, but I lost control and began to sob.
All of a sudden, Larry started banging on the door.
“Why are you crying? Stop that! Get out here and give me that massage!”
Here I was, an 11 year old girl, sobbing and crying for my dad. Obviously, I didn’t want to give him a massage. Obviously, I was terrified. HE DIDN’T CARE.
He started to get angry and bang on the door even harder.
“Come on! Get out! Now!”
I remember to this very day how scared and helpless I felt. I wanted to run away. I wanted my daddy.
He stopped banging on the door and told me he’d be waiting for me in his room. After a few minutes, I tried composed myself and went to his room.
There he was, in his underwear, laying on his stomach waiting for me. I started crying again.
“Don’t worry, it will be ok.” He said, with a grin on his ugly face.
I touched his back, and instantly felt sick to my stomach. He was hairy. So damn hairy. His skin felt disgusting to me. It felt dirty.
“Do it harder. Move your hand lower.”
“I don’t WANT TO.” I cried.
“You have to. You’re a good girl, Y. You do what I tell you.”
A few minutes into it, we heard a car pull up. He JUMPED out of the bed and ran to the window. He thought it was my dad and it scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t my dad, but he was startled enough that he told me I had done enough and began to put his clothes back on.
He told me to go wash my face and that I shouldn’t tell anyone about it. He said my dad would get very mad and that if I told, it would make him sad and I didn’t want to make him sad, did I?
When my dad came to get me, Larry greeted him at the door with a big smile and told my dad that the lesson went well and bragged about what a great student I was.
I remember standing there in disbelief. He was lying to my dad. With a smile on his face. In that moment, I hated him.
I never did tell my dad.
Why is this moment significant in my life? Because on that day, I had walked into that house an innocent, trusting little girl with not a care in the world, and I left a scared, mistrusting girl who felt dirty and bad. I had been violated by someone that I looked up to. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had been manipulated into keeping a secret to protect someone who didn’t deserve protection. It was on that day that I learned to keep quiet about things that hurt me because I didn’t want to become a burden or make people sad. I didn’t anyone to know that I had touched a half naked man in such a gross way.
I wish I had told someone, because then maybe someone would have been able to tell me that “it wasn’t my fault.”
The 11 year old little girl who felt so gross and dirty really needed to hear those words.
Pretty much the dumbest thing I’ve ever written.
I’ve recently developed a serious problem.
I’ve become obsessed with fabric softener.
I’ve always had a crazy addiction to cleaning products that make my house smell good I’m the first one in line when there’s a new dish soap on the market. What? There’s a specific laundry detergent for COLD WATER WASHING? I’ll take 5! Those kinds of things make me happy. And kinda make my mouth water from excitement.
But this fabric softener thing. It’s starting to spin out of control. Everytime I go to Target, or to the grocery store, I start to think of The Liquid That Makes My Clothes Soft AND Smell Pretty. I have to fight urges to go unscrew caps and sniff the latest scents. I GET URGES, PEOPLE. Urges! I’ll tell myself things like “You do not need anymore! You have enough! Wait until you run out! Save your money for a Grilled Sourdough Burger!” But, I always end up in the damn fabric softner aisle, sniffing, dreaming of how awesome it would be to have sheets that smelled of orange blossoms (ORANGE BLOSSOMS! My mouth! It is watering again!)
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I’m currently rotating between four FABULOUS scents.
My most recent find is the Gain Apple Mango. (Fruit scented fabric softner! Crazy, and yet, beautiful and totally awesome!) I wasn’t sure about fruit scented clothing, but I have to say, it smells pretty freaking GREAT.
My favorite scent BY FAR is the Simple Pleasures vanilla lavender. The smell is relaxing and yet so very exciting. In that “OMG. My sheets smell like pure heaven, I must roll around on them now!” kinda way.
As far as “smell” and “softness” goes (which, let’s face it, is the ENTIRE POINT of fabric softener) the Snuggle one sucks, But it’s pink, so I forgive it. The Downy with Fabreze is my least favorite. I had high hopes for that one, because hello? FABREEZE IS THE BOMB, but I was terribly disappointed when I used it.
(Ha! Ha! I just gave you a fabric softener REVIEW. How SICK is that?)
Um. Help?
Finally, videographic evidence to back up my claims that I didn’t get the laundry done because I was too busy keeping my daughter from hurting herself
Today is “One of Those Days” with my daughter.
Just now, I commanded her to take a nap.
“Daughter, I command thee to lay down and take a nap!” She responded with “Nap? HA! I STOMP ON YOUR NAP!”

Notice how after she realizes I’ve just caught her NOT napping on tape she stops for a second like Β “OOPS, busted!” but then she’s all “WHATEVER! Jumping is fun! Weeeee!”
Yeah. It’s great to know that she RESPECTS MY AUTHORITY.
The moves will live on. Oh yes, they will.
I was getting ready for Aerobic Dance class when a little voice reminded me of the sign I saw the last time that I was at the gym. The sign said “There will be a new class schedule as of June 1.” I thought I should call the gym to make sure they hadn’t gone and messed with the time of MY Class.
“Hi, this is The Greatest Aerobic Dancer your gym has ever known and I’m just calling to make sure that Aerobic Dance is still at 6:00.”
As she was giving me the answer to my question, the room started to spin, I felt dizzy.
“Anna… Russia… all summer… kickboxing instead…”
The room started spinning. I felt weak and dizzy. What? Huh? After a few minutes, the reality of what she had just said started to soak in.
OH MY GOD! MY AEROBIC DANCE INSTRUCTOR WENT TO RUSSIA! FOR THE ENTIRE SUMMER! WHICH MEANS NO MORE AEROBIC DANCE CLASS!
I know you probably think I’m being overly dramatic, but people! I live for The Aerobic Dance. The Aerobic Dance Floor is the one place in my life that I completely confident. And even when I’ve made mistakes, (which was HARDLY EVER) there’s no denying that was still pretty much the Greatest AD to have ever danced aerobicly.
And thanks to my instructor who just HAD to go “visit her son”(which, whatever lady.) THAT HAS ALL BEEN RIPPED AWAY FROM ME.
I guess deep down I always knew it wouldn’t last forever, I certainly didn’t expect for it to be taken away so soon, so suddenly. I’m going to need a few days to let the enormity of this continue to soak in.
Goodbye Aerobic Dance Class. How I’ve loved you. How I’ll miss you. Oh, dear GOD IN HEAVEN, how I’ll miss you. But! I will never forget you. I will always remember. ALWAYS.
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Long live The Monkey!
Look who’s smiling again.
Wean THIS!

Hi. My name is G-Unit and I’m mad at my mommy right now. That is why she does not have time to write today, because she is too busy dealing with my anger. You see, my mommy decided to take The Bobs away from me FOR GOOD. I was wondering what was up because everytime I’d lift her shirt up and ask for “Boobies” she’d say “No, boobies are sleeping.”
I didn’t like it, but thought, “Fine! When they wake up, they’re ALL MINE!”
But, that was 4 days ago. Four.Flippin.Days. I may not even be two yet, but I know that Boobs don’t sleep that long. This morning, I lifted her shirt and demanded that she give me some boobie and she said “All gone.”
All gone? What? WHAT? It was then that I realized she was trying to take them away from me forever and it was then that I got very mad. I screamed. I hit. I said “ONE MORE!” I cried. Oh, how I cried. Mommy started crying too. Why is SHE crying? IT’S NOT LIKE ANYONE TOOK ANYTHING AWAY FROM HER! How can she do this to me? My Bobs. I love My Bobs.
I WANT THE BOBS BACK AND I’M NOT GOING TO LET MY MOM ENJOY HER LIFE UNTIL SHE GIVES THEM BACK TO ME.


