End of 2006

So, no mushy stuff about the year here, just a quick end-of-the-year post; will have more tomorrow.

Hubby and I, are of course, getting a divorce... HA, bad joke, sorry... I was going to say, hubby and I are fine. I fumed for two days; he spent those days being clueless. I told him I deserved an apology. I got over it; he made me laugh, and now we have decided together that we do live in a dump.

That's how we fight, I guess. But he cracks me up, and ... I don't know... we're fine. No underlying issues here, other than his analness and my lack of analness.

Anyway, my plan is to awake sans hangover tomorrow, so I will probably write a boring post on what I hope to accomplish in 2007. Here's what I wrote about last year:

2006 Resolutions

2006 First Post

May your 2007 be filled with love, joy, peace, calmness, yoga, appetinis, grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalattes, happiness, good health, unsolicitied compliments, hugs, unexpected smooches, and all that makes you happy!

See ya next year!
Peace Out!
Love, Manic Mom

Fight Night Venting

Fuming here.

Usually I don't vent about the inadequacies of my spouse on here, because for one, I don't think it's fair because I'm certain you'll all come back with comments agreeing with me, and for two, well, because I air some dirty laundry, but not all of it, and three, because there's really not that much to complain about when it comes to my husband.

But here's the truth.

I am Sleeping With The Enemy.

Ha. Not really, what I mean is, sometimes I think they based that character in the Julia Roberts movie on my husband's analness. Not the beating me up part; he never does that, but the absurdness of his analness as the older he gets is becoming a bit, shall we say, extreme?

For instance, it is, what? Two days after Christmas. He is getting hives practically because there is stuff all over the place, toys, wrapping, ornaments, by God -- A CHRISTMAS TREE IS STILL IN OUR HOUSE, and it's TWO DAYS POST-CHRISTMAS!

So, what am I doing? I'm lying on the couch, eating my Marshall Field's Frango mints my wonderful M-I-L got me for Christmas, with my iTunes blasting in my ears, and I'm just having the time of my life, relaxing, enjoying the post holiday cheer.

Right?

Not.

I am taking down Xmas shit, and it was my idea, because I'm done with it, over it all, and Mr. Sleeping With The Enemy is home from work early, and he mutters, "This place is a dump."

Excuse fucking me?

"What did you just say?"

"I was talking to myself."

"Well, you spoke out loud so obviously, you intended for me to hear you."

We fight, I tell him he has no clue; we have three children who are trying to play with their gifts and you want me to put them all away, you Scroogey MF. I don't say all of this, I'm just telling it to you now.

What did he do for Christmas?

Did he put up the outside lights? No.

I did.

Did he put up the Christmas tree? Yes.

I'll give him that; he assembled the fake spruce and put it up.

Did he decorate the tree? No.

I did.

Did he shop for his family's gifts, or offer any suggestions on what to buy for them? No.

I did.

Did he wrap any of the gifts for his family? No.

I did.

Did he even know what our kids would be opening on Christmas day? No.

I did. Because I bought ever last-mother-fucking item, thankyouverymuch.

Did he make any of the appetizers for Christmas Day? No.

I did.

Did he bake, or in my case, attempt to bake anything? No.

I did.

Did he make the Christmas dinner? No.

I did.

Will he take down the tree? No.

I will.

Will he take down the outside lights I put up? No.

I will.

And he thinks he's right, and he thinks that our house should be immaculate even though we have three young children who have their two-day-old Christmas gifts strewn about the house; even though we are in the midst of a fairly big rennovation project with our laundry room and things are a bit dusty and messy; even though, by God, I've just busted my freaking ass for the last month to make it a nice Christmas for my family and all I get is, "This place is a dump."

I'm Thinking About:

The wretched garlic stench-taste in my mouth - whole garlic cloves on Italian bread and wine for dinner last night.

How hubby bent down and kissed my face at 5 a.m. and told me he loved me.

That I will NEVER be one of those moms who wear holiday sweater vests with glitter and Rudolph noses, snowmen and crocheted snowflakes. Sorry if you wear 'em, but I hate 'em.

I am glad that most of the wrapping is done.

I am breathing easier these last few days before the holiday hurrah!

That I no longer have that two-day headache that relinquished me to a vicodin and four hours in bed one afternoon.

Wanting to be chosen to go on WHAT NOT TO WEAR.

Not answering this particular phone call.

How we are going to the Chinese restaurant again this year for our Christmas Eve dinner.

What a great meal we will have on Christmas Day: Steaks, my mom's broccoli casserole, hash-brown potato casserole, spinach salad with walnuts, craisins, goat cheese and poppyseed dressing.

How I almost wrote poopyseed dressing.

Oh, and Limited Edition Edy's Peppermint ice cream, angel food cake, and whip cream for dessert!

How nice it is that my employer is giving me a generous bonus when all I am is a part-time freelancer--THANK YOU!

How I would love to buy a laptop.

How I will only buy a laptop if I sell my novel.

How desperately I do want to sell my novel...

And write the second book.

How my mouth tastes like garlic paste right now and I don't think I can be near anyone lest they die in the face of my breath.

How even though I feel guilted into blogging sometimes, it really does make me feel happier to be typing nonsense into this computer.

How I am thinking up a fun blogging game I will post later.

What will we do New Year's Eve?

How I have been to Weight Watchers the past three weeks, during this crazy eating/drinking season and how happy I am to have lost consecutively each week.

That I have to wear a swimsuit in exactly...SIX WEEKS FROM TODAY! YIKES!

How I think I may go for a walk in a little bit, blast my ipod and feel good in the fresh air.

That I hope you have a Merry Christmas and that while I also hope you get some nice gifts, I hope even more so that you spend the time with your family and friends and there is love and joy and peace all around you!

That I'm going to end this post now, and go for that walk...

Merry Christmas everyone from
Manic Mom and THE REAL SANTA CLAUS!

The Candle

My candle, which has been burning from both ends for a while now (as I'm sure many of you have had the same experience) has just burnt to the end, ignited and exploded.

I'm done. Exhausted. Spent. Tired. Need to Exhale.

Remember, Christmas Doesn't Just Happen.

I think I'll pass the Christmas torch on for next year.

For my Jewish friends, Happy Hanukkah!

Do You Know What?

Christmas
Just
Doesn't
"Happen."

Addendum:

It's almost midnight.

I have to pee.

I am crabby.

I just burped, and it tasted funky and I couldn't remember what I ate and that was strange to me.

Just remembered it was Chunky Fajita Steak soup.

That's why it was funky.

I feel sick.

I feel crabby.

I feel like I want to write but there is nothing to say.

I am getting anxious about needing to get working on a second book.

I am thinking about resolutions.

Not making any; just thinking about them in general.

I have so many GD gifts to wrap I am sure my back will kill me by the time I'm done.

Some of them, I am wrapping for myself to give to myself.

Even though I already know Hubby got me what I asked for.

Even though I am not going to tell you what I asked for.

Because you will laugh.

You will say, "You're kidding me. Manic Mom wants a ??? for Christmas."

I am typing so fast, the keyboard cannot keep up with me.

Amazing.

So.

Do you want to know anything else?

I think I only peed like twice today.

But Tukey and I both made poo at The Home Depot.

You should see the look on his face when he tries to push out a big poo.

This a.m. he said to me: "You're cold and I'm warm so wann know what? We should snuggle."

We went to Home Depot three times today.

We only used the bathroom one time; the second visit.

I still have to pee.

I still want to type some stuff.

I counted points today.

I drank no wine today.

I probably should have though.

I am looking around my office in search of inspiration.

You'd like to know why I was at Home Depot three times today?

I like their toilet.

No, not really.

We are doing a little construction project in our home.

Which involves me not having access to our washer and dryer currently.

Which means I sent the laundry out last week to have it done -- 36 pounds of clothing, washed, dried, folded for $40.

It would have taken me a day and a half to do that much laundry.

Certainly, I'm worth $40.

I wish we didn't have a new washer/dryer.

Then I could use the laundromat.

And I would never have to do laundry again.

Husband attended two professional sporting events this week: Da Bulls. Da Bears. They both won.

He will also be viewing NIU in some bowl game tomorrow night. Out.

He went out last Monday night too.

I saw The Holiday.

I also saw Unaccompanied Minors.

And Charlotte's Web.

I only paid for two of those three movies.

Yes, but I bought extra candy.

And, when I was at the grocery store last week, I realized I forgot to pay for my case of water.

So, I went to customer service and told them, and then I paid them.

So, maybe I'm not so bad.

Maybe I won't go to hell for Movie Hopping.

Not sure why I admitted to the Movie Hopping thing again.

I CAN.NOT stand indecisive people.

Make a decision and go with it.

Move ahead.

This just reminded me of that song, "Hey Mickey."

You're so fine. You blow my mind.

Should I be done?

Or should I just keep typing whatever the hell my fingers want to type?

I am getting addicted to yoga.

I really don't drink Diet Coke any more.

Does one can a week count?

I wonder what Jesus or Mary or Joseph did with the gold, frankensense and myhhr.

I know those are misspelled because I spelled them the correct way in a quiz I wrote for the website I work for.

But, I don't feel like looking it up.

I am tired of getting zits.

I love, love, love to pick my kids' toenails.

But, they never let me.

I wonder if when I die, will they sit around the table, and say, "Remember how mom used to love to pick our toenails? We were so mean to not let her do it. Now she's dead and she can no longer pick our toenails. I wish I let her pick them more."

Do you think I'm done yet?

No chance.

This is just getting good.

And I still have to pee.

But I know, when I go, it will smell that weird way like how it does after I have a Starbucks.

But that was like hours ago, after I did yoga, and before I went to Home Depot for the third time.

Done?

Maybe.

After all, this post will now show up for Tuesday since it's past midnight.

I usually get past and passed confused.

My yoga teacher said Acrossed instead of Across.

I'm looking around the room again.

I am going to go wrap presents.

And again, I'm full circle because....

Christmas
Just
Doesn't
Happen.

howcoolisthat?

Life in Wine

There is a process to wine drinking, you all know that, right? You know when you first start drinking wine, you hit the Mad Dog 20/20 in order to get a fast, cheap buzz in high school, and then you might also throw in a couple bottles of Peach or Raspberry Reunite for a classy alternative. "Backintheday" of high school drama and unchapperoned drinking parties, they used to make Sun Country (was it Sun Country, now I can't remember?! Or what were the names of those two guys in the wine cooler ads? This will drive me crazy so if you remember, please tell me!) Two-Liter bottles of wine coolers that we girls would chug until we felt gas pains in our shoulders.

I have no idea why they stopped making those?

Then you go to college, and have to learn to like beer cuz that's usually all that's available. You get through your college years drinking Meisterbrau, Milwaukee's Best (The Beast) or Rhinelander for its cost-effectiveness, or the Stroh's 30-pack because you get SIX EXTRA BEERS! You deal with warm keg beer with tons of foam, but you don't care. It's liquor, it's a party. You puke in the parking lot on the way from one party to another and it doesn't matter. It's fun. It's college. It's just some of those life experiences.

This is not going where I thought it was headed. I was talking wine.

Then you get out of college, and attempt to learn how to choose a restaurant based on its atmosphere and wine list, and not that it stays open all night and you know you can get an order of fries, maybe even with cheese, with the money you have left over from the night of drinking at the bar.

At that segment in life, when you're just starting out in 'real life' and are figuring out what career you got stuck in because it was the first interview you had and the guy who hired you was kinda cute in a weird kinda way, and you didn't care that you were just making $18,000 a year; you've arrived! You are officially a career-woman!

You need to learn to drink wine!

And then, your live-in fiancee, almost husband starts getting asked out to dinners for work, and he also has to start taking clients out to schmooze them into buying advertising for the new start-up minor hockey team in your town, so you go out with people who are older, who are wiser, who have already done the Reunite and Mad Dog thing, and you're out there, and it's time to order, so you think you'll be classy and order some wine.

Enter Berringer White Zinfandel.

For a few years, you think you are cool, hip, wine-knowledgeable, and holy shit, when the day comes you can finally afford to spring for a whole twenty-two-dollar bottle of White Zin AND a salad, an appetizer, AND main course, you think you've arrived.

Heh heh heh.

Then one day, your now husband comes home from a dinner out with clients and he mentions he tried a great new wine that he knows you'll love... Pinot Grigio. It takes you just as long to learn how to say Pinot Grigio as it did to take you to learn how to order your grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalattenowhipextrahot. You feel wise. You know how to say "I'll have a bottle of Ecco Domani Pinot Grigio" with a nice flair sound to the ghhhhzzzz in Grigio. Again, you think you have arrived.

Oh, the cluelessness of it all.

And then, years later, add one kid, and you're at a family-friends home, and they serve Rosemount Shiraz, the Australian red kind. You've never had red really, only pink, which was really either Mad Dog 20/20 or White Zin, which is equally strange because White Zin should be White, right? And so you drink the Rosemount Shiraz, five bottles between four of you, and the next thing you know, that evening you are straddling your husband in your family-friends home guest bedroom, and three weeks later you discover you are pregnant.

You're happy to be pregnant, of course, because this means Diva will arrive, but you decide you can no longer drink red wine as it gets you pregnant. And, in being pregnant, you can't drink anyway, so you stop drinking. Wine, and everything else.

For some reason after the second baby arrives, you move onto Vodka Tonics with lots of lemon, but when summer ends, you find yourself yearning for wine again, and go back to the tried-and-true Pinot Grigio. You've always liked how the words rolled off your tongue anyway. You attend grown-up parties and events, spending time with worldly people, and discover you have no liking for Chardonnay; it's too oaky for you, yet, it seems to be the popular choice and you ease into it, starting with Luna de Luna, a nice Pinot-Chardonnay.

Eventually, you make your way to liking Chardonnay, and drink it for a few years, thinking you've finally found the wine of choice, the one you'll most likely stick to, for it's allright. For now...

But then, you begin to see that reds are making their way back into your life. You have no affinity for reds. The sulfides make your heart race, the red grapes cause pregnancy. You don't want to go red.

But. You do. And now it's time to learn about the reds, and you're not feeling the merlots too much, and cabernet savignon is just too hard to say. You move toward the light-bodied Pinot Noir.

And you still have difficulty with the flair of saying 'Noir' without sounding like a fool, but this is the stage you're at now, the timeline of your wine-growth, and you're okay with it. You think. And although you think it was the Shiraz that caused your libido to rise that one fateful night, eight years ago, you did almost get caught in a compromising position last night by Diva, the one who actually was conceived of the red grape, and you wonder as you type this, if we've now come full circle... the wine, the baby girl, the wine last night, the baby girl, now seven, almost catching you 'in the act'...

and all because of the red. Yes, it's the red.

CONVO

Me: "I kinda feel like getting drunk."

Him: "Welcome to my world."

Happy Friday, Folks!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Oh, and if you're not really in the mood to get drunk, go over to the former Dating Dummy and join his Blog-Wide Workout team -- it's a great motivator to be accountable for your exercise program. Tell him MM sent you.

Off to find a wine opener!

Just Some Stuff

OK, I think I might have to have a Guest Blogger on here some day and I think it might have to be Ajers since he's just such a funny little fucker.

Today's conversation, first thing in the a.m. upon him waking me up so I can watch him eat breakfast before school. (Oh, and so I can get Diva up too, which is another funny story...I went to wake her up yesterday a.m. and I see she is sleeping with one of those silky eye masks to keep out the light! I'm like WTF? She really is a Diva.)

Anyway, today's Ajers Conversation:

Him: "No offense, but you could brush your hair once in a while."

Me: DON'T BE RUDE TO ME!

Him: "I said, 'No offense!'"

In other exciting Manic News, I am hosting a neighborhood cookie exchange tonight, which is really just an excuse to get some fun cookies (although, who needs 'em now that I've got the Tim Tams!?!?), drink a bunch of wine and eat some appetizers. So, if you live in my neighborhood, and read my blog, you have hopefully been invited to attend.

If you live in my neighborhood, but have not been invited, this means you have googled me in the past, and read my blog unbeknownst to me, so that makes me think you are spy... OKAY, THIS IS TOOOO WEIRD ... as I was typing this line about living in my neighborhood, my phone rang and I saw the name but wasn't sure who it was. IT WAS A LADY IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD ASKING IF SHE COULD COME!!! I didn't even post this yet! Whoa. Too strange. So of course, I told her she must come! And how quickly can she whip up five dozen cookies?!?! I don't even know this woman! Word has gotten out that there's an excuse in the 'hood to cocktail tonight!

Anyway, so if you are a Blog-Readin'--Neighbor-Spy of mine, come clean, call me up or just show up at my door with five dozen cookies! (and a bottle of wine too!)

And finally, here is the type of "cookie" I made for the exchange, and let me tell you, it figures that Manic Mom, who can't cook to save her life, is able to screw up a FOUR-INGREDIENT-NON-COOKIE cookie. Yes, I ruined two batches of this recipe.

Too bad there's hardly any Tim Tams left, not that I would share, but if needed, I could have put them out on a platter and called them my Aussie Creation Cookies or my Ramblin' Rose recipe!

SWEET & SALTIES:

Ingredients you'll need:
Saltine crackers
Two sticks of butter
One cup of sugar
Two cups of chocolate chips

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.
Take a tin-foiled cookie sheet and place flat edge-to-edge crackers onto the pan.
Cook over low heat the sugar and butter until it gets foamy and bubbly, BUT NOT BURNED.
When the butter-sugar stuff is foamy and bubbly, pour the mixture evenly over the layered crackers.
Put crackers into the oven and bake for 10 minutes. (Make sure the cookie sheet has a lipped edge or else the butter will spill all over the bottom of your oven and smoke will get in your house and the fire alarm may go off and the kids might scream, "What's burning?" and your husband might run around the house opening all the windows and doors and look at you like, "Why the hell did I marry her?" In case that were to happen, of course. Not like it happened when I tried cooking them or anything!)

So, bake for 10 minutes and take them out of the oven. Another thing to remember is to make sure you use TWO STICKS OF BUTTER with one cup of sugar because if you ACCIDENTALLY use ONE STICK OF BUTTER, then the crackers will not get saturated in the butter-sugar mixture so it won't be any good and then you'll have two cookie sheets filled with useless crumby stupid crackers. Just sayin'. In case.

After the crackers with the sugar-butter mixture saturated on top are cooked for 10 minutes, they will be golden brown and almost gooey looking. Pull them out of the oven, using carefully selected oven mitts, not your bare hand, and set them on your countertop.

Pour two cups of chocolate chips over the top of the crackers evenly and let them sit for a minute or two so they can melt.

Spread the melty chocolate chips all over the crackers until they are even and smooth. Then stick the pan in the fridge, preferably overnight. When they are hardened, you can use a sharp knife to 'crack' the stuff apart. You can't cut them neatly because these are like a candy bark or brittle.

You would not believe how yummy they are, and how similar they taste to toffee! So, let me know if you're going to attempt to make them. You probably already have the ingredients in your home, and you're probably searching for some new and unique recipe for the holidays!

And in turn, I'll let you know if I'm hungover tomorrow or not. After all, what's a cookie exchange without a good buzz-on?

Deck the halls with lotsa cookies... fa la la la la... la la la laaaaaahh!
(How many of you suckers actually sang that and made sure I wrote the correct amount of LAs???)

Cheers, and Peace Out!
Faithfully yours,
The Manic One

Ajers Has Something To Say

WARNING:
Please swallow whatever beverage you are enjoying at this moment, as if you don't, you might find it spewed all over your screen either in disgust or pure humor after you read this post.

Conversation with Ajers this afternoon:

Me, when he almost knocked over the complete Nativity Scene:
"SHIT! That would have pissed me off to no end!"

Ajers: "Is that good or bad?"

I'd say bad. On all counts. The fact that he almost broke all the pieces, and the fact that I swore so vehemently about him almost breaking it.

OK, that wasn't the funniest thing, but it was funny at the time it occurred. However, read on:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

OK, and while I didn't really want to share this bit of information, it's just too funny not to, so here is what happened on Saturday:

We had an ‘incident’ on Saturday in which my bodily function was the cause of a slight toilet problem. I am chalking these toilet 'issues' up to the fact that I'm doing so much yoga these days, and all these internal stretches are cleansing the toxins in my body, wringing out the intestines, cleaning me out, if you will.

Why am I suddenly so shy? We all do the 'doodie,' we all 'have to make.' We all POOP for cryin' out loud! Right? Right? OH MY GOSH! Manic POOPS! Yuck.

So, I beg hubby to get the plunger and he gives me a hard time because this never happens to him, and I tell him, "YES! Of course I courtesy-flushed; I can't help it. Something's wrong with the toilet, not me!"

Anyway, later that day, the whole family went to the post office to apply for passports (we’re all going to Cabo this winter). As I was filling out my form, the employee saw I had left OCCUPATION blank. He asked me what my occupation was, and I said, "I don't know, Stay-At-Home-Mom?"

He said, "What about Homemaker?"

Ajers takes it upon himself to offer up my occupation to the clerk at the post office, and all the other people waiting patiently in line with their holiday gifts to mail. He shouts out in the middle of the post office:

"How about TOILET CLOGGER!?"

Why I Love Roses

In particularly, the Ramblin' kind.

Ramblin' Rose rocks!

You may remember a previous post where RR and I discussed our favorite treats and we decided to do a blog-trade. Over the summer, she sent me Tim Tams, which are a delectable chocolately cookie-candy bar, much like a Twix but thousands times better. I sent RR a package with a variety of Reese's since she can't get them in Australia.

Well, I got an early Christmas present today! Ramblin' Rose sent me THREE packages of Tim Tams, chocolate, caramel and latte flavored! Ajers saw the container and grabbed at the package immediately but I yelled:

NO!

There's no way I'm letting him at that package because then there will be NONE left for me.

I also hate RR right now because I am seriously, seriously trying to diet because we are going to Cabo (as in Mexico) in February. That's in eight weeks to be exact. If I don't lose some of this flab, they're going to harpoon me when I get on the beach! So, I love her, I hate her. I can't live without her!

THANK YOU RAMBLIN' ROSE!

Reason I Married Him...

I got pregnant.

Hahahahaha, I am just kidding. Well, I'm not kidding about getting pregnant; I did, three times, but not until we had been married for four years (I was a virgin before we got married, of course!)

This is the reason I married him: I get home from a particularly stressful morning doing particularly stressful morning things like going to Target, Weight Watchers (down 1.8 AND I attended a party this weekend!), and the Health Club. So, okay, not particularly stressful, but nonetheless... I come home, turn on the computer, click onto the internet and open my mail.

There's an email from him. We exchange emails throughout the day sometimes, whether it's:

Me: "What time will you be home?"

Me: "I'm making dinner tonight!"

Me: "Can you please pick up a gallon of milk?"

Him: "Did you get my dry-cleaning today?"

Him: "What's on the calendar for January 3?"

Things like that. So, I open his email which has no title, but I see there's an attachment.

Inside it says simply:

I'm in love with this woman...


And of course, I'm thinking he's put a pornographic photo of Pam Anderson (Wait, isn't that redundant, or an oxymoron... oh wait, isn't she a moron? Anyway, I'm cracking myself up here with my stupid thoughts on Pam Anderson...) or of a supermodel, or of some cracked-out coke-head with a wrinkly face, you know, like one of those joke "You're getting too old" birthday cards. So, I'm bracing myself for a good laugh on the woman he's in love with, and...

It's this picture:



Tell me that ain't reason enough! What's the top reason you married your spouse?

The Story of the Gong Bath

Without rereading it, this is what I wrote Monday night at 10:46 p.m. right when I got home from the Gong Bath:

Fear, chaos, joy, cheer, immense love, splashes of white light on a dark canvas only my eyes can view. I very desperately want to put to words the experience I just had with a Gong Bath, and I might have ruined part of the ‘being in the moment’ by my desire to want to catalog the experience. Sometimes I think I am like a camera, wanting to click and remember every image, my words the film; and I can’t get them developed quickly enough.

So, I try here. It’s my own personal experience; no one can take that from me; no one can share it with me. It was only me. I sit here and move my mind into my ears, trying to recapture the beautiful sounds of the gong; there were sounds that evoked images in my life. I was watching my past flash through my conscience. I watched those dear to me, who are with me now, and those who have passed before me, seeing their images in black and white float over my conscience like a cloud and then move away. I accepted that.

Upon arrival, you’re told to remove jewelry with stones, and if you wanted to, you could put your necklace or bracelet, rings, whatever underneath the gong so it can pass along some energy, or vibrations. I don’t know. I really don’t know what happened. The Gong Master (for lack of a better word; oh wait, I do know his name: Richard), Richard, said if we had anyone we wanted to offer our intentions to (maybe this is like channeling the good of our experience to a person who needs it), then we could either plant them in our minds, acknowledge it, and then let it go. Or if we had a picture, we could present that and place it under the gong, or write the person’s name on a sheet of paper.

I took it upon myself to write down several names of people I know and love: a friend dealing with infertility, my friend with brain cancer, my high school friend who has undergone so much all from the start of breast cancer, some special family members.

Right now, there is nothing I think in my life I need healing for, so I accepted that, and put it forth to those who I want to be better. If there were some subconscious intentions of mine, I’m sure they were addressed.

With eyes closed and an eye pillow over them, a blanket over me, head comfy and a bolster under my knees (I like my knees raised during shivasana so I figured I would want to be comfortably relaxed for two hours of gong), I relaxed and let myself be open to the experience ahead of me. I did have my hands clasped above my stomach, at the rib cage. All through this, I’m wondering, “Do I subconsciously have my hands placed here for a reason?” Is my head itching right now because of something important that I do not know yet?” I lay still for probably three-quarters of the time. At one point, I felt the sensation of a pin prick right in the spot where I had a flu shot last week, and that made me wonder if maybe I was not supposed to get the flu shot and toxins were being released. Another time, I had the urge to touch my neck, so I did, feeling like if I didn’t, I would jinx the whole experience. Same thing when I needed to touch my scalp, and my belly. At some points, my knee would twitch, or my stomach would gurgle, and the whole time, my mind worked.

I don’t know if that was how it was supposed to go though? I just opened up to experience whatever it was going to be that I was supposed to experience. The gong music is beautiful, at times calming, reflective, personal. When it gets really loud, and Richard prepared us for this – he said it will get very loud, but it is not the type of decibels that cause hearing damage – when it got so loud, I did feel scared. I felt fear. I felt as if the room was crowded, and everyone was in a panic, trying to escape, and how would we all get out of there is something bad was happening. And at the beginning of the loud noise, I felt joy, like an audience clapping, honoring me for some success, and then as it got louder is when I got scared and I remember telling myself, “It’s okay; don’t forget to breathe; breathing is important.” And I remember thinking, “OK, this can be done for now.”

This was just a small part of it though, and it was a quick passing, and I think maybe that loud noise is something meant to be there, to let the fear evacuate from your body, because as I write this now, I feel very calm and very relaxed, and … not happy, but, here’s the word I’m looking for: Fulfilled.

You can sometimes hear voices too, and during the chaotic loud gong noises, I did hear the clamoring of people, and screaming, and fighting, as if there was a riot going on right in my head, yet I was stuck there and drowning in the noise and the crowd, unable to do anything but wait for it to pass.

And it did.

I remember seeing fleeting bits of my children, wishing I could get Diva to eat more healthily, there were so many other things I had wanted to track into my mind, to keep it there so I could come home, write it all down, and share it with you. To tell you it was a surreal, unique, experience. It, by no means, has changed me for life; that would be absurd. It was just something to try, and I put myself out there to a new experience, and I felt all the emotions that belonged to that experience, and I think that’s why I am feeling fulfilled at the moment.

And I think my mind is quiet right now. It’s calm. I am warm. I can inhale deeply, and exhale, and everything works. And I am thankful.

And if that’s all I took away from this experience, then I would have to say it was a blessing, a wonderful thing to try, to learn about, to discover. I don’t know if it helped me to heal, or if it offered me an awakening of some sort (I think it did), but I do know I am thankful I am a brave enough person, a unique enough person, a daring enough person to go out and try something I’ve never done before, practically never heard about, and come away from the experience with some new thoughts, and quite possibly some new perspectives on what life is, and how grateful I am to be living it.

I’m going to bed now; it’s currently 10:46 p.m. on Monday night. I think I will see what feelings resonate within me tonight and maybe I’ll have more to add tomorrow.

So, good night.

Gong: Worthy of a Separate Post

So, I received an interesting anonymous comment regarding the post about me going to a Gong Bath. Here it is:

"You are treading a thin line my friend...

In a world where people are constantly grasping for deeper meaning, deeper spirituality, and a higher purpose, energy healing is one more New Age philosophy which presents itself very desirably to human nature. Born with sin, we all come in to the world with the strong belief that we are the center of the universe – that we are in control of our health, our bodies, our lives, our circumstances, and our destinies. Those who have not turned to God for the answer have no choice but to search within themselves.

The practice of energy healing is not in itself a religion, but is a pathway to one's own spirituality. It leads you down a personal journey that encourages you to focus on yourself and how your energy is in synch with the energies of the cosmos, the earth, and all other life. Through this, one can supposedly be taught to heal himself or herself by using clairvoyance to “visualize” where the negative energy is in order to determine the cause of the problem, may it be physical, emotional or spiritual.

The use of energy healing encourages one to put their full trust in themselves and their own bodies, which is a form of worship. For most who participate in energy healing, no recognition is given to the one true God, nor does He receive any praise for healing. The person using these methods of healing has made himself into his own god. Getting involved in energy healing is spiritually dangerous, to say the least.

The Bible tells us that Jesus is the One who came to heal. “Then Jesus said, 'Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest'” (Matthew 11:28). God does not want or expect us to help ourselves. He is the source of life, of all that is good and true. Those who refuse to acknowledge Jesus will never come to a place of spiritual healing. “'For the hearts of these people are hardened, and their ears cannot hear, and they have closed their eyes – so their eyes cannot see, and their ears cannot hear, and their hearts cannot understand, and they cannot turn to me and let me heal them'” (Matthew 13:15).

And here is the reply I wrote last night:

This is very interesting, and I have to say that I am glad I did not read Anon's comment prior to me attending the Gong Bath, and also that when I came home from the experience, I did not read the comments but first wrote my feelings down, which I will post later.

I have to say I agree mostly with Anon (Gasp! Shudder! Oh My! Has Manic Gone Insane?!?!)... but I sensed a bit of accusation in his/her comment and I would like to clear some things up: I am not looking to replace my one true God. I am a very spiritual and God-loving person. Our family prays, we attend church, we look to God when we are sad, confused, happy, scared, joyful. I have no fear that the one true God does not have a place for me by His side when I die and go to Heaven. And, maybe this is pompous or egotistical for me to think, but I do think I'm going to Heaven.

At the Gong Bath, I fully questioned the intent. After the fact, when the "Gong Guy" (For lack of a better title) was explaining how the sound waves radiate, yadda yadda, I wondered about it, and I wondered this aloud to my friend whom I attended with, "So, does this guy think he's a god? And that he is a healer? Do the Buddhists believe in the God we believe in?"

I questioned everything. I simply wanted to take an experience and learn from it. I did put my intentions toward some people I love who are sick and in need to focus to their health. However, I did not pray to a Gong to make my friends and family healed.

I was just open to experience my own personal feelings, and that's exactly what I did.

Anon wrote: "God does not want or expect us to help ourselves." I had to wonder, if God does not want us to help ourselves, when we cross the street, should we not look both ways before we cross, knowing God is there to help us? Should we use no caution in our lives just by the mere fact that we know He is there for us?

I spent a lot of time last night thinking about Anon's comments, and I do not know very much about spiritual healing, energy and all that la-dee-da stuff; it is very obvious Anon is a well-versed and educated person on the subject. I began thinking of things like this:

If a person chooses the healing option of energy or spiritual channelling or whatever it is the gong (or other healing options for that matter) has to offer, how is that different than a person choosing to use a medicine or surgical procedure to be healed? Is the doctor then the god? Does God not work through the hands of the surgeon to help heal? Do you (and when I say 'you' I mean anyone reading this, not just Anon) think that since "God does not want or expect us to help ourselves," that when we become sick, we must just say, "This is what God wants and I should just accept it?"

I'm just trying to play devil's advocate here, because I am really interested in how or why the experimental healing through energy, etc. is different or more wrong than using experimental drugs to cure cancer.

I'm not angry with Anon, although that "treading a thin line, my friend" might not have been the best way to present your opinion, for none of my "friends" refer to themselves as Anon. You're absolutely welcome to share your opinion, but your comment sounded like you're accusing me of something other than me having an experience in my personal life. That's all that I did, not that I need to receive permission from anyone, especially an anonymous anyone.

I think Anon did a good thing. He/she opened my eyes up to the whole reasoning behind the Gong Bath. I will not venture to say it was a wrong thing to do, and I will share my experience with you -- I freewrote down my feelings without thinking, just feeling how I felt about an hour after the experience, and will post it unedited later.

I do think Anon stopped me from getting the full experience because he/she drove other thoughts into my mind when I was just trying to feel the experience without others' opinions.

I, in no way, went to this 'event' in search of a higher being.

I have my higher being. And His name is God, and I look to Him for all the good that is in our world, and I look to Him for solace and understanding, for love and compassion. There is no other God, and I'm not preaching here; you obviously have your wits about you, Anon, and I thank you for opening the eyes of anyone who might be in search of something other than God. However, I am not one of those people.

Now, how about we all go grab a pack of Tim Tams and an appletini and share the love!

The Gong Show

Or rather, The Gong Bath.



I'm going for a Gong Bath tonight. I have no idea what's going to happen but I'm going to open myself up to receive anything, and I think keeping an open mind and spirit is how a person should go into trying something experimental and new.

I'm really excited about this. Not that I feel like I 'need' physical healing for anything. In fact, it kind of feels like I'm cheating by going. I'm not 'asking' for anything, I'm not expecting anything more than two hours of peace and some interesting inner feelings, but I'm staying open to the idea that something awesome could happen.

Here's the blurb about the event:
Richard Rudis is back with an unforgettable event to soothe, inspire and awaken your spirit. Richard Rudis (Sonam Dorje) creates transformation healing waves of sound bathing each participant with rising and falling rhythms, tonalities, and vibrations of huge Earth Gong tuned to the sound of the primordial AUM, the "Universal Chord"; the vibrational signature of our mother earth (Ghia) as it dances with our Sun (Sol). Anticipate healings, awakenings, and miracles.

Here's a snippet of an interview I found online:
Reverb: Are these events you do, the Gong Baths, traditional Tibetan rituals?

Richard: Oh no. The name Gong Bath came about sort of as a kitschy thing. The term doesn’t truly reflect what is going on. One of my sponsors of these events said it sounded “sexy” and so it has stuck. And in a sense, you are “bathed” in sound during it.

The Gong Bath is very much a Western culture thing. Nothing needs to be learned, the participants lie on their backs, head towards the gong in the center of the room, and basically say, “Do it to me.” They allow it to be experiential.

That’s not to say they don’t experience healing results from a Gong Bath. I recall once, a woman came to a Gong Bath with her husband, a doctor, merely because they wanted something odd to talk about at their next cocktail party. There was no intent there, other than have something to chat about. But she called me the next morning, and said she wasn’t feeling well. She was dizzy and nauseous and wanted to know what I did to her. I explained that it was a detox process, toxins were leaving her cells and to flush them out. She did and the next day, she called again. She said for the first time in 20 years she was without pain in any of her joints without taking pain medicine. Now she comes to all the Gong Baths she can.

I do workshops around the country where I teach people how to work with the bowls and gongs. A workshop requires more participation and understanding of the participants.

Reverb: Perhaps you can explain simply, why the woman had such a healing and detox reaction.

Please don’t hear this as ego talking, but you see, I don’t play the gong like a musical instrument. I play it as an instrument of transcendence.

Her reactions and others like it are an affirmation of what sound healing is in the Buddhist tradition. What I mean by that is, it’s based on the premise that Enlightenment or Buddha Mind cannot be found, because you can’t find that which you have never lost.

Buddhists see this essence of you, this self, as a virtual diamond. You can take a diamond, throw it in a bunch of manure, and then take it out a million years later, and the diamond will still be bright. It doesn’t change. It is the same thing with our inner self, although I want to be clear the self I am speaking of doesn’t really equate with the “soul.” It is the self that is beyond dualistic nature.

So we are physical beings incarnate, and if we are physically mirroring that clear state, we are in healthy state. There is a sound signature of that blissful state of being, even at a cellular level. The cell is in a state of bliss naturally, but as other things alter it, it changes. However, the ground state of the cell, the diamond state, is always the same.

For example, a healthy heart cell is singing in a blissful way, but alter it, it is no longer singing blissfully, it is now uneasy or diseased, however there is still a cellular signature, a diamond self within it. So what I do with the instruments is not actually heal the individual, but remind the individual of that whole, blissful state, or the cell, or the molecules. The instruments nudge them, and bring the natural ability for the body to heal into activation, and because it deals on a full level, not that just one cell of the body, it deals with a full spectrum and a healing event occurs.

The Eastern healing model is holistic. What a lot of people do, they ask me, “What note fixes heart or the spleen? I want a singing bowl for just that.” And I tell them that level is the basis of the crystal bowls. The crystal bowls are made of pure silicon, and there is a lot of silicon in our bodies and so there is a sympathetic vibration to begin with, and because they are manufacturing these things in a very two dimensional way, they can tune it right to that organ… which is a very useful tool, but it reflects the Western model.

Have any of you heard of a Gong Bath? This is the first I've heard of it, and I think for people who've never tried yoga, it must seem really whacky, but in yoga, it's all about the opening up and feeling things for yourself, so why not check out something new? It'll be interesting, to say the very least, and right now, I'll probably get a whole hell of a lot more out of it than fighting crowds at the mall... so...

Do it to me, Mighty Gong Master!

Happy Blog-O-Versary

Two years ago today, I started talking. I didn't know if anyone was listening.

First Post Ever. Whew! Who knew it would be soooo exciting!

Thank you all for stopping by whenever you do! I've met some extremely cool people online and in real life thanks to Manic Mom's Mental Myriads!

You Know What Would Be Really Great Foreplay?

IF HE'D HELP ME WITH THESE FUCKING LIGHTS!

Note to self: Don't attempt to put up the tree and indoor decorations when you had just a few too many appletinis at the first holiday party of the season.

And note to hubby: I know you're hungover, but NOT HAPPENIN'!!!!!!!!!!!

And note to children: Why is it that you all begged and begged ALL week to put up the tree and decorations, and how is it that you are all three outside playing in the snow, while hubby is lying on the couch comatose and I'M TRYING TO MAKE THIS HOUSE ALL HO-HO-HO for everyone?

Why? Why? Why?

Please Tell Me...

What's the point of a snow day if you can't sleep in because the phone rang SEVEN TIMES from 5:46 AM to 8:34 AM.

DON'T YOU KNOW I'M TRYING TO SLEEP???

I shoveled a shitload of snow today too. And tonight, I am going to go to the neighbor's Christmas party and get jiggy with it.

How'd you spend the first day of December?

Manic Mom Has Found Her Niche

Remember a couple weeks ago I attended a friend's 40th dinner party and had the opportunity to meet a gorgeous man who was a dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey?

Well, this is one of those amazing Internet stories. A MM reader (shout-out Kami!) contacted me because she had been searching for a Dempsey look-a-like.

AREN'T WE ALL?

She needed a look-a-like to work a trade show in the persona of Dempsey for a pharmaceutical company who has something to do with the props of Grey's Anatomy.

Well, I put Kami in touch with gorgeous look-a-like and now he's going to Florida in March, all expenses paid PLUS will be making TWO GRAND for his weekend appearance as a Patrick Dempsey look-a-like!

And all because of my little blog! Will wonders never cease!

So, if you look like someone famous, email me and I can get you a big-time job! LOL!


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In other Manic news, Hubby this a.m. mentioned to me, "Did you see a strand of lights is out?"

"YES! I! KNOW! And if you read my blog, you'll know I offered you a public apology about you not wanting to do the lights, and that I've now converted to Judeaism!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Finally, did you know I started the New Year earlier this year, as in like Monday? I started with my every-Monday-is-diet-day Monday diet, and have actually written down what I've eaten, kept track of points (although Ms. Diva's outrageous and completely unacceptable majorly-the-worst-tantrum-in-her-entire-life last night caused me to shove two peppermint patties into my mouth in order to immediately calm my nerves, and yes, it did work)...

I've 'hit' the gym (stupid term!) Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and will be going today. Been power walking and doing fitness yoga, and the 15-minute Ab Lab (which I can't even last 15-minutes folks, but the instructor assures us to go at our own pace, so I usually lie there on my back with my arms splayed open, eyes closed in a pretended state of shivasana).

But, I'm trying. Cuz, and yes, mom, you don't want to read this, but I.Am.Fat. Again.
Sorry. I had my day. It's somebody else's turn. But I'm aware of this, and am watching what I eat and exercising. Damn. I hate that my mom reads this. (143) And no, that number is NOT my weight--I wish it was!

Flu shots for all three kids and me yesterday. In preparation of the season.

And a winter storm advisory is on its way. Looking forward to about the first inch of snow. After that, notsomuch.

Have a great day. If you opt not to, then have a Manic day! And if you're really feeling the love, share a little Manic with someone you think might enjoy some Manic humor; I'd love to get some more readers!

Thanks for reading, and especially thanks for commenting--it's like the fuel for my gas tank!

Peace Out!

Why I Wish I Was Jewish

This is a rant.

And a public apology to my husband for not wanting to deal with the Christmas lights.

THEY FREAKING SUCK BIG FAT CHRISTMAS SCHWEDDY BALLS!

There, I feel better.

OK, I spent Saturday putting up the lights; they are multicolored and kind of pretty, and I felt a real sense of accomplishment having done the job myself.

Then, just last night, a freaking string of lights died.

OK, shit happens, not a biggie, this just gave me an excuse to go to Target today to return the one strand, get a store credit for $7.93 and then promptly go to the Starbucks in the Target and spend it all on a grande-three-pumps-only-non-fat-peppermint-mocha-no-whip-because-I'm-counting-points (another reason for my crabbiness and need to rant!).

This stupid freaking strand of lights ended up costing me one-hundred-and-eighty-one dollars this morning. I HATE COMMERCIALISM and RETAIL and their never-ending ploy to get us to spend money!

But, I did buy another two boxes of lights, and went outside this afternoon and cheerily wrapped them around some bushes, and even stapled some to the front of our house over the garage (shhh, don't tell hubby this!).

I just went outside and you guessed it...

ANOTHER FREAKING STRAND OF STUPID LIGHTS IS DEAD! WTF!?!?!?

So, if I was Jewish, then all I'd have to do is eat potato pancakes and play with a dreidel, and get a cute blue-and-white Mennorah to put in my front window, and I'd also get like eight day's worth of presents.

I was relaying this info to Swishy, who told me she would convert with me as well, because she also hates the commercialism of Christmas but then I was struck with a thought and I said maybe I didn't want to convert because I am not sure I'd be up for the circumcision, ya know?

This post is in no way making fun of the Jewish religion, I have a lot of Jewish friends, and know how to play the dreidel game. I will equally make fun of Santa Clause and that whole ruse in the coming weeks, you can be sure. Call me Bobat, or whoever that guy is!

UPDATE: THE FREAKING LIGHTS I PURCHASED TODAY AND PUT UP OVER THE GARAGE ON THE HOUSE HAVE NOW BURNED OUT SO THAT ONLY HALF THE STRING IS LIT. I'm going to the synagogue.

A Couple of Ha-Ha's

Driving through the area where we used to live, hubby asks Ajers, "So, does any of this look familiar to you?"

He stretches his neck around, peeks out the window, observes the playground he used to play at, sees the gas station we used to fill up at, notices a neighborhood that looks familiar and then says, "Yeah, it's starting to look familiar to me..."

And then he looks around some more...

"Aren't we near the place where mom got her tattoo?"




~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, it's like 60 degrees out today and everyone, and I mean EVERYONE (except maybe High School Prom Queen) is out putting their Christmas and holiday lights up. I suggest to hubby that today would be a GREAT day to do this chorethatnobodylikestodobutyouhavetobecause
ifyoudon'tyou'lllooklikescrooge.

He mumbles something about hating it, goes to the garage later, plugs in a few strands and declares them all not working properly so he throws them out.

Fine, I say. I'll just go over to Target and buy new lights and do them myself, you scroogy-bastard fucker. (I didn't really say that, I just thought it, and I wasn't even thinking it that meanly.)

As I'm heading out the door, I hear him talking to his friend on the phone explaining how it's the one chore he hates to do (don't get me started on the fact that it took TWO YEARS to hang a five-dollar picture up from TJ Maxx, and I'm still waiting for him to replace the toilet mechanism that flushes ... just wait till the toilet stops working and I'm sure it'll be all my fault...

DIGRESSING HERE!

Anyway, he's telling his friend how he doesn't want to do it, and how all the lights are not working and how he told me to go to Target to pick up some new lights.

I hear him say, "Yeah, I told her to go spend twenty or thirty bucks for new lights for the house."

Bahawhahahahahahahah!

He must be in Disneyland if he thinks we can decorate a half a tree for twenty bucks.

Who the hell is he kidding?

Anyway, I managed to keep the cost to below $70 with an extra box left behind. I did all the lights, and I'm going out there now to see how they look.

Bah Humbug Scroogy Man, Bah Humbug.

Thankfulness

For many things over the past nine days, and now, especially for Home Sweet Home.

Hope you all had a blessed, wonderful, food-family-and-friends-filled Thanksgiving!

Manic

M A N I C O U T

of her mind.
of coffee.
out of town...

H A P P Y T U R K E Y D A Y...

And, even though I don't particularly go oh-my-goodness-crazy over the holiday, it is the day my husband asked me to marry him, while I was hungover, and during half-time of the Bears game, just minutes before I was going to go take a nap, and in front of both of our families. . .

So, I guess it's a special holiday.

Hope yours is too. I've got a shitload to be thankful for. I have to remember that. Hope you do too!

Manic Mom’s Not Gone Yet.

Or is she?

Morning quote to child who would not listen to me explain his math homework (and yeah, you figure it out; me, trying to help with math… it’s a terrible equation).

“If you don’t get over here right now and work with me on this, I swear to you, I’m going to bang my head against the freakin’ counter until it bleeds.”

That got his attention.

They say you need a thick skin to handle rejection as a writer. Hell, you need an even thicker skin to handle rejection as a mother.

They were both soooo mad this morning. I was just trying to help them. She was pissed because I was helping him with his math when her belt needed to be fixed and he was getting the attention first.

He was crying. She was scowling. There wasn't enough of me to make things better for my babies.

My God, I am not an octopus. I’ve always wondered why God didn’t make mothers’ octopi, for we are truly the species that needs and deserves eight arms/hands. And the ability to breathe underwater, because I am certainly feeling like I’m drowning here as a mom.

It’s going to be a terrible day. I told them I was sorry we all had had a rough morning. I was sorry the belt wasn’t right. I was sorry math was so hard.

I seriously feel sick to my stomach, and it’s been this way since they went out the door. And when I think about this morning's scene, my eyes get soggy and tears come. All I was doing was trying to help, and I couldn't even do it.

It’s the first day they left for the bus and didn’t say “I love you.”

Things and Stuff and Other Things

So, you're gonna hate me, but I've just been out Christmas shopping!

And I'm feeling so freakin' festive it's unbelievable! This is the way to do it folks; there are no lines, no grumpy customers, no tired retail staff, and NOT TOO MUCH XMAS MUZAK yet. Everyone was so nice and kind and joyous, you woulda thought Christmas was tomorrow! Tis the season; man, I am feeling it!

A very cool thing was that I had the 'old' iPod shuffle, which, in comparison to the New Ones, was a dinosaur and just way, way, way too big (sarcasm--the original shuffles were like the size of a pack of Extra Gum). So, I heard there was a new smaller version out, and I had paid for the two-year warranty thingamagig at Best Buy, so I took my old one back, and got the new version, which, folks, just happened to cost half as much as the first one, so, not only did I get the cool new iPod shuffle, I also got sixty-two bucks credit!

Yahooooo! Yes, I am a smart shopper.

Next up, I went out and bought my kids stuff. With.My.Own.Money.

Which made me feel really proud and happy. As a stay-at-home mom, it's hard sometimes to buy presents on the credit card that is paid for by your husband's hard-earned money each month, so I took my check from the web work I do, cashed it, and bought Christmas presents with cash. And next month, I'm going to do exactly the same.

Feeling good in the 'hood!

Anyway, going to be taking a short hiatus from Blogging, but wanted to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving (can you believe it is in ONE WEEK!?), and also, wanted to leave you with this little conversation I had with Tukey tonight.

So, Tukey sleeps in his skivvies. He's cute that way. His little body is so cute, I could just squeeze the heck out of him. He's running around the house tonight in his Cars boxer-briefs, and he comes in here to my office with his hands hanging out in his pants.

Me: "What do ya got in those pants? Why do you have your hands in there?"

Tukey, looks thoughtful for a moment, leans in closer to me, hands still checking things out in there, and he says...

SIDENOTE: please, if you're drinking a beverage right now, please, for the sake of your keyboard, move it away from your lips.

So, Tukey leans in, looks at me all serious, and delivers the news:

... "There's items in there."

3:33 A.M.

Anyone besides Karyn and me up at this ungodly hour (for me anyway, Karyn is a night owl so she's been up)?

Anyway, it was 3:33 a.m. and I just woke up for some reason, with lots of things about nothing on my mind. Like the stuff I have to do today, which isn't all that important... yoga, oil change, Tukey conference, but I just couldn't sleep and that is so unlike me. I llooooooooove my sleepy time. I crave it. I do not know why I'm awake, unless the caffeine from my two McDonald's iced teas hit me hard.

I've stopped, cold turkey, drinking diet Coke. Don't miss it at all. Not that much. It's been almost a month I think. I can't say if I feel better or not, I can't say it's making me lose weight, but I am just glad to know I can say I'm going to stop something and then do it and not feel ... however you're supposed to feel when you give up an addiction, no matter how miniscule.

Along with giving up diet Coke for a while, I have also started thinking about my New Year's resolutions, which I do around this time every year. I should check the archives to see what I failed to do the past two prior New Year's. Next month, I will have been blogging for two years continuously. It's exhausting. Hey, I think this may be tiring me out! Great! I'm even boring myself!

So, resolutions. I went to Target today (where I did get my nonfactpeppermintmochaonlythreepumpsmochabutwithwhiptoo -- three pumps vs. four is the way to go. If this is your drink, try it. Trust me. Better.

I decided I needed one of those microdermabrasion thingies they sell because I am tired of scrutinizing my 37-year-old face and searching for little areas to excavate. So, I got the Neutrogena Microdermabrasion Kit, and tried it tonight. It felt good. I have to use it for 5 days, massaging away the dead cells, making the canvas (aka My face) smooth and clear, and then take a week off. We'll see what happens. If nothing else, the face massager might be put to use elsewhere. I wondered that. How many people buy microdermabrasion kits only to end up using the thingamagig as a vibrator? Don't worry, I wouldn't really do that with it. I already have something for that.

Onto a different body part: my scaled and cracked feet. So, I decided I was working on my face, I should also start caring for my feet, which I wish I would have taken a before and after photo of how my heels looked before I used THIS AMAZING PRODUCT on my heels. They are singing a beautiful song right now even, and I used the cream like seven hours ago. You can get it at Target for ten bucks. (If sales go up, I'd like a cut please, Miracle Foot!) So far, the products have not disappointed!

Here's another thing. Do you check your receipts when you get home from the grocery store or Target? You should. I hate when I come home and I look at it (because I used to never, and so many times shit happens, sometimes in your favor though, so you just take those as teeny gifts!)... but yesterday's receipt, I was like, "What the hell is CADDY?" I didn't buy any CADDY thing, and THERE'S TWO OF THEM ON THE RECEIPT! And something else called an SS TRAY!?!?!? WTF. I did not buy any trays or caddies. So I call up the store and give them the numbers of the items and the woman is like, "It's a SpongeBob caddy, like a container, it looks like."

"The only SpongeBob thing I bought was SpongeBob Cheeze-It crackers!" (WHich as a sidenote, I would never eat, and here's something you probably didn't know about Manic... she hates Goldfish, even the colored ones -- see I'm not selective or racist--I hate them all!!)

OK, am sure I'm forgetting something on this wayward post... Oh, one more thing, go by Karyn's and tell her something physically stupid you've done to yourself (can't be like "I got a tattoo" either, cuz we all have 'em!), or to someone you know and/or love and/or didn't know but had the urge to do them harm for whatever reason.

And lastly, Karyn told me that Dustin wrote I HEART MANIC MOMMY on her blog, and that made me smile. Like when you're in junior high and a friend says, "Ooh, I heard that so-and-so thinks you're nice," (or cute, or fun, or manic, or whacky, whatever)... it's just nice to be validated, especially by a cute bachelor! Tee hee hee...

Oh, that wasn't lastly, this is lastly:... OK, nevermind, that is all because stupid Blogger won't let me post the picture to go along with the story I wanted to tell about my first boyfriend and my Catholic upbringing, so it'll have to wait for another 3:33 a.m. post.

So... GOOD MORNING EVERYONE! What have YOU done today!?

Oh, My Poor Baby is so Sick!

Ajers is sick today. Diva left for school, and Tukey and I went upstairs to check on Ajers. We discussed his symptoms for a minute, and then he looked at the clock, noting it was 7:57 a.m.

Ajers: “I can’t believe 17 minutes ago the most beautiful girl in the world walked out the front door.”

Me: “Your sister?”

Ajers: “Yes. I miss her.”

Dear God, the kid is delirious!

Mud And Stuff

OK, I am like two seconds from falling asleep; suddenly everything I have been doing all week has caught up with me and I am cranky, tired, exhausted, and ready to throw in the towel. I need a serious break from these kids, and I ain't getting it any time soon because they had school off today and will not be in tomorrow either for parent/teacher conferences.

And this is not how I wanted to start out this post, with a woe-is-me-my-day-hath-sucked because it hadn't at all. I had a GREAT day with the kids. It was the most amazing, most beautiful day in the world today (well, for November 8 in Chicago, that is).

I wore shorts. The kids wore shorts and flip flops. It was THAT WARM here. Yes, you East coasters can expect this weather on Friday I bet. Cripes allmighty, Tukey is on the stairs whining and griping about how he is going to have a Mr. Meaty bad dream and begging me, pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty please can he sleep with his sister cuz he's scared and you know what, this is a total rant, free for all post right now i'm not even going to go back and check for typos.

Here I was going to get all flowery and tell you about our beautiful fun day in which I awoke with no hangover from the surprise birthday party I went to last night. First of all, I got my hair fixed in what I called my "Highlights and Happy Hour" at the salon I go to and my girl was soooo great, she didn't even charge me because I had been unhappy with my hair from Saturday (reference back to when the kids said I was looking kinda Goth).

So, free highlights, and then I had a glass of wine while I was getting them done.
After that, I had just two appletinis at the birthday party, which was a lot of fun, and had I not been a responsible adult with a babysitter at home, a husband out of town and a curfew, I might have gotten into trouble with my newly "sexed-up" hair, as Amanda my colorist called it.

I am totally IGNORING TUKEY right now as he is still begging me for something on the stairs and I'm thinking in my head that I really have my fingers in my ears and I'm going lalalalalalalalalal, I can't hear you! Lalallalalaalal, I'm not paying attention.

God, you'd think I was on crack right now. You should see how fast I'm typing this just because I want to get it out and get my butt into my bed because I am so tired.

Reason I'm tired: OK, last night is part of it, I stayed out kinda late for a Wednesday night, and then today when we all got up and realized it was a "Knock Your D In The D Day" (more on that later, but go ahead and guess what THAT means, and yep, my Father made it up and it's now a family phrase!)...

We went for a walk/bikeride to Starbucks and it was so nice out but I kept yelling at the kids. See, I can't even make this a nicey-nicey post because I'm so freaking in need of a break right now, and here the phone is ringing...

OK, I'm back. And beggging Tukey not to cry, and yes, dammit, i see i put too many Gs on the begging word but I'm not making any corrections.

So, we did the starbucks walk, bikeride thing and it was okay, great to be outside, terrific to see golfers on the course enjoying the beautiful weather as we walked along the path to the starbucks.

Got home, and then I decided, who the hell needs to clean up the kitchen or do laundry on a day like this. So we went to the Morton Arboretum, and here again, I am too lazy to link you so if you're that interested, you can google it and find out about this beautiful sanctuary of trees and shit. Seriously. It is gorgeous. We played in the children's garden, hiked up some forestty hills. I watched Diva pick six dandelions and then blow them all at once, wishing so much I had a camera and that I had it on black and white mode because the picture of her blowing the dandelion into the very mellow wind was beautiful. Then I watched as Tukey chased a squirrel with a nut in its mouth, saying, "Come here, squirrelly, come here! I'm not going to hurt you!" Later, I said, "What do you think the squireel's name was?" I knew what his answer would be and I was right: Squirrelly.

So, then, our feets were tired and sore so they asked if they could take off their shoes so I said yes, and then we all took them off and our socks too, and wow, what did manic mom let her children do?

We squished our feet through some yucky, mucky, squishy, wet and slimy mud and it was the coolest, most fun, best thing to do and people were looking at us like we were crazy or that I was the most fun mom in the entire world and it felt so good, like a real foot massage in the forrest, and you know what I spelled a lot of things wrong here, and I'm very, very, very, very tired so I'm going to say goodnight now.

Because I'm so tired.

And, because, I just noticed the bottoms of my feet are still yucky-yuck.

Reader Favor?

Hey all! I'm updating my Web page and wonder if you'd be so kind to leave me a 'quote' on why you come to Manic Mom to read the crap I write... if you have something witty to say, and wouldn't mind me sharing it on my Web page, please either email it to me (along with your name, and how long you've been reading), or go ahead and leave it on the comments.

Thanks! I'd really appreciate it!
xo
Manic

You Know I HATE Math, But this is COOL!

I loathe math, completely, utterly LOATHE it. But this is just tooo strange. Even more strange than the Lint Brush episode.

It really worked. Get out a calculator...

YOUR AGE BY DINER & RESTAURANT MATH

It takes less than a minute .
Work this out as you read ...
Be sure you don't read the bottom until you've worked it out!
This is not one of those waste of time things, it's fun.

1. First of all, pick the number of times a week that you would like to go out to eat. (more than once but less than 10)

2. Multiply this number by 2 (just to be bold)

3. Add 5

4. Multiply it by 50

5. If you HAVE already had your birthday this year add 1756.

If you HAVEN'T add 1755.

6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.

You should have a three digit number.

The first digit of this was your original number of how many times you want to go out to a restaurant in a week.

The next two numbers are:

YOUR AGE! (Oh YES, it is!!!!!)

THIS IS THE ONLY YEAR (2006) IT WILL EVER WORK, SO SPREAD IT AROUND WHILE IT LASTS, and if you feel like putting it on your blog, go ahead and tell 'em Manic Mom taught you this neat little mathematical craze!

(Leave me a comment to let me know if it worked or not!)

Movie Titles, Many Martinis, and Too Strange To Not Be True

I was hanging out over at Kari's Snark Fest and she had some movie quotes in her latest blog entry, which made me think of one of my favorite lines.

Know where this one is from?

"Dan, I won't be ignored!"

* * * * * * *

And later, I'll be blogging about how I missed cracking my side rearview mirror off my minivan as I backed out of my garage, and instead, got the front whole panel of my headlight to crack and fall off. What a trade-off.

And no, I wasn't drunk, but quite possibly hung over.

Three applemartinis followed a cosmo. And I wake up at 5 a.m. with a raging headache, and think I may have to puke. I hate puking, but then in my strange mind, I think, "Well, if I puke, it'll at least make Blaire happy!" (For those of you new to Manic Mom, Blaire is a faithful reader who loves my puke stories, and if she had/has a website, I'd link her here but I don't think she does.)

Now, who said, "Dan, I won't be ignored?" And no, my husband's name is not Dan.

* * * *

Oh, and I forgot one more really, really crazy thing. So, I picked up Diva from a friend's house and their dog attacked me and was licking my hand and yes, I think that's particularly gross, but I'm smiling and saying, "Nice doggy," cuz it is a nice doggy but I didn't want it dry-humping and licking me at that particular moment.

I was also wearing an all-black track suit because I'm feeling very fat, oh, and I just got my hair colored and IT IS SO FREAKING DARK AND RED AND MY KIDS ARE LIKE, "You look different mom." So, I'm not feeling exceptionally beautiful, or even lookable these days. Ajers even commented to me, "Mom, why are you trying to be Goth?"

I guess that's better than, "Mom, why are you trying to look like an old lady?"

Anyway... I leave the house with the horny dog and realize I've got dog hairs, long blonde dog hairs, all over my track suit, and that's just not doing much for my attempted Goth look. I'm taking the kids out for lunch and to B&N and on our way out of our neighborhood, I see my friend, Homecoming Queen has her garage door open. I tell the kids this will just take a minute and I pull into her driveway and dial up her number. Am I that lazy that I just can't get out of the car and ring the bell?

Homecoming Queen answers and just as I say, "Do you have a lint brush?" her garage door opens and I see her daughter pop out.

Guess what she is holding in her hand at that very freaking moment? Guess where Homecoming Queen and her daughter had just been? Guess why they were out and had just returned home from Target?

They Just Went Out Specifically To Buy A Lint Brush.

Her daughter was HOLDING A LINT BRUSH IN HER HAND the ABSOLUTE VERY MOMENT I DECIDED THERE WAS TOO MUCH DOG HAIR ON MY GOTH-LOOKING COVER-THE-FAT-ASS TRACK SUIT AND WAS DRIVING RIGHT BY THEIR HOME AT THAT VERY SECOND.

I could have stopped at any number of neighbor's homes, but something deep inside willed me, actually steered my car, the one with the missing headlamp, straight into the fate of the magical lint brush.

It's a sign. I don't know exactly WHAT kind of sign it is, but it's a sign nonetheless.

I think I better go buy a lottery ticket.

And a lint brush of my own.

Tukey And Me And Bad Dreams

Well, I think by now you know I have an ultimate soft spot in my heart for my Tukey. After his bad dream (which I will tell you about in a few), we were cuddling, because man, that kid loves to cuddle with me. He is my only child who still calls me "Mommy." Ajers calls me Mom, and Diva calls me Bitch... Ha, just kiddin', she doesn't call me Bitch yet, but she's not a teenager yet. I'm just preparing for the future.

Anyway, I have asked Tukey to make me a promise and to always call me Mommy, his whole life, even when he's 18, even when he brings home that bitch of a girlfriend who calls him a Wuss for still calling his Mom "Mommy." That'll be the end of that girlfriend for sure!

So, this a.m. we were cuddling, and I told him he was my very special child because I had already had my boy, and already had my girl, but I knew there was something (someone!) else, so I had another baby. It was my Tukey.

Don't get me wrong. I cherish and love, and adore and give the same amount of affection to my Ajers and Diva, but this time in our lives, it's just Tukey and me every morning, playing Kitty Cat (which now that Daylight Savings Time has occurred, it has totally messed with our usual Kitty Cat Sun Spot so we have to find a new place to play.)

So, Tukey and I are together every morning, just him and me. I feel it's fair. He never got alone time with me. Ajers got it for 18 months before Diva came along; Diva gets alone girl time with me when we get to do things the boys don't like to do (for instance, today, she is coming with me to see how the tin foil works on my hair when they dye it, and you know it's time for a dye job when your husband notices the roots, and even asks, "When is it time for you to get your hair done again? You look like a skunk? -- SO BRING ON THE EXTRA HIGHLIGHTS AND FOILS BOYS!)

Back to Tukey: We get our special morning time together, we've been doing fun things like having lunch out, and going to the kid museum, and just hanging out. I am cherishing it. I won't get it back. Pretty soon, it'll be just me. And like three or four years ago, I remember thinking, "God, as soon as all three are in school on full days, I am going to spend a year just sleeping so I can catch up on all the sleep I missed when they were little." I don't really feel that way anymore. It's strange how time will move your thoughts and attitudes differently. I go to the mall now, and get a pang in my heart when I see young (YES YOUNG!) mothers with two or three babies in tow, and I have just my Tukey, and I think, "Wow, I really miss that time when I would bundle up all three with my double stroller and take them to the mall and spend the whole day there, just passing the time, watching them run ahead of me, or being able to share two Happy Meals four ways, and it not mattering that I only got two toys because the youngest kid was oblivious and was happy playing with the lid from the cup."

Wow, nostalgia is where this post has headed and I hadn't even planned that. Here I was all set to tell you about the bad dreams, but I ended up on a I-Wish-My-Kids-Were-Still-A-Little-Little tangent.

Enough.

OK, so the bad dreams...

Tukey came into our room about 5:30 this a.m. (and of course, Hubby was already up, had emptied the dishwasher and drank a pot of coffee by this time, having that internal clock that doesn't reset itself on the weekends, which makes me happy, BTW, because on weekends, I get up whenever I'm ready to get up)...

Geeze, Manic, what are you on today?!?!? Get to the freaking dream sequence and it better be good because you're so wasting my time here with all this craptalk!

Fine! I'll tell you Tukey's bad dream:

He came in and said he had a bad dream about ghosts. He clambered (I like that word, I don't think I've ever used it) up onto my bed and then we talked more about his dream.

"The ghosts were real scary and they were coming after me."

"Honey, you know ghosts aren't really real," I said.

"Well, then, we have a really big problem," Tukey said.

"Why?"

"Because I BELIEVE IN GHOSTS!"

OK, it was funny when he said it. I'm not sure it came out the way I wanted it to in the written form. But that's okay, because his dream wasn't really ALL that scary. I had a much, much, much more terrifying dream.

It was about lobsters. Tell me that lobsters are not more scary than ghosts? They're creepy, crawly, with big pinchers and my Nana used to chase us around the yard with them making us scream and cry while my parents mixed another cocktail and laughed at our terror.

So, you see, lobsters scare me.

In my dream however, the lobster was dead. This part made me happy because I was about to eat some of the juicy meat from the hugest lobster tail I had ever seen.
It was on my plate, steaming, recently having met its death in a big pot of boiling water, when probably just hours previously, he was deep in the sea, singing Kiss The Girls with Ariel and Flounder, thinking he was living the good life.

Then, he arrived on my plate. And I was hungry, so hungry for that lobster meat.

(I just realized the lobster dream came to me because I had a cup of lobster bisque at lunch with Homecoming Queen -- Happy Birthday Homecoming Queen! -- and Hot Five-Oh Mom, and two other good gal pals who I don't *think* know I have a blog or a split personality, or know that I am known in the blog world as Manic Mom.)

So, he arrived on my plate. And I was hungry, so hungry for that lobster meat. I asked my server for some drawn butter. A busboy came back with a spoon, thinking that's what I had requested (again, in real life, the busboy brought Homecoming Queen a spoon to share my lobster bisque).

Still no butter. I stared at my lobster, thinking it was getting cold, and again, I summoned my server.

"Could you please bring me some drawn butter?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Like MELTED BUTTER! Just put some butter in the microwave and melt it!"

I was scared. I knew what was going to happen, but there was nothing I could do except yell to her:

"HURRY! HURRY! It's about to happen, and I need my butter! I HAVE TO TASTE MY LOBSTER AND I CANNOT DO IT WITHOUT MY BUTTER!"

But, it was too late. Too late for my butter; too late for my tasty lobster because...

I FREAKING WOKE UP AND DIDN'T EVEN GET TO TASTE MY LOBSTER!!!!

Now, tell me a worse dream than THAT!!

Call Me The Do-Mes-Tick Goddess Extraordinaire.

Wow. I think if Hubby gave me notes like that more often, I could maybe turn into Martha Stewart or maybe Rachel Ray or someone who gives a shit about their home and cooking.

So, today, I was like a domestic goddess. I did laundry the whole way through. I mean everything! Like I washed it, and then dried it, and then folded, and PUT IT AWAY all the same day! And it was easy. Here's a hint to make it so easy. I separate the loads like all kid's stuff, and then a load of all mine and Hubby's stuff. Then a load of all whites. I hate whites, I hate the flipping socks. I hate socks.

So, laundry is still going, and it's almost all done.

This a.m. I went to the health club. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you I joined the health club. I also quit drinking Diet Coke about two weeks ago, and do not miss it at all, nor did I get the headaches I was expecting. I tried some the other day, but really and truly, it was tooooo sweet for me! Weird. So, anyway, I'm going through a transformation of sorts: working out more, not drinking Diet Coke. Becoming domesticated like a horse or a cow.

Went to the health club, then Tukey and I headed to Sam's Club where I bought chicken, hamburger, beef, and then I came home and separated it all into individual freezer Ziplocs so I can make easy dinners at the drop of a hat. Some things you may not know about me. Touching raw meat really, really grosses me out. I remember once when I was in high school or early college, my mom asked me to mold hamburger into patties, and I was really disgusted, and ewwing and yucking all over the place. You know what she said? Well, she's probably going to kill me for saying this (but she's going on vacation tomorrow so maybe she won't read this too soon), she said to me, "If you're that grossed out touching raw meat, I don't know what you're going to do when you get intimate with a man."

Well, those weren't her exact words, she probably used the word... shhh... penis... and another thing when she said that was that I had to play dumb because here she is thinking I'm all innocent and stuff, and HELLOOOOOO, I had "already been there, done that," If you know what I mean. And I think you do.

So, the raw meat thing is not one of my favorite pastimes.

Then, I made about 12 sandwiches for the kids' lunches. I am sure I told you this before but I make peanut butter sandwiches for Diva's lunch, and lunchmeat sandwiches for Ajers and I freeze them so the night before, I just grab out the sandwiches, throw in a bag of chips and some other crap, and voila! Lunch is made!

Then I helped Diva make a boat for her class. It has to be a boat that floats and carries cargo. I cut out the bottom half of a milk gallon jug. She and Tukey spent the last hour in the bathroom soaking the floors and vanity, placing pennies and nickels into the 'boat' to see how many it would hold. I think they got to about 199. I was in here so I didn't see it all.

I was even able to sneak in some time for real paying work, where I am now creating quizzes for the website I work for and getting my byline. It's not actually a book deal or anything, but it's fun to do, and I get paid for it too. I also took a 20-minute cat nap in my most favorite spot in the world in my house, our living room couch. I swear I could lie there one full Saturday, with a couple of books within my reach and be a happy camper! The simple things. I am so simple it's hilarious. Doesn't take much to make me happy.

And now I am going to make hamburgers and curly Q french fries for dinner, and then I'm going to shower and get ready to go to my neighbor's Southern Comfort (oops, I mean Southern Living) party.

All in a day's work. Hope you all had a productive and enjoyable day too! And you know what? Thanks for reading Manic Mom too. I appreciate it, I appreciate you, I appreciate your comments!

Great Morning!

There are few things better than waking up in the morning,
getting the kids ready for school, and then coming into
my office and finding an untitled word document at the
bottom of the screen, opening it, and seeing Hubby has
left me this message, just for the heck of it:

Wordless Wednesday

Serves Me Right

Let me preface this by saying not all the laundry has been folded and/or put away as yet. Let me also say this post serves me right for making blog jokes about my wifely duties in our home. Let me also say that mother's instinct is a powerful thing and you should never second-guess yourself when you think, "Should I or shouldn't I?"

Let's begin with a story where I will no longer write, "Let me."

We have a very nice woman come to clean the house every other week. She's from Lithuania and I was talking with her the other day, because I talk to my cleaning lady. Others might just ignore the person who does the most important job in their home, but I want this woman to feel comfortable when she's cleaning pee stains off our toilets (which, I always wipe down before she comes so she's not too grossed out).

Anyway, we were chatting and I was telling her that her English was very good. She has been in the states just six years. I asked if she spoke any English before she came here.

She said, "Three words."

"What were they?" I asked.

She smiled shyly, and said, "Hi."

"And?" I asked. Of course, I figured out what the second word would be and I was correct.

"Bye." Pause. And then she said, "Third word..." Giggle, pause...

"Fuck."

So, she came to America knowing Hi*Bye*Fuck.

Hey, in America, maybe that's really all you need to know to get by!

Anyway, not my "Serves Me Right" story.

She was changing the sheets on Diva's bed and I had noticed there are waterproof pads on her bed, and I almost took them off, because she never was a "bed-pee-er" like Ajers was, but some little inkling in the back of my head said, "Nah, I can do it later."

I am sooo glad I had that little voice in my head because Saturday night we went out to dinner for Ajers birthday and the kids drank about sixteen kiddie cocktails each, and she then peed in the middle of the night, not five, but probably six gallons of urine on her bed, soaking through two blankets and her jammies, and her sheets.

But not through the waterproof pads!

She calls for me at 3:42 a.m. and I rush to her.

"My bed's wet."
(How come they never know it's CUZ THEY PISSED THE BED!? It's as if they think it just rained on their bed, exactly at the spot where they would have peed, but they don't think it's possible that they could have peed the bed.)

I stripped the first layer off the bed and was thrilled to see the round wet stain planted smack in the middle of the waterproof pad! The mattress would not smell like a nursing home or a daycare center with diapers filled with pee! I was practically dancing around her room at 3:42 a.m.

I hush whispered to her, "Do you know you have the smartest mom in the world!"

"Uh-huh," she said. Then, "I'm the smartest little girl."

"You sure are!" I exclaimed. Then I thought, wow, she's being pretty nice, and we're getting along so well; she's in a pretty good mood for having just woken up in a slush of piss. Maybe I should continue this happy little conversation with her...

"Do you know you have the most fun mom in the world?"

"Uh-huh." Again! She agreed! Well, I might as well keep the compliments rolling so I said, "And do you know you have the most beautiful mom in the world?"

Through droopy eyes and now dry undies, she replied, "Uh-huh... and I'm the most beautiful little girl in the world."

UH-HUH! You said it sister friend!

I thought it was interesting that the last two posts were about laundry (which I now had a ton more to do thanks to those kiddie cocktails and a forgotten-bedtime-trip to the potty!) and the Dove beauty campaign! We've come full circle here on Manic Mom. I bitch about the laundry, and more falls from the heavens! I talk about the perception of beauty, and suddenly, Diva and I are beauties sharing secrets in the middle of the night.

* * * * * * *

Happy Halloween everyone! Tell me what you and/or your kids are going as!

Quote of the Week

I'm walking upstairs, once again avoiding the two baskets full of unfolded laundry in the living room. I yell to Hubby, "Hey, why don't you make yourself useful and fold this laundry!"

His witty reply:
"I don't want to take away your job security!"

This Is Totally Worthy of a Manic Link

Dove, Campaign for Beauty.

You
are
all
beautiful

Addendum to Previous Post

Please note:
I * H A V E * O N L Y * B E E N * M A R R I E D * O N C E.

So far.

My husband claims his second wife is only in the eighth grade so he's stuck with me for a few more years.

Five Or So Things

BBFF Swishy tagged me. She knows (well, she does now) that I hate tags, so I'm switching it up a bit. Instead of Five Things About Me You Don’t Know, I'm taking it one step further and making this a new tag called:

SIX THINGS ABOUT ME YOU DON'T KNOW THAT MAKE ME REALLY STUPID IN A LOT OF PEOPLE'S EYES.

And here they are, in no particular order:

1. I was married once before but for obvious reasons I don’t talk much about it. It was a very short marriage-just shy of two months, but going into it, we knew we were making an incredible mistake but it was one of those things where we were high school sweethearts, and our parents were the best of friends (obviously, they are not friendly anymore).

The wedding was spectacular, because his mom and my mom were crazed with the details, which was good for me because I’m not much of a planner, as you all know, so I just sat back and let them take over.

I should have known when he smashed the cake in my face at the reception that it was not going to last. That’s the ONE thing I asked him not to do the whole time we were planning to get married. That bastard.

2. When I’m at the computer, thinking, I pick the bottom of my feet and collect the dried-up skin and keep it in a pile next to my keyboard. I am going to continue to do this until I land an agent and then see how big the pile gets. I’m betting I can probably fill a pillow with it. I just doubt it’ll be that soft.

3. Religion and Dances: I went to Catholic school for 11 years, including preschool and kindergarten, and a stint at an all-girl’s school in ninth grade. Ninth grade was pretty traumatizing, I think. Well, at least the after-football-game dances were. Everyone would convene in the hall where the dance was and dance and make out and talk to cute boys. Except me. I still cringe and have major flashbacks when I hear The Fixx and that one song that was playing one particular night I was feeling very desolate, unattractive, lost, lonely, loserish, pathetic…

(OK, now I gotta look it up on itunes…OK, I’m cryin’ here now: One Thing Leads to Another.)

I didn’t go to my high school senior prom, but my sister, who was a junior, got asked by a senior (one who I would have said yes to, probably, had he asked ME, but NOOOOO, he had to go and ask my cheerleader sister to MY prom. Actually, one guy did kind of ask me, and he was a guy I really did want to go with, at the time, but I laughed because I thought he was joking. And who knows, maybe he was too. He didn’t go to prom either, but he did start a rumor later that year that I gave him a BJ. When I ran into him at our 10-year reunion, I reminded him of that rumor, and he said he didn’t remember. I told him, “Well, let me just tell you pal, had it been true, you can bet your ass you would HAVE remembered!” I smacked my lips and strutted away.

I did go to my ninth grade (another traumatic experience, looking back) “Christmas Formal” and damnit, I’m going to find that photo and take a digital picture and post it here just so you can see how freaked it was! I went with our neighbor’s son, who I had a major crush on my whole life (but he’s not the one I married), and I wanted this beautiful sapphire blue floor-length dress at JCPenney’s for only $90 (see, I was frugal even then!), but my MOM wanted me to have this DISGUSTING floral uglier-than-the-ugliest-piece-of-clothing-you’ve-ever-seen dress for $20. Guess which dress I got? Thank God the lights were dimmed at the dance.
I never went to a homecoming. A guy asked me when I was a junior and I said yes. I bought a beautiful sea-foam green tea-length silky dress for the occasion, along with some of that matching bright green mascara that was hot back in 1985. I had everything ready. I was talking to the guy on the phone. We went to the mall together. I thought I liked him. Then, I got scared. He was talking about drinking and smoking, and hey, that was just not Manic’s thing back then, so I chickened out and told him like four days before the dance I didn’t want to go.

That is probably the reason I never got to go to my senior prom – because I was such a bitch to that guy over the homecoming thing. I later wrote a short story called “Memories of a Lost Homecoming” that was a combination of my danceless experiences with homecoming and prom. It was published in our school literary magazine. I can pull it out and put it on the blog if you all want to read it? It sucks.

4. When I had my tonsils out at about four years old (Mom, how old was I?) I vividly remember the doctor putting that black rubber stinky-smelling balloon thingy over my face they made you inhale so you would pass out, and telling me to count backwards from 100. I think I got to number 98 and I passed out (of course, I was four, so I’m sure, UNLIKE Swishy, I didn’t know how to even count TO 100, and they were asking me to count it backwards!).

So, I wake up from surgery, feeling a little groggy and I just remember it being all hospital green like in the old days, that green that’s not quite avocado but isn’t exactly green-green, ya know? More of a yellowish-green with a hint of blue. Now that I think about it, the colors of the walls at the hospital recovery room probably matched my homecoming dress I had to return and the mascara that I kept.

And then I noticed a soft plastic measuring cup attached with an elastic band had been put on my wrist, and I was four, so I was thinking, “Wow, I’m high,” and then, “Wow, I must have done really well during the surgery because they gave me this plastic cup thing around my wrist as a prize for being so good.”

Then I barfed all over myself.

Years later, when having flashbacks of my surgery, I then understood the cup was for me to throw up into.

5. In probably eighth or ninth grade (it was probably ninth, since it was the year of trauma and I hadn’t been thinking straight), I had a book report project to do and I think we got to choose a place to do it on.

I chose Greece. Maybe because my parents had visited Athens, or more than likely, probably because I thought all the Greek myths were pretty freaking cool. In fact, freshman year in college, I took Greek Mythology, which was a three-hour class on Monday night and the old-lady professor would spend the whole time telling us Greek myths while I furiously took notes. It must have fascinated me because I got an A in the class.

Anyway, back to my ninth-grade project. We had to write blah-blah-blah stuff on our chosen place and include pictures. For whatever fucked up reason I had, I decided to save time and just cut the pictures from our set of encyclopedias.

Sidenote: For those of you too young to know what an encyclopedia is, it’s a bunch of books with a whole bunch of stuff written in it. Like, say, for instance, you wanted to learn about Athens, then you would go to the A book, and find all sorts of things about Athens and great photos too. Or if you were doing Greece, you could go to the G volume and find stuff out about Greece. It was a very cool invention back in the day. In fact, they even had salesmen who went door-to-door selling volumes of encyclopedias to women wearing foam hair curlers and pink furry robes, smoking cigarettes, with a baby on her hip and a toddler behind her picking his nose and the soaps blaring in the background while Luke proclaimed his love to Laura, or Greg got injured in a skiing accident and Jenny was rushing to his bedside, while Opal was trying to figure out how to split them up, or maybe even Dr. Noah Drake and Blackie having a discussion on how to foil Scotty. (Wow! Is my memory amazing or what?!)

OK, so, Greece. My book report.

I cut out pictures from our encyclopedia. I didn’t ask my dad to take the books to his office to photocopy them. I didn’t go to the library to find books I could photocopy. I. Cut. Them. From. The. Book.

OK. S T U P I D

My parents were pissed. They yelled. They got mad. They probably even grounded me, and back then, grounding me was telling me I couldn’t lock myself in my room and read any more V.C. Andrews books for the week, so that was a tough punishment! For real.

I guess I learned my lesson. Now I respect books. It was a stupid thing to do, but maybe I was procrastinating till the last minute and the report was due the next day? I don’t know. Regardless, I have never treated a book that way since; I truly learned my lesson.

Oh, and you can bet your ass I got an A+ on that report.

OK, we all know No. 1 is a lie. All the rest, except for parts of No. 2 (there’s not a big pile because I put the dried-up skin in the garbage when I’m done for the day), are completely, utterly, stupidly true.

Hmmm… I think maybe I could write a memoir on being stupid. I’ve got plenty of material!

And tagging these folks, who I hold near and dear to my blogheart.

Kari
Eileen
Jessica
Karyn Bosnak
Ask Allison

PS--another thing I had to add. Nine years ago today, I became the happiest mom by having Ajers, via an emergency C-section, at the age of 28. Happy Birthday Ajers. I love you!