Tagged - I'm It!

I was tagged by the lovely Labellinamammina and I don't usually do these but it kept me out of the kitchen for a half-hour, so thanks for tagging me!

Here are the answers to the questions she asked:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Working as a marketing director for a travel association and being miserably pregnant with my first child. We had moved into our first real house, an adorable split level on a quaint little cul-de-sac, walking distance from the cutest town in America. (The house is currently up for sale—we drive by every now and then on our way to the cutest town in America).

I remember going on a nesting rampage and stripping wallpaper (shiny peach colored—the previous owner had to be gay!), and just being gross and fat and crabby. I remember eating boxes of Kraft Mac-n-Cheese with Baco bits in it. Just sitting there in my new living room with shiny peach-wallpapered-covered walls, eating my Mac-n-Cheese straight out of the pan, the whole box. I was probably also hating Hubby because I was pregnant and he was doing nothing right.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
One year ago today I was probably doing much of what I am doing today. Fretting over my weight. It was ri… shit. I can tell you EXACTLY what I was doing one year ago today. Look here ... oh, never mind, I checked the archives... we were getting ready to leave for Tybee Island and my brother's wedding. Now THAT was a Jerry Springer escapade vacation if there ever was one! Read about it here: Manic Mom's Mental Myriads: Families Gone Wild Meets Jerry Springer Meets Family-Style Spring Break AKA Our Family Vacation

Five snacks you enjoy:
McDonald's French Fries

Soft-serve vanilla ice cream
dipped in butterscotch you
get at Dairy Queen

Junior Mints

Grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalattenowhip,
iced in the summer, hot in the winter

Pizza

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
Who has time to learn the lyrics to five songs?
Who has time to LISTEN to five songs?
However, lately around Manic’s house, we have been singing:

F to the E, R G, The I E. Ain’t no other lady putting down like me! I’m Fergalicious. Except today when I was making the boys lunch (MAC & CHEESE—some things never change!) I was singing S to the T, EPHANIE… I’m Stephalicious, so delicious. My kids think I’m weird. They’re right.

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
Absolutely, positively hire someone to cook our meals.
Absolutely, positively hire someone to take me shopping.
Buy myself two-carat diamond earrings.

Isn’t that interesting that I am having difficulty coming up with five things. I guess I’m a pretty simple gal at heart. Oops, just thought of another—take more vacations!

Five bad habits:
Picking dead skin off my feet.
Picking at my scalp.
Starting laundry but leaving the baskets with folded clothes.
Yelling.
Eating crap.

Five things you like doing:
Blogging
Reading
Writing
Eating
Sleeping… man that one was SOOOO easy! I figured these out in a flash!

Five things you would never wear again:
Dangly big earrings like I wore when
I met hubby, even though they were
cute back then.

Stretchy footless tights under skirts.

Maxi-pads.

Wireless bras.

Flashdance shirts and leg warmers.

Five favorite toys:
My children

Mr. Happy (ha! Just kidding, I don’t have a Mr. Happy!
Ha, again kidding!)

My computer

My books

My iShuffle

I am tagging the first five people to leave comments here, so go ahead... you've been tagged!

Weight Watchers

I weighed in on Monday, June 18, having come off a 10-day vacation-eating-and-drinking binge. I counted points and worked out and behaved. Today I weighed in, which is 12 days back on the program.

When I weighed in that Monday, I did not look at my weight in the book.

When I weighed in today, I told her, "I do not want to know what I weigh. I do not want to look at the book. I just want to know how much I've lost."

Five-point-two.

5.2 pounds

Five packages of four sticks of butter, plus a tablespoon or two.

Twenty Quarter-Pounders.

That's how much I lost.

I am so glad. My pants were waaaaay too tight. They still are tight, but not as much as before. Whew.

Now, I just have to get through another weekend. Weekends are the toughest part. If I only lived Monday through Thursday, heck, I would be a freaking stick! But life would be pretty boring with no Fridays, Saturdays, or Sundays, don't ya think?

Some Things

You know how dieticians and food gurus and probably Dr. Oz are always saying if you're hungry, grab a handful of nuts? (Heads out of the gutter, class.)

Well, it's bullshit.

A handful of nuts is not going to satiate a starving person. No chance. Now, a quarter pounder, no cheese, ketchup only and a super-size (oops, gotta call it a Value meal now) fries and a large diet coke... now that's gonna stop the hunger.

And I am hungry. But it's a good kinda hunger because pants are fitting a little bit better than they were a week and a half ago. I have totally stuck to WW points for 10 days now, and even if you consider my little drinking binge over the weekend, I don't think I went over the extra 35 points allowed per week, do you? Is there any rule in WW that says you can't use that 35 extra points toward liquor intake? If not, then I'm good.

I went to another one of these things last night. I knew what to expect this time, but I still waited for the scary loud part, where the fears are supposed to emerge, and I needed to let them go. The only thing I could think of in my "semi-conscious conscious state" was what if I kill Lucy the dog?

Lucy the dog is my neighbor's dog. Apparently, she never got the memo that I am not good with dogs. I'm watching Lucy the dog until Saturday. Solely me. I take her for walks, I feed her. I throw the frisbee. I pick up piles of warm mushy poo, and I cringe every time. But so far, so good. She hasn't keeled over. But so that's what I was thinking about when I was supposed to be in some transient state of mind during the Gong Bath.

A Gong Bath is really cool. I don't think I go there for healing. I think I go there for two hours to myself to lie there and do nothing but wait to see what my brain does. And parts of it were like how probably Space Mountain at Disney was ('course I didn't go on Space Mountain cuz I'm a chicken), but with my eyes closed, in a transient relaxed state, I would see squiggles and flashes of light through my eyes. I would be partially dreaming, and then wake up a little bit. Anyway, I'm not a freak or anything. It's just a fun experience. And if the next time Gong Man is around town, and if I have the extra twenty-five bucks to shell out, and if the kids are climbing the walls and driving me crazy, well, then I might just pay me a little visit to the Gong Man again. It's better for you then heading up to the Squirrel Cage (yes, an actual bar here) and getting liquored up. It's also less WW points!

Ajers got contacts yesterday. My baby is growing up! My goodness! He did great at the eye doc, and managed to get them out and back in yesterday, but this a.m. he is having trouble. I am prepared to pick up a crying heaving little boy and smacking him in the face telling him: YOU DID IT YESTERDAY DAMMIT! CAN'T YOU GET THOSE FUCKERS BACK IN YOUR EYES!?!?

And I wanted to say thanks to a reader who outted herself yesterday. I can't tell you how happy her note made me!

I just wanted to take a moment and say thank you for blogging. You have been an inspiration with your humorous realism. I just found myself quoted anonymously on your writer's site, and it brightened my day. I’m the one who posted, “I started reading because I'm a manic mommy-to-be. I continue to read because your posts make me laugh, give me things to look forward to, and help let me know that I am capable of doing this parenting thing. I'm also envious of your writing ability.”

My daughter is now about a week shy of 6 months old, and I have almost forgotten how nervous I was to be a mom. I was so afraid that I would somehow screw this up. Seeing this quote today made me feel better because it made me realize that I’m actually doing this. I’m a mom! And I can’t say I’m a bad one! We’ve had our hurdles, but so far we’ve come through mostly unscathed.

I actually went back through your archives just to see the quote in its original form, and your response below my comment said, “thank you guys! And I wish the anons weren't anonymous! : )” So, now I’m not anonymous. I just don’t have an account.

To make this official: *clears throat and smiles* Hi, Manic! I’m a 27 year old new mom in Memphis, TN, and I’ve greatly appreciated all the laughs you’ve given me! Thanks for making my dreary days brighter and my brighter days brilliant!

Andrea

Andrea, thank YOU! You are the reason I keep writing as Manic Mom! Thanks to all of you who spend time during your day clicking on Manic Mom. I truly do appreciate it!

Oh, and Cory, I'm sending you your bubble gum blowing prize today!

Peace UP!
MM

Reunion

Some of you may know that my 20th high school reunion is approaching and I was invited to join the committee. Admittedly, I was kinda nervous to get back into seeing people from high school wondering, “Will they think I’ve gained weight?” (I have) “Will they think I have no fashion sense?” (I don’t!) “Will they think I’m a loser?” (Sometimes, I am.) “Will they remember the cool parties my parents let me throw (They do!)?”

But, it’s been nothing but fun to reconnect with ‘kids’ from high school, and last Saturday night we organized a pre-reunion get-together at our high school’s town summer fest. The committee is going all out with this, an amazing Web site, creating business cards, a unique logo for our reunion, and we even gave out cute buttons at the fest so everyone could wear ‘em and it would be easier for us to figure out who was in our class. Even some kids from the class of ’86 were impressed with our class’s enthusiasm.

And let me tell you, the class of ’87 was far from enthusiastic 20 years ago at our senior spirit assembly…(follow me in a cloud of reminiscence as I retell the tale that made the class of ’87 a legend in their own right…)

It was spring of senior year and every year they had Spirit Week. Each class was designated a color and at the end-of-the-week assembly, we would stand and cheer for our class, show our amazing school spirit and whoop away the other classes with our love and enthusiasm and excitement of being such a close-knit family of high school students.

Not this class.

No. Word got around that our class should veto the RED we were all supposed to wear to school for the spirit week. Instead, we would all wear black. We were uniting in the darkness and without saying a word, we would be telling the whole school so much.

So, that day, we students trickled into class, and many, many, many of us wore black. There were a few kids who did not receive the “Don’t Wear Red” memo, but, we didn’t have cell phones, email, text messaging, hell, even copy machines or computers, and our class has about 600 students, so more than likely, some didn’t get the message.

One student came dressed as a living, breathing, “Luke-I-Am-Your-Father” Darth Vader. We saluted him – our hero! We all made our way to the gym for the assembly.

The freshman class, all clad in yellow, was announced, they stood and yelled their enthusiastic Yahoos and Whooos, and clapped and shouted. Sophomores, clad in blue, jumped and stomped and clapped and screamed, “YAY Sophomores.”

Juniors in green were announced, and they too, did the “I’m-In-High-School-And-I’m-Proud” cheer.

Next up, us, the seniors. Boy, were we ever cool. We denounced everyone. We disobeyed the structure of the assembly. A hush came across the crowd, some 2,500 students, awaiting the whoops and cheers from the class mostly united, united in their decision to laugh in the face of school ritual and pride. No, we, class of ’87, would start our own ritual. We would be known throughout the halls of DGN high school as being the class with no spirit. When, really, how much more spirited and connected could one class get?

To veto the norm, to set ourselves apart from the standard, to bind together as a group, without adults telling us what we should do. We united. We stood. We were announced, and we all turned our backs from the gym floor and stayed silent when it was our time to scream and yell and whoop and cheer.

Not one word echoed through the gym.

And by doing so, I’d say we were never more united as in those few quiet moments.

And I know not one student from the Class of 1987 will ever forget that moment. The moment we united like no other class had ever done...
So, fast-forward 20 years but rewind to last Saturday night…

Hubby and I go out first to dinner, and I tell myself, “Two glasses of wine. That’s it. Just two.”

Yeah, uh, right.

Two at dinner.

Then we get to the fest, and run into all sorts of people from The Past, and there’s beer there, and you know I don’t drink beer, but I’d rather have that than Boxed Chardonnay or Mike’s Hard Lemonade, so I drink it.

And drink some more, and reminisce and laugh with old friends, and meet some new people, and then Hubby and I run into people he knew from way back when. Way back when he was a cop.

Did I ever share that with you? Hubby was a police officer. Like a real one, with a gun, and handcuffs (sadly that were never utilized in our home), and a billy club (Gladly never utilized in our home), and we run into guys he knew from the force like 15 years ago, and some of them, man, they have not aged a bit, maybe even gotten cuter! And apparently, much to Hubby’s and my surprise, he is a legend. A legend I tell you!

The cops recounted a story where Hubby slammed on the brake once during a training when they got new squad cars with anti-lock brakes, and he broke the freaking thing straight off the car. He walked out of the car holding the brake. Like the whole piece.

And they recounted another story where there was some stuff going on, and a guy in overalls was causing trouble, and Hubby walked up to him, grabbed him by the overall shoulder thingies, lifted him a foot off the ground, and said, “Listen up Jethro!”

And the best story was when he was on the force for only three days and they got a call about some ‘suspicious activity’ happening at the motorcycle dealership in town. They don’t turn on the squad lights and sirens because they were going for the super-secret surprise method for this particular case. And good thing, because they hunch forward to the windows of the motorcycle dealer, and what do they see?

A man doing a woman doggie-style in the front window. No lie.

So, instead of doing the responsible thing like making sure the woman is there on her own free will, and busting in to save her, what do they do?

They call all the other cars in the area for a peep show!

The cops still say in all their years working the beat, never have they encountered an escapade like that.

Turns out she was there on her free-will (and on her hands and knees), and the guy was a manager of some sort of the store so he had the keys and was just fulfilling a fantasy. Cuz we all dream of doing it in a store window, right?

So, those were some fun recountings of the good old days.

Then, after the high school catching up and the cop-catching up, we were heading home when I had to pee. Like, really pee badly. So we go by this bar I knew some other people were going to be at, and pay the $5 cover each because I had to pee so bad, and if we were going in there to pee, and we had to pay the five bucks to do so, well, we might as well have a drink there too, right?

Think Spongebob with me here:

Three.Hours.Later….

Yep, one pee for $5 ended up with us hanging out there practically till the bar closed listening to this band: The Polkaholics.

Every song was sing-songy chicken-dancy-hokey-pokey but the words were all about beer. Like drink, take a sip, drink, drink, drink, take a sip, rounds of music.

It was fun. I didn’t think I was drunk. I really didn’t. I had had the two glasses of wine at dinner, two to three beers at the fest, one Stoli-O with cranberry, and then a Nutty Irishman. Doesn’t seem like a lot in a six-hour time frame does it?

Well, it was enough to slam me on my ass all day Sunday. I got up once at 10 a.m. to feed the kids some cereal, then crashed back to bed until 1:30 p.m. I was up until 2:30 then decided, “Screw this, I’m going back to bed.”

I then slept from 2:30 to 6:30 when Hubby came in the room and asked, “Do you want to be a part of this family?”

Fortunately, there was no vomiting incidents, just a headache and the need for some serious sleep. And I got it. And I’m renewed and refreshed today, and went and did yoga this a.m. and now have a houseful of kids playing and running and screaming through the rooms, and all is good. And I’ve stuck to the WW points all week except for the alcohol intake, but I do get 35 points extra a week, so why not use it for that? And being in bed all day yesterday actually saved me points cuz I couldn’t eat! I think I got this thing figured out.

Maybe. Maybe not.

At least my head’s done pounding, and I don’t have to do it again till next week when I go see this U2 Tribute Band.

**And hey, if you're a member of the graduating class of DGN '87, please leave a note and say hello!

This Is A New One or "Aww Shucks!"

So, it’s 6:33 a.m. and my walking pal and I are huffing it up the street, and chitchatting about Knocked Up, which I saw last night and, as I wish these walks would accomplish, I laughed my ass off through it all.

HI-Larry-Us.

Like American Pie hilarious, Will Ferrell hilarious, the funniest-movie-you’ve-seen-all-year hilarious (Damn, I should be a Siskel and Ebert kinda person, huh?)

I think it’s a must-see for any pregnant woman. Hell, they should let pregnant babes in for free, just because they’re so hormonal and moody and tearful anyway, they deserve to see this movie just so they can have 2½ hours of worry-free laughing. It’s that funny. I thought so anyway.

The fake belly didn’t look too real though. It never shook. And the fake vajiggity was kinda gross – in that strange way like when your brain says, “Ewww, that is so gross,” but at the exact same second, the perverted part of your brain is also saying, “Wait, is there a rewind button on this thing so I can see it again.” Like that kinda gross.

So, back to the point of the post (I sway a lot lately, don’t I?)… Walking Gal Pal and I are doing our thing, and I’m telling her about Knocked Up. Conversation continues like so:

“It’s such a funny movie, but I would like, not let a 13-year-old see it though. They drop the F-bomb A LOT, and there’s a stripper scene where the guy’s nose is rubbing all up against the stripper’s a$$, and there is some serious bumping and grinding going on, and different positions, and it’s just not really appropriate for anyone younger than 17, I’d say.”

Walking Gal Pal laughs and says, “It sounds like that American Pie kinda humor.”

“Yeah, and I just couldn’t imagine seeing it with my teenage daughter one day, or anything like that,” I note.

“Totally,” says WGP. “It’s like when I was with my mom at that spa retreat the other weekend. That movie with Owen Wilson was on… You, Me and Dupree…”

“Yeah?”

“So my mom and I are watching it and all of a sudden, there’s Owen Wilson sitting in the bean bag shuckin’ Bubba.”

Excuse me?

“You did not just say, ‘Shucking Bubba?’”

Shucking Bubba. Say it aloud with me folks.

Shucking Bubba. What kind of phrase is that, and why have I not heard it before, and WHY didn’t I think of it because I LOVE IT!

I have NEVER in my entire life heard of that phrase! I’ve heard plenty of ‘em too… playing the one-man violin, strokin’ the salami, whackin’ the mole (nah, just made that one up, actually), spankin’ the monkey… but NEVER …

Shuckin’ Bubba.

That’s a totally new one for me. I am positive Mr. Manic hasn’t even heard that one, and he’s a guy! So I can’t wait for the next time he comes downstairs from taking a shower or something, and I look at him and ask, “Whatcha been doin’? Shuckin’ Bubba?”

Bwahahahahahahaha!

Ever since I heard the phrase this morning, I’ll be doing something, and then all of a sudden, I’ll think, “Shucking Bubba,” like hmmmm… that is so interesting. And I say it in my mind a couple times and smile. It’s almost like it is just so fun to say it makes me happy.

Man, I love the English language, don’t you?

Karma & The Agent (Not Mine, Another One)

OK, first you have to read this:
Best Rejection Letter EVER

Go ahead. I'll wait here for you.

Done yet?

I sounded bitter didn't I? I sounded angry, didn't I? I remember when this happened, when she wrote back:

"I'm sorry; as a woman who plans to never have children, this just doesn't resonate with me either."

What?

I remember thinking, "OK, wow. So I'm sure literary agents don't want to go out and commit crimes, murder, lure strangers into bed, fight dragons and dinosaurs, morph into evil-eared dwarves, make love with aliens (unless they're hot, well-endowed aliens), but they will represent books with those subjects, right?

So I never did understand why Prominent Literary Agent would not even give 40 Weeks and my writing an inkling of a chance. All because she was a woman who never planned on having children? I don't plan on having an affair, or killing my father, or falling back in love with an ex. Or getting a dog. But I write about these things, these strange phenomena.

It was frustrating. I mean, come on, at least read a couple pages and tell me it sucked or something.

(Not that it does because my own fabulous Prominent NY Literary Agent has told me so!)

But anyway, Karma is a little funny thing, isn't it, in a strange little way. Turns out 40 Weeks may not make it to the bestseller list, or maybe it will someday, or maybe some other book of mine will get published someday, but, the whole "I bet you wish you were my agent because I'm rich, rich, rich" thing quite possibly isn't going to fly in the face of Karma with this one, and I'm OK with that. I know that writing 40 Weeks was important for me, that so many people have the desire to write a book yet so many of them never do, or do get started and then give up, and I haven't done that. And 40 Weeks has gotten me my own fabulous Prominent NY Literary Agent, and I'm moving forward to find the niche to get published because of her.

I'm not about getting even, and this isn't about wishing ill-will toward anyone, really. You know me. I'm a nice person. I believe in The Secret for crying out loud! But I have always been stumped by why I would receive a rejection without even been given the chance to show my work all because it was on a subject of no interest to the agent.

But now, to get to the point of this post, in a turn of interesting events, I have discovered that original Prominent Literary Agent has secured her own little bun in her oven.

And, I think that's great, truly. I think it's wonderful. It was disheartening for me to hear that she didn't want kids. How could you not want children? They are the backbone of our universe, they cast light on dreary days, they turn my upside-down days upside-right, they are my joy and my life and my loves, and for someone to say they want no part of that makes me weep! Weep, I tell you!

So, hearing that this Prominent Literary Agent has crossed over to the other side and will be embracing motherhood makes me happy for her. For her, and her baby whom I am sure she will love and care for with the fervor she cares for her clients, for her books, for her friends and family. She is, from what I know, and from my friends who know her, a top-notch agent who will undoubtedly become a top-notch Mom!

I just wonder if she remembers she rejected me based on that, and if she felt like telling me she was sorry? Cuz that would make me feel kinda better. And then I could tell her to be sure to pick up a copy of 40 Weeks when it hits the shelves, and if she'd like, I'd even be happy to autograph it for her!

5,527

That’s how many words I wrote in two three-hour stretches. I am psyched! It’s flowing! It’s such a cool feeling to be typing and not knowing where the story is headed, and then BOOM! There it is, and it just flew out of nowhere and I’m cranking away and the ideas are spilling out and whew, it sure beats a vacation to Disney.

Now, if I just had three straight hours to myself every single day, I could whoop out another book in no time! Because, while 40 Weeks is not dead, it is in a coma right now, a holding pattern, limbo for now. And I’m OK with it for the time being. I love my agent, I can’t even believe I have one, and she’s been great and enthusiastic and to quote Sally Fields, “You like me! You really like me!”

That’s a nice feeling. Aside from this next book, which, including the 5,527 words from today and yesterday, I’m up to 39,367 words, I’m also working on a non-fiction proposal, doing my other website freelance work, and also working on my (aghast!) 20th high school reunion committee. Add the three baseball/softball/tee-ball games tonight where I had to drop Ajers at his game first, then rush to get Diva to her game (where I completely FLOUNDERED and drove two miles past where I should have gone – and she plays at the same field every game!), and then bolt over to get Tukey to his game (where he got rammed in the face with a baseball and started bawling, but the parents all cheered for him when he left the field just like in the big leagues)…
Well, suffice it to say, my vacation from my vacation ain’t really happening.

And I’ve got that dreaded “It’s-day-two-of-counting-points-so-now-I-have-a-headache” headache, but I stuck to the points, and looked in the mirror, and got on the scale, and continue to know I have to work at this, and power-walked at 6:30 a.m. and will go to bed tonight knowing I am doing the best I can do with what God has given me and remember to thank him that although our vacation wasn’t the most spectacular trip in the universe, we managed to get through it, come home safely, and start getting back into some sort of routine, crazy as it all is.

What’s up with you for this summer? Hitting the pool? Going on vacation? Blowing some huge-butt bubble gum bubbles like Cory here, who is the winner of the Manic Mom First Annual Bubble Blowing Contest--


And I have to admit, I at first thought he had a balloon in his mouth, until I opened this photo:

So, Cory, thanks for playing, and hope the gum came out of your eyebrows! Send me your address so I can send ya a Manic gift.

And everyone else, let me know what’s up with you. I majorly went through Blogdrawl when I was away! It's good to be back.

Peace UP!
MM

No Title For This One

This post is going to be a mishmash because in order to organize all the commentary, it will just take too much out of me, and the damn vacation already took all it could from my soul, my bones, my weary traveling bod. Without further adieu, as best as I can relay it, I bring you:

Manic’s Trip to Hell and Back…

Typos and all because I'm too lazy to go back and edit this sucker...

Observations and Facts.
This post will be devoid of emotion. Create your own conclusions.

Flew to Florida with KC and the Sunshine Band. Broke out into "I'm Your Boogey-Man" and "Do a Little Dance" every chance we got on the flight.

At one point on the flight, I’m sitting next to Mrs. Friend-Of-Manic and I look across the aisle at her son. He’s sitting there with a coloring book and FOUR-INCH sharp scissors! I’m like, “Uh, check out your son!”

We urge him to put them away, and when he asks why, we whisper-yell across the aisle that it is a weapon. The kid is like, “How are scissors a weapon?”

We are cracking up at this point, and actually pretty shocked that my seven ounce bottle of 50 SPF sunscreen got confiscated while he trekked right through security with an item that could gouge out the pilot’s eyes, plummeting us all to an untimely death (But wait, now that I think about it, death prior to Disney might not have been untimely. It might have been a blessing!)

Yes, you heard that right, Manic HATED Disney. More later.

Mr. Manic and Mr. Friend-Of-Manic's drunk by the time the flight departed at 1:00 p.m.

Crashed The Academy of the Holy Names (aka The Academy of the Horny Dames) 20th High School Reunion Saturday night.Partied with people I have known since we were about five, including BF cutie-pie AM and her hubby.

I am fat.

But not as fat as probably 80 percent of the people at Disney.

The Disney organization is a well-run machine. The whole thing is a machine. I hated it. Hated the crowds. Hated the lines. Was thankful Mrs. Friend-Of-Manic's is smart enough to know how the FastPass works so we could get through the shit quicker. Felt sick after going on the very first ride at DinoWorld at Animal Kingdom.


Father has been drinking. Nothing new in Manic’s family.
Father calls a daughter a bitch.
Father calls his dog a bitch.
Is there a difference?
Daughter cries.
Daughter has PMS.

Sorted through boxes in a steamy attic searching for old memorabilia, specifically my Judy Blume collection I know I never gave away.
Found none of them.
Sweated my ass off.

Happiest moment of the trip: seeing this sign at Disney:


Tukey infested with bug bites.
Visit to the First Aid office at Magic Kingdom.
Manic cries. Nurse tells Manic not to cry; it'll upset the child.
Manic still cries. She is fighting with Hubby. She is hot. She hates Disney World. Her son is in pain from infected bug bites all over his body.


Children prance around her. Eating ice cream. She wants to smack the kids around her.
Disney World is the stupidest place on the entire face of the earth. Even stupider than Curves and Salad restaurants and Massage Envy places and Beading Stores and Scrapbooking stores.
Disney World is a cult. It's like a corral of cows being moved from one spot to another with no destination in mind.


The food at Disney World is good.

The service at Disney World is impeccable.

I still hate the place.

I wonder what the most sought-out after job is there--Mickey? The Flying Tinkerbell during the fireworks show? The woman cleaning the toilets? The guys stuck outside in the steaming heat of June locking people into place before they take the plunge of their lives off some stupid roller coaster.

The person who has to sell balloons? What do they do with the balloons at the end of the day if there are some left?
I wonder what it takes to get a job at Disney? A winning personality? Charm? Wit? Anyone who applies? I look at the people and wonder, "Are they for real?"

On the plane on the way home, this is what I wrote:

So, I thought I’d try to just state the facts and make some vacation observations and make this post devoid of emotion. Let’s see where this takes us. We are 30,000 feet in the air, and as an oxymoron, I have swallowed a Xanax to relax me while sucking down a grandenonfatsugarfreevanillaiced latte. Caffeine and Xanax. A winning mix. Like ordering the Big Mac combo with a diet coke. Pointless.

Anyway, the trip. It’s like this – you know how when you have a really bad break-up with a boy you thought you loved? Life sucks. You’re miserable. Nothing will make things better. Or, when you’re in that transition stage of labor and you’ve never experienced so much pain in your entire life?

Well that, my friends, is Disney World.

You’re in the middle of the heat and the lines and the cheery cast members you just want to bash in the head and the begging for icecream and the souvenirs and the kids whining and you’re thinking why the hell am I here, and how on earth do people enjoy this, and do families really use their life savings to subject themselves to this torture, some even coming back every single year. Why? And why are there chicks all made up with caked up made-up faces, done-up hair, their best clothes – long pants for God’s sake! And why do people take their INFANTS to this place? And why do newlyweds walk around wearing bride Minnie veils and groom Mickey tophat ears. What kind of man wants to walk around Disney showing all the other men in the place that he is so whipped-in-love that he’ll wear an Ear Hat like that? Man, I wish I had snagged me one of these guys.

And, its seriously like a cult. And everyone’s being corralled into the next ride. Get in, get out, get in line for another miserable, hot, dreadful, whiny 30 minutes or more to wait for the God-awful Lilo and Stitch experience while your son is crying because he has been bitten to death practically by some foreign bugs and he has an allergic reaction to the bites, and he wants to be held and he’s 50+ pounds and it’s 90+ degrees out and he just wants to go home, but DAMMIT we are at DISNEY-FREAKING-WORLD so we’re going to enjoy this and go on this Lilo and Stitch ride where they trap you in, lock you up, turn the lights off and three-quarters of the room are children under the age of five, and they’re all SCREAMING simultaneously terrified of the dark and the smoke and the scary noises and children and parents come out of there petrified and crying and angry that this is supposed to be fun but it’s scaring the hell out of these children who are supposed to be having the time of their lives.

THIS IS FUN?

And, Mrs. Friend-Of-Manic said it best when she said Disney needed a new slogan. “Where Dreams Come True” just doesn’t cut it. It’s “Where Dreams Come True and Divorce and Murder is Contemplated.”

You know what. There’s more to write about, like how my Uncle Godfather, who I love dearly but who can be legally considered an alcoholic (Hell, it’s OK to write this—he’d tell you straight to your face if you met him)… well, dear Uncle ends up in the hospital on Tuesday while his granddaughter (my first cousins daughter, whom, additionally, I love dearly) spent four of the days with us, (Which thank God she is a darling doll and a joy to be around, but here’s the other thing—I could never adopt a child because I am for positively sure I would be nicer to that kid than to my biological children.

And, yes, there’s more, like how the day after our Magic Kingdom day we hung out at the pool/bar resort from 1 p.m. to 10 where the kids swam, we drank, the kids got airbrushed tattoos, played bingo, flew down water slides, drank slushies, ate hotdogs and other crap, sang karaoke (Ajers went first and blasted out We Will Rock You. Hubby and Mr. Friend-Of-Manic sang I'm Your Boogeyman in honor of our brush with KC and the Sunshine Band, and Diva and daughter of Friend-of-Manic and Mrs. Friend-Of-Manic sang This One's For The Girls)...The bar tab that day was $360 with tip for all of us, which was about half the amount we spent per family at Magic Slingdom and we had a whole helluva lot more fun!

But I’m starting to not make sense. I did however ship my kids off today (we got home yesterday) to Vacation Bible School and had three hours to myself in a Starbucks where I wrote 3,000 words for my next book. And that three hours was so relaxing, and enjoying, and I listened to my itunes, and one song in particular from Swishy’s Gray’s Anatomy tape (All I Need) and like Swishy, I played it over and over and over and over because it just helped the words to flow out of me and I was doing it, I was writing, and it felt awesome and when I picked up the kids I was like, wow, that three hours was like the best time I had in two weeks, and I guess it was all because I was writing again, and it felt great.

ALSO, went back to Weight Watchers today. Got weighed, but too scared to look at the number in my book.

OK, I am about to fall over. But, as you can all see, I am back, and in full swing, and oh yeah, only ONE person entered my bubblegum blowing contest and that one person has won so I will put up the pictures later, and I do think there is much more to say and I’m sure I can keep typing and stuff will come out because I am like a hose that will not stop spraying right now because I have missed all of this and I am tired, and I am getting up tomorrow a.m. to power walk at 6:30 and I will stick to my points again, and I will work on my writing, and just as like labor, and broken hearts, Disney will become a faint memory and it won’t hurt so much later on.

B A C K

I'm back from Family-Disney-Drunken(not me!)-Hot Hell.

More when I ... when I... hell... I have no idea. More when I can...

Knock Knock -- Manic Games

Who's There?

Not Manic.

Not Manic Who?

Not Manic, Who's Gone on vacation!

OK, dumb joke. Totally. But couldn't think of any clever Knock-Knock joke to bid you farewell for a while.

However, I did think of SOMETHING to keep you busy while I'm on my book tour. HA, did that just CRACK you up!? Isn't that the most hysterical thing you've heard--Moi, on a book tour. As if. Not really true; that's a joke. However, if I conjure up The Secret (which, by the way, has been working phenomenally when trying to secure key parking spots), maybe then I will get a book tour someday!

Anyway, fun thing No. 1 thing to do while I'm away:

1. A bubble-blowing contest!
Take a photo of your best bubble-blowing attempt (COME on... Bazooka-zooka Bubble Gum!) and email it to me at henhowz@comcast.net.

The reader with the largest bubble blown from his or her mouth chock-full of gum will win a prize. You need to take a "before" picture of how big your wad is (and Noooo! I am not being perverted here, so you shouldn't be either!)... like, how many pieces you're chomping on before attempting this feat. Get creative, get colorful, get fun-gum and make a game out of it with your little ones, your spouse, your significant other, your co-workers! Come on, you know you've been dying for an excuse to get out there and buy a pack of Grape Hubba Bubba or Strawberry Bubble Yum and here's your chance! So, I want the before picture, and the after picture, kind of like this one I took of me chewing gum. And try to beat this bubble right here:


Can ya do it? If you're not up for a bubble-chomping/blowing contest, then phlewwww to you!
Instead, you can play this game-

Fun thing No. 2 thing to do while I'm away:

2. An interactive continuous writing game in the comments section.
Each commentor can write the next part of a story but there are some restrictions.

~ You may only write 3-5 sentences at a time.

~ You MAY post more than one entry, but none back-to-back.

~The theme of the story is ORANGE, color, fruit, feeling, temperment, emotion, crayon, whatever. Stick to an orange theme. Why? I have no idea.

~Can only create three characters in this story.

~No profanity but mild swearing like fuck or shit is acceptable.

I think that about does it. I may or may not be able to post while doing my book tour (God, I am so hysterically funny, aren't I?) but I will check in and try to at least leave a comment or two.

Be well everyone!
Peace UP!

Infidelity

Wow.

Infidelity.

What a strong, hurtful word. I don't want to share too much, but very, very, very good friends of ours, like to the both of us, like couple friends, like we both stood up in their wedding (Godparents, vacation together friends), have been having a rough go at their marriage for a while now; it's to the point of sleeping in separate bedrooms.

I have tried to be neutral. Tried to understand both sides of their unhappiness, tried to tell them it's time to look ahead, to make changes to make them both happy, to keep their kids happy. But to me, infidelity is not excusable. No way. I don't care how miserable you are in a marriage, how much you want it to be over, no way can I accept that. You get out of it before you let your "other parts" start talking for you. I'm not even the one scorned here, yet I sit here and wonder what's going on in his mind, how could he do this, how can he look his wife in the eye, how can he kiss his kids good night. I mean, is a person that checked out that it doesn't matter the lives he is screwing up?

But, how do I know what I would do in the same situation? It hasn't happened to me. But, just like when someone gets terminal cancer, or a tragedy strikes, everyone says, "Oh, I can't believe it's happened to them," I feel this way. I really can't believe he's gone and done this without thinking of the repercussions it will have on his whole family.

It makes me wonder, and question everything. And be mad, and angry, and take sides now, and think he is a horrible person, and how can this excuse the fact that he's lonely, or miserable, and unhappy. How can doing something like this be the cure-all?

Ugh. And the pain I feel for her. She's not perfect. He's not perfect. But still. To wake up this morning and have the realization flood back into her mind that her husband has done this. It's like waking up on a day and not realizing your whole life has suddenly flipped inside-out, backward, crashed-down, burned, and then the fog lifts, and it's for real. She has to get through her days knowing, thinking, wondering about it all. How can she do it?

And then, in my own bed last night, I wonder, "I'm not perfect. My husband is not perfect." What's stopping him from getting bored, lonely, angry, mad?

What's stopping anyone?

Infested

The Manic House is infested with viral germs. Diva, then me, now Tukey. It's been a Blah few days, and not a great way to start the summer season.

[Blows nose, pops some Advil, back to bed...]