Minute With Manic, A New Feature!

First, a quick note, cuz lately, I’m big on those “First, a quick note” posts, if you hadn’t realized. I am going to participate in that NaBloPoMoFo thing during the month of November, where I will be posting (Dear God) DAILY!

But, I’m going to make it interesting.

During the month of November, I am going to have a daily

Minute With Manic!

With YOU as the STAR! It’s going to be simple, and fun, and will be a great way to have Bloggers and readers find other Bloggers whom they might enjoy.

So, for every day in November, I will do my regular posting blah-blah-whiny-bitchy-woe-is-me, with-a-little-bit-o-snarky-humor-thrown-in-there crap, but I will also feature a fellow Blogger/commenter. YOU!

All you need to do is leave a comment that day, and the next day I will randomly select a person to be featured on Manic Mommy.(Random Selection means I will tell one of my kids to give me a number and that person who left that comment in the comment trail for that number will be the one to be featured the next day.)

For the daily featured Blogger, you must be willing to answer THREE random and obscure, and possibly embarrassing and silly questions openly and honestly. I’ll post the Q&A, and also the link to your Blog. The funnier the answers, the more likely someone will pop over to find your Blog!

You then, just have to post on your Blog that you’re being featured at Manic Mommy’s. Not too hard huh? And the questions will be fun; I promise! So, you can start right now by leaving a comment here and then I will choose randomly one of you to interview for the November 1 post!

(Also, keep in mind, you may still leave a comment under the previous post, Meeting Melisa as we will be raffling off a signed copy of Remembering Ruby on Friday!)

And now, I bring you our regularly scheduled posting on RELATIONSHIPS:

You know when you have a baby, and you think and hope, “Dear God, I hope it comes out healthy” and then the next thing you think is, “Dear God, I hope it’s a [insert preferred gender here], and then the next thing you think is “Dear God, I hope it kinda looks like me.”

This is true right? Not that we people are narcissistic, but don’t you think most parents do want a child who looks kind of like the parent? I remember on 20/20 or some other show a long time ago, there was this story on newborns and that they almost always come out looking like the daddy because, well, you already know for certain who the mommy is, because the squirmy little bloody blob just came out of THAT BODY, so of course, the newborn belongs to THAT mommy, but what about the daddy? Who’s to know for sure who the daddy is?

Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy?

(You know you’re all bee-bopping in your chairs right now, chanting, “Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy? I’m your daddy!” Well, if you weren’t then, you probably are now!)

Anyway, for the longest time, no one would say my kids looked like me, well, at least not Ajers and Diva. I think Tukey is my side of the family all day long, anger-management issues included. But everyone always says Ajers and Diva look like their daddy, and their daddy’s side of the family. And I’m OK with that. I think Mr. Manic is handsome, because why else would I have married him? Certainly not his charm, or his wit, or even his sense of humor!

Lately though, I’ve been noticing as Diva has been maturing, she’s growing up, becoming a ‘tween, which scares the hell out of me, but that’s a post for another day. She is beginning to look a bit like me. Really. And I hadn’t realized this until I came across a couple pictures taken on different days, but when I saw them, I was like, “Wow, we really do resemble one another!”

Well, I might say that all day long, but I’ll let you all judge for yourselves. What do you think?

Any resemblance?





Happy Halloween! Now leave a comment, and I’ll need an email too so I can contact you if you’re the Random
Minute With Manic!
featured Blogger!

Let’s have some fun during the month of November!

Meeting Melisa

So I had my blind-blogger date today, with Melisa Wells, author of Remembering Ruby. Remembering Ruby is a heartwarming story about Melisa’s beagle, whom had been a loved family member for 13 years. When Ruby died, Melisa wrote Remembering Ruby in order to get through her own grief, and now her story is out there for the world to read.

When I was getting ready for our date, of course, I wondered, “What should I wear?” Shoot, I have nothing to wear! I wanted her to like me; I didn’t want to look stupid, or say anything stupid (like things about me never getting a dog, because that would be just rude and hurtful, but we all know the Manic family will never be a dog family because, well, I just don’t do dogs… Not that I have anything against dogs. I think puppies are adorable and about the cutest things on earth outside of the newborn cooing baby, but the work involved in owning a dog is overwhelming to me. You know I can barely prepare meals for my family; how could I care for a dog?!).

So, anyway, I didn’t want to be a gross slob, or an obnoxious teller of really bad, crude jokes. I was nervous I would say some dog-related stupid thing, or that we would have nothing to talk about.

Well, NOT TRUE!

You know from the minute you meet a person, really, truly, if you’re going to like that person, and I think (hope!) we both liked one another. We both had on black shirts! That right there was a good sign! The understated safe black shirt and jeans. And we both ordered,--get this--not just a diet Coke, but a diet Coke AND a water. I knew from this point, it would be a fun lunch! And a good match for friendship!

Not only is Melisa the talented author of Remembering Ruby, she has also written for Nail Pro, and her writing and reviews are included in Hungry? Chicago Family, a great guide for the hungry, which I was like, Wow! She is accomplished. She is a go-getter, obviously, and, not only in the book field. She’s also a Spinning Instructor, which is so intriguing to me because I am scared to death to get my arse on a spin bike and attempt that form of exercise! I mean, come on! Could an exercise get more intimidating? I told Melisa I would be scared my lungs would explode if I exerted that much energy on one task!

So, we lunched, and we laughed, and of course, you can guess one of the first things I had to know ...

Why is her name spelled with only one L?!

Duh, because she is unique! (Not that those of you named Melissa are not unique... well, it's just... OK, I'm digging a hole...)

Then, we talked about our love for writing, and how there’s never enough time to do the writing we want to do, and it was nice because we understood where the other was coming from. When we left from our ‘blogger date,’ it was only natural for us to hug, because we are blogging pals, writers, pseudo neighbors, and now friends!

And, of course, now we HAVE to give away a copy of Remembering Ruby, so my idea was for any readers to leave a comment if you’ve had a dog die on you, but come on, how inappropriate would THAT be. That would be the rude, crass, obnoxious me coming out. And that would just be wrong, although if you did have a dog unfortunately die on you, then this book is totally FOR YOU! It’ll make you feel better about your relationship with your pet, and I promise you, the book will give you the feel-good goosebumps!

Anyway, in a combined effort, we came up with this way to win a copy of Remembering Ruby: if you have a dog, or had a dog, leave a comment on what your dog’s name is, or was, and how you came up with his or her name. From all those entries, we will pick one random to win the book. Comments accepted until Friday, when we will let you know who the winner is!

And, please share the news of Remembering Ruby with friends and family, and if, God forbid, you know someone who has just lost a pet dog, this would be a very kind gift to help them while they are grieving. And Melisa would really, really appreciate you passing on her blog/book info to any of your animal-loving friends.

So, leave a comment now if you've ever had a dog, and come on, practically EVERYONE has owned or loved a pet dog at some point, even moi, Ms. Manic Mom.

A Couple of Things:

Anyone else doing NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), which is a take on the Nanowrimo (where you write a novel in the month of November), which is where you, the blogger, posts daily during the month of November. Would you guys be bored if I did that, and what the heck would I blog about EVERY.SINGLE.DAY?!?!

Second: I have a blind-date tomorrow with a Blogger, and a Writer, and you will be excited to hear what she’s written, especially if you are a pet lover like me, (winka ; winka!) and maybe she’ll even be nice enough to let me raffle off her book on Manic Mommy! Anyone want to guess who it’s with? And I’m very nervous—what if I don’t have anything to talk about?!! I am kinda shy you know!

Third: I am a featured Blogger over at The Mom Salon. Check out the whacky Manic Mom photo on the bottom left of the page!

Happy Halloween almost!

Wii Public Service Message & More

But first, some Manic Mommy housekeeping stuff:

You’re probably wondering, and yes, Hubby did do yoga, and he was pretty good at it, even though I was better. And I’m not just saying that cuz he doesn’t read this! BTW, can you imagine knowing your spouse writes practically EVERYTHING on her blog, but you’ve got no interest in reading it? I’m kinda glad. If he read this every day, I might censor myself much, much more than I already do! Anyway, during the class, I kept thinking how cool it was for him to do something for me because he knew it was something I enjoy. It was kind of an aphrodisiac, and really, I swelled with extra love for him.

Kind of like that book, Porn for Women, the things that turn us on are completely different than the things that turn them on! Do yoga with us! Fold the laundry! Pick up your freaking towel off the floor! Ooh baby, do it to me!

Back on track here…

Thanks to everyone who sent Happy Birthday Wishes to Ajers. He had a great 10th birthday, and is loving his new Nano iPod. Speaking of the iPod, let’s talk electronics and Christmas.

When I was on my venture to find the iPod for AJ, I had called Target and reached customer service. When I asked for Electronics (so I could inquire about the iPod), the woman at customer service asked me, “Are you calling about the Nintendo Wii?”

“No, I’m calling about the iPod, but what’s up with the Wii? Why would I be asking about the Wii?”

“Well,” she explained, “We’re currently out of stock but will be getting another shipment in on Sunday.”

I never think this far in advance of Christmas, especially just coming off Tukey’s birthday in September, and AJer’s birthday two days ago, but when I heard the woman’s voice, I could tell the Wii was still a big deal.

And, I had already planned to get the kids the Wii for Christmas.

So, I began doing some research and understood that the Wii is still really popular, and stores get in just a small supply every now and then, like the trickling effect, and supply and demand, they only give out a few so the demand is still there and everyone wants one.

I had to get me a Wii. And I knew I had to do it fast, or else I’d have weeping children on Christmas day. Now, I don’t really care much about weeping children not getting what they want on Christmas, except for when they weep, it makes me weep, and scream, and yell, and want to bite my own head off. That, my friends, does not put me in the Christmas spirit.

I discovered that people line up for the Wii, still, and NOW even though Christmas is practically still two months away. Shit. I called a couple Best Buys, I talked to Wii owners, I scouted out Target. Some employees were elusive saying, “We can’t tell you if we’re getting the Wii yet, you’ll just have to look in your Sunday paper to see.” Like nanny-nanny-boo-boo, I know Wii info and you don’t. Other employees would just flat-out lie, “We’re not getting any in.” I can see why they’d say this—why cause more angst and commotion by actually telling the consumers what items they will be receiving.

I came up with a game plan.

I would get that frickin’ Wii if it killed me.

I have been cashing and saving all my work checks (thank YOU BZ! You’re paying for my kids’ Christmas!), and had a wad of cash stuck, come on, guess where I hid it? Of course it was in an envelope all the way in the back of the underwear drawer. How clever.

I set my alarm this morning for 7 AM. You KNOW I do not wake before 9:30 on the weekends. But, I got up, and by 7:30 I was in the car headed to Target. I saw a couple dad-looking guys standing in the area by the locked front doors, and thought about just sitting in my car to wait until 8:00. Fortunately, I rethought that idea, got out, and joined the four guys.

“Wii?”

“Wii.”

It was like wii were talking in code!

“Is it still as popular as ever?”

“Wii.”

The dudes standing there, who were just customers, not employees, informed me that I was number FIVE. Hey, I was OK with this, because they HAVE to get at least five Wii systems in a shipment, right?

By the time the doors were unlocked at 8:00, there were 21 of us waiting for the dang Wii. I got in, got in line and waited for the Wii Nazi… Ha, couldn’t resist that little reference to pop culture, right? Right!

Got my Wii, got an extra controller, got the service plan, got an extra game, and then I asked the lady about the Nintendo DS. “Are the DS game thingies still really popular?”

Her eyes bulged out. “Oh yes! Very.”

Shit.

“OK, got any?”

I picked up two of them for Diva and Tukey, grabbed some other electronic paraphernalia and was hyperventilating the whole time, thinking, “Oh my God, this is too much money. This is so much money for a little bit of stuff.” I was thinking of how many poor children I could feed with this amount of money, and I seriously was getting worked up over it. I was feeling guilty that they don’t need so much crap, that they have enough, and then I was also thinking, “I want them to be happy. I want them to have whatever they want because I love them so much.”

Does this make me an idiot of a mom? Am I raising them to expect to receive everything? They already know whenever they walk into Target, it’s pretty much a guarantee they’ll get a Slurpee. When we go to the grocery store, it’s pretty much a guarantee they’ll get a donut.

Am I raising ungrateful children who are going to take everything for granted and not appreciate having to work for something?

See, this is not what I had originally planned to write about. The guilt of them having everything they want. The fear that they will become ungrateful people of society, expecting to get and have and never want and need. The fear they will never know what it is to want. Because I think it’s good to feel the need to want. To always just expect that it’ll be there, whatever it is, is not the best thing.

I don’t know. I’m conflicted here. On the one hand, I’m grateful to be able to give them these things, and really, when you take the Wii, and know it is for three children (and possibly two adults!), that makes it a little less extravagant, don’t you think? One gift for three kids. A gift that will light up their eyes. A gift that will keep ‘em in the basement so I can get more work done to pay for the next big thing that they’re going to eventually want and ask for and get. See, it’s like a vicious circle now.

I just want them to grow up and be thankful for what they have. To know that it’s not like this everywhere, and sometimes they’re going to have to be disappointed in life, to appreciate when the good things come their way.

But not this Christmas.

Because I got the Wii, I got the Wii!

And this is really a public service message to any of you who are thinking you might get the Wii for your family this Christmas, because if there were 21 of us camping out to get this product TWO MONTHS before Christmas, I don’t even want to think of what shopping will be like after Thanksgiving! At least I can rest easy knowing that the major bulk of Christmas for my kids is handled! Now, if I can only make sure they’re not going to grow up to be ungrateful beasts!

Have your kids started making their lists yet?

Bit O' Nostalgia and A Band

But first, the funny stuff. Tomorrow is a big day for our family, more so because of what you’ll read later down the page, but it’s also a big day because Mr. Manic and I have a date.

A nine-thirty a.m. date. At my health club.

I am taking him to his first-ever yoga class! Can you believe it? I decided this today because he’s not going to work tomorrow, and I thought it would be a fun thing for the two of us to do. I cannot wait to see him on that mat, doing some moodras and some warrior poses. It’s going to crack me up. He agreed whole-heartedly when I told him I planned on taking him. I think he’s looking forward to it. To the stretching. To the inner-introspection (ha, that’s funny, inner-introspection!). To the hot moms doing the downward dog. Oh geeze, I just thought he maybe should wear his I HEART HOT MOMS T-shirt to the class.

Another Mr. Manic tidbit. He was on a flight tonight…

(Yes, of course, I DID NOT TELL YOU Mr. Manic was out of town. Because we all know I would have had pool boys and suitors of all sorts knocking down the door. I have to be discreet about this stuff you know!)…

Back to the flight. This part is kind of going to be backward, but when he got home, he and I were discussing the fact that he sat next to a pretty sorta famous person on the flight. He heard the guy talking on his cell phone before take-off and it appeared he was talking about a gig he was flying into Chicago for that he had to play. Here’s how Mr. Manic relayed the conversation, after he did some serious eavesdropping, but how can you not when you’re sitting next to the dude about to take off on a four-hour flight?

Mr. Manic: You in a band?

Dude: Yeah.

Mr. Manic: Anyone I might have heard of?

Dude: Maybe. You know the Gin Blossoms?

Mr. Manic sings this next line:

JEALOUSY!... Hey Jealousy! (Listen to this while you continue reading.)



Mr. Manic actually STARTS SINGING (thanks to some lunch-and-then-more-pre-boarding-the-plane cocktails) to the dude who is in the band, and it’s like the only song Mr. Manic knows from the band, even though they are a really cool band. It’s just that Mr. and Mrs. Manic are not that hip to the cool tunes lately (unless of course, it has to do with Cranking That or Smacking This).

Anyway, so, this is where the story goes backward a bit. While Mr. Manic is on the plane, before they take off, he sends me this email:

Flight on time. Sitting next to the drummer of the gin blossoms!!!!!!

(Yes, with that many exclamation points; he musta been excited.)

So I quick-send him this email back:

DUDE!! … Tell him I LOVE that one song they sing that I know! Get his autograph... I will auction it off on Manic Mommy! Tell him that! Is he hot? Does he have a big package?!?!?!? Bigger than yours?!?!?!?

Sadly though, Mr. Manic did not share the email with the Gin Blossom dude, and, I guess I’ll have to do a quick Google search to find out how hot he really is, cuz Mr. Manic said he was pretty hot. In a non-gay way, of course.


Yep. That'd do! How YOU doin?!

So, didn’t get an autograph, but here’s something. Any reader out there who lives in or near Chicago – the Gin Blossoms are playing at Medusa’s tonight (well, it’ll officially be tonight by the time this gets posted – Friday, October 26)… apparently, Mr. Gin Blossom Dude got Mr. Manic’s business card and said he’d put him on the VIP list for the concert. If there’s any reader out there who wants to try to see them and lives in the area, email me at manicmommy@comcast.net and if you wanna try to get in, I’ll get ya the info. Seriously. I think that’d be cool.

Oh, sidenote though: If Swishy wants to drive out here, since she is my BBFF I think I’ll have to get her in first and foremost. (I just tried to IM Swish, but knowing her, she’s maybe outside trying to kill a snake (read all about that fun Swishy Snake Stuff here! or maybe she’s watching a Grey’s Anatomy rerun or something so she’s not responding to my IM.

ANYWAY, am totally serious about if there’s any hardcore Gin Blossoms + Manic Mommy reader fans out there who want to go to that concert! Email me! I’d LOVE for someone to be able to go!

* * *
OK, so, let’s pretend this next part is a completely separate post, because it really is kinda, and I actually wrote the following BEFORE I wrote the Gin Blossoms part, and this part is the nostalgia-I’m-sad stuff, but in a happy way, if you get it, and no, I have NOT BEEN DRINKING, much to my mother’s dismay, who’s in town, with my dad, for the reason below…

In 36 minutes, I will have been a parent for a DECADE! My baby, AJers is turning 10! I cannot believe it. When they say it goes by so fast, they don’t lie, those jerks! Way, way, way too fast. I miss those days where he’d fall asleep on my chest as a newborn and I’d get so sweaty from the heat of his little teeny body, and I’d doze off, and I would be too scared to move for fear of waking him or making him uncomfortable. Just can’t believe it. My baby. Ten. I only get eight more years with him at home. He will now officially need me less than what I’ve already had him for. This breaks my heart. I’m crying right now, hadn’t intended to, but wow. It is unbelievable this parenting thing. I don’t have the words. I ALWAYS have the words. But not right this minute. I wish I could sit and watch a movie of the past 10 years, to remember every little moment, every last detail, like how he was so scared the Halloween he turned two, and ran from the door, screaming when he’d see a masked face. Or the time he was also two, and he got his finger stuck in a bike chain at Target, and Diva was six months old, strapped into the cart, and I screamed for help in the Target, because I thought my little boy would lose his finger, right then and there, and I remember thinking, “OK, if this happens, it’s just a finger.” And then some nice man came and helped him free. Or the time we were at the mall and there was this elevator, a glass one, like the one in Willy Wonka, ‘cept it didn’t smash through the ceiling… well, this elevator was ALWAYS full. There were always people, and moms and kids and grandmas and the occasional dad getting on it. Well this one time when he was NOT even two yet, we were waiting to get on and he jumped in, and I had Diva who was about four months old… he got in and the doors slammed shut with my baby AJers stuck inside, all by himself! How could he have gotten into that elevator with no one else!? I seriously threw Diva at some nice little looking granny lady, and thankfully, there were stairs on either side of the glass elevator and I ran up to the top, all the while seeing his poor little face through the glass of the elevator, him scared to death, and I got to the top and got my baby out. He didn’t ride an elevator for months and months after that.

And now, he’s ten, and he just played his last football game of the season, and he’s a big boy. But he’s still my baby. He begs me to cuddle still, and I have to remember, CUDDLE WITH HIM WHEN HE ASKS! There IS enough time. Other stuff, mindless stupid crap, can wait. He needs me now. He wants me now. I have to be there for him, my baby, who will someday look at me like he wants nothing to do with me. I need to be there when he wants me. He hugs me and he’s practically as tall as I am, and I’m 5’9”. I look into his hazel eyes and wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s going to be like at 14, at 17, at 25. He is a kind and sweet boy, my absolute joy.

Happy birthday AJers. Thank you for making me a mommy ten years ago. I love you.

* * *

Topics Found

OK, two completely unrelated topics. The first one came up in two completely unrelated conversations today, so I’m guessing a lot of moms have these concerns.

Why do men feel they can do whatever they want without being courteous and either asking the wife, or letting the wife know?

Discuss.

For instance, and I am not mad at Mr. Manic by any means. I mean, he works like 14 freaking hour days; his commute is a beeeyotch, and he has afforded me a very nice lifestyle. He deserves to do nice things for himself. He doesn’t buy himself extravagant items (minus the GD 42-inch freaking flat screen that has now taken up residence in our family room, much to the joy of the children, and the angst of the wife). He is a great father, always, well, most of the time, very hands-on, changed more than his fair share of diapers, did more of his fair share of midnight feedings. Used to do the majority of the laundry when we were both working and he could be home by 3 p.m. Still loads and unloads the dishwasher probably more often than I do.

But why is it that the male species just thinks it’s OK to plan a day out to say, like a Bears game for instance, without the consultation of the Mrs? Or why is it OK for the male species to plan to be out on a Friday night to play cards with his buddies without consulting the wife. What if the children need to be carted places? What if the wife had already made an appointment with Sven the masseuse? How is that going to affect her plans? Huh? Why is it that the male species can just up and say, “Oh, I’ve got a great opportunity to go on a golf weekend with my buddies, and this is the weekend I’m going?”

And how is it that a woman does not do this? How is it that we are emblazoned with guilt at the mere thought of going out for drinks and dinner with our gal pals? How is it that we need to mark it on the calendar months in advance, AND check with the hubby to make sure it doesn’t conflict with his night out with the boys or a golf outing, or a cigar-smoking, card-playing party?

All I’m asking for is a little consideration! And understanding. I’m totally not mad at Mr. Manic right now. I’m just using this as a starting point for the discussion. It’s like we women are literally bound to our children through the process of pregnancy and birth. We are CONNECTED from the moment they shoot that sperm up in there! As Mr. Manic has said regarding the pregnancies and births of our three children: “I was there for the first nine minutes, I was there for the last nine minutes!”

Of course, this is a long-told family joke, and I do laugh when he tells it, because he was there for more than just that. He’s a caring, loving husband and father, and I want him to have a social life. I don’t want him to just come home from his 14-hour days and shitty commutes to a family who doesn’t appreciate what he does for us.

But as I was saying about the connection thing, which I realize I am going off on unrelated tangents currently, is that the babies are in our wombs, connected via the umbilical cord. Whereas, it’s usually the husband who’s whacking that thing into two pieces, severing the bond between mother and child.

I don’t know. It’s just strange. I don’t even know what I just wrote but I’m going to post it now without reading or editing it because some family of mine needs dinner. And far be it for me not to be a loving, giving, Betty-Homemakerish type of woman who doesn’t meet the needs of my family!

Other quick topic: Music…
What is up with Souljaboy and Crank That? Is that not the most foul song in the entire world? It’s like hellooooo! We totally know what you are talking about. Super-soakers, and jackin’ it? And crank that? But, admittedly, it is pretty catchy, although quite perverted and disgusting!

And same thing for the song, Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that, give me some more.

I was wondering if we had songs like this when we were growing up? Then I thought, of course we did! What about Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”… what was THAT all about? And George Michael’s, “I Want Your Sex?” I remember hearing that one and thinking OMG, he is singing very blatantly about wanting to sex someone up!

I’m getting too old for this, especially now that I’ve kind of officially got a couple tweenagers! Yikes!

TOPICS PLEASE

I need something to blog about--ideas?

Leave 'em in the comments section! Thanks!

Back

Colorado Writer and Monnik guessed right. We went to Ohio to see my newest baby niece, who's A D O R A B L E, almost to the point of me wanting another kid! Especially when I saw how good Diva did with her! We also saw her cutie-pie older brother, who is three!

And the Ohio visit would not be complete without seeing my cute little granny!

Good guesses!

I'll blog more later, am coming out of the fog after having a 28-hour migraine. Yuck.

Travel Riddle & Some Reading Recommendations

Going somewhere, not too far
For just a little while
A visit maybe, A tiny trip
To enjoy a new little smile!

Guess where I’ve gone,
It’s somewhere I’ve been
And no, it’s not to drink some gin!

While I’m there, I’ll see the old and the new
And even some in-betweens
They’ll plant themselves into my memory
Paintings of very special scenes.

If you have a friend or two,
whom you think might like my words,
Please send them this link,
Tell 'em I write 'bout dog turds!

If you like what you read
When I write through my fog
Do me a favor, and please
Pimp my blog!

OK, weak attempt at pimping my blog while I’m gone, but if this blog makes you laugh, and you know someone who could use a laugh, please send them the link!

Oh, and speaking of the dog turd incident, of course, this a.m. when I had to rush out the door because Tukey had a field trip and I had to drive them all to school today, gee, guess who had dog doo on the bottom of his shoe??? So, I had to pull a CSI move on the shoes later, with a toothpick and scrubber to get the remnants out of the bottom of the shoe. Thanks again, idiot neighbor.

* * * * *

And, here are some book recommendations you might like, but I don't have time to link you to Amazon:

Sister Salty, Sister Sweet, A Memoir of Sibling Rivalry,
By Shannon Kring Biro and Natalie Kring

Identical Strangers -- another sister memoir, about identical twins separated at birth through a secret twin project, who are reunited when they are 35, never having known each was an identical twin.

Look Me In The Eye -- By the awesome John Robison, brother to August... too tired to look up the spelling... Burroughs... a book on aspergers syndrome. Have not read it yet, but am looking forward to it! John has occasionally stopped by and commented over at MM so of course, I'm starstruck!

Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac -- Just purchased today, by Gabrielle Zevin. While the title appears it's a memoir, it's not. It's fiction, and YA. Looks promising.

SLAM by Nick Hornby -- sounds cool, and Ajers couldn't believe I got a book about skating and Tony Hawk, but come on, I'm a cool mom, right? The dude's about to start college and he's got a hot chick, but then he gets into some sort of trouble...

AND DEAR GOD, IT'S 10:25 AND I HAVE NOT FINISHED PACKING!...

Getting Rid of Matthew ... sorry, it's upstairs and I can't remember the author's name... again, too rushed to google it for ya! But the chick is having an affair and she has begged the dude to leave his wife for years, and finally, he does and she decides she doesn't really like the guy anymore. Isn't that how it always is? You can't always get what you want... or something like that.

The Abstinence Teacher, by Tom Perrotta...
Need I say more? Election and Little Children, anyone? Which, btw, I have a hardcover copy of Little Children with the goldfish crackers on it, not the one they changed with choc chip cookies or a bag of fishy goldfish... that's gotta be worth something on ebay.

And coming my way soon via amazon.com, Alice Sebold's The Almost Moon, which I have been waiting for YEARS for her next book after The Lovely Bones. She murders her mom in this one. And, if you've never read Sebold's memoir Lucky, it's amazing! I found that one before The Lovely Bones, and I actually like Lucky more so.

That's all for Books in Review...

Now, go read something...

Peace UP! Be safe.

An Open Letter to My Neighbor & Pet

Dear Neighbor,

I am sure you are a very kind and thoughtful person. A person who enjoys the company of what I am guessing by the evidence, a very large breed of dog. Perhaps you have a golden retriever, or a mastiff bulldog. I am quite certain you are not the owner of a shih tzu or a teacup poodle.

I would like to thank you for stopping by my house today. I am sure your pet was enjoying himself, sniffing the surroundings, maybe digging his muzzle into my, well, I would say flowerbeds, but I do not have flowerbeds, so let’s just say maybe your dog was sniffing around the shrubbery.

I can understand the responsibilities of owning a pet, especially one as large as yours. You’ve got to feed it a couple of times a day, offer it some affection, take it for walks, and I’m sure that gets to be exhausting. Especially if maybe you’ve worked all day long, or had to help kids with homework, and then cart them to practices and lessons and such. Maybe you just wanted a quiet meal at home, with a nice glass of cabernet to cap off the evening.

And I understand those responsibilities, and it sure was nice of you to take some time to bond with your dog, to take him out to sniff around a bit, mark his territory, and do his business.

But I have a very hard time being sympathetic to your dog’s needs, and the fact that you’d be so inconsiderate to your neighbors to go out and forget to bring with you a FREAKING PLASTIC BAG.

A plastic bag in which you could possibly bend over and pick up the steaming pile of crap your dog has conveniently left in my yard.

I can understand that this could happen. You’ve just gotten home from work, you’re tired from the day’s events, you’re tired of yelling at the spouse, your kids. You just needed a minute to get out of the house to collect your thoughts. To decompress from the day. To breathe. And how kind of you to take the family dog with you.

I too, was decompressing from a day of parenting, a day of busy-ness, a day where I had to cart children here and there, do laundry that is still smelling like freshly sprayed vajigity (threw that one in for you, Andrea!). I too, had a busy day.

But despite the busyness of the day, I decided that my kids needed some mom fun time. So, I took them to choose some cute Halloween decorations, nothing spectacular, just a plastic skull, a tombstone, and yes, we went pumpkin picking as well! Straight into our local grocery store where I plucked two large, and two small pumpkins right from the crate. Because, as you may guess, I hate messy things, like muddy pumpkin patches, feces, you know, gross stuff.

Well, Mr. Thoughtful Neighbor (is it wrong for me to assume that you are a man? I’m sorry to say I’ve not even considered you're a woman. Call me sexist if you must.)…

Anyway, Dear Neighbor, while I was out trying to bring joy into my children’s lives by purchasing a few Halloween funfare items, you were out walking your dog.

Again, I understand, hey, maybe you forgot a plastic bag. That happens. I can appreciate this. What I cannot understand is why you most certainly walked directly into my yard, shuffling onto my driveway, willingly, fully aware that your dog had to crap, and that you did not have a plastic baggy, and that you were THISFREAKINGCLOSE to my FRONT WALK when your dog had to do his business.

And yes, your dog HAS TO BE MALE AS WELL.

Thank you, kind, kind, dear neighbor, for letting your dog take a humongous crap right where I thought it would be so cute for me to place our Halloween gravesite. It was so nice to come home, grab all the pumpkins from the trunk, collect the skull and gravestone and plant myself into the yard, while wearing MY FLIP FLOPS in order to create a beautiful Halloween ensemble that my children will enjoy throughout the holiday. Thank you. I reveled in the fact that I began screaming that I’d stepped in dog doo, and then loved running through the yard trying to remove dog feces from my toes. It really was a very pleasant way to end the busy day, and you’ve helped create wonderful holiday memories for my whole family.

I hope you'll stop by again and visit soon. I'd really like to meet the canine behind the crap.

Oh, and I've decided to try my hand at creating my own Halloween decorations now. This way, I won't be out shopping for items when you stop by! And I think I'll make you a gift while I'm at it! First up, another tombstone. Wanna know what it's going to say?

“Here Lies the Kind Thoughtful Neighbor Who Let His Dog Crap in My Yard.”

A Math Equation. In Pictures...

Let's do some Manic Math, shall we?

OK, let's start out on a Monday morning, feeling pretty good, going to get ahead of the mad-laundry fiasco and start an early morning load.

Imagine you have a bottle of this:

because a friend's machine was broken and she needed to get some laundry done, so sweet Manic Mommy says, "Sure! Come on over and do some of your laundry."

You'd do the same for a friend in need, wouldn't you? And how very sweet of your friend to bring her OWN LAUNDRY SUPPLIES!

So, you've got the first part of the equation.

Next, imagine that the 1/2 bottle she leaves at your house somehow, some weird unexplainable way, falls into your machine when you are, I don't know, plucking your eyebrows, walking circles through your living room, to your dining room, through your kitchen and back around... you decide... whatever. So, a 1/2 of a bottle of FABRIC SOFTENER finds its way here:

INTO YOUR WASHING MACHINE.

Not a quarter cup.

Not a cupful of fabric softener.

The.Whole.Freaking.BlueandPink.BOTTLE.
(BTW, doesn't it match nicely with my blog template?)

Falls, somehow, INTO YOUR WASHING MACHINE.

And yet, somehow, you fail to realize this as you throw a load of darks into your machine early this a.m.

So, for those of you not following along, you've got your 1/2 bottle of fabric softener, you've got your washing machine, and now the two have oddly joined forces, almost like those old Reese's commercials:

"You've got fabric softener in MY washing machine!"

"No! You've got your washing machine in MY FABRIC SOFTENER."

Well, let's see how this concotion plays out...

I come back from a playdate this a.m. and notice a beautiful smell not unlike a field of spring fresh flowers permeating through the house.

"Hmmm," I think to myself. "The next load I do, I should maybe try some of that fabric softener because it obviously freshened up my friend's clothes she washed last night."

A couple hours later, I'm getting a headache from the freshy-fresh florally field smells and this reminds me I have yet to transfer my clothes from the washer to the dryer.

I open the lid.

And am blasted with the scent of FDS. You women know what I'm talking about, that feminine deodorant vajigity spray that is probably the worst thing in the entire world for genitalia, but that is a topic for another post, another day. Still, this is what the scent reminded me of.

I find THE WHOLE BOTTLE IN THE WASHING MACHINE. And the cap is also in the machine. But not on top of the bottle!

This is a launder's problem.

It, I must admit, angered me. Annoyed me. Forced me to pull a "rinse-repeat-rinse again" maneuver on my laundry.

And then, finally, I could rinse no more. And I threw the clothes into the dryer.

Not recommending this EVER when it comes to doing laundry, but seriously, if you have a math equation such as


+ PLUS



You can be guaranteed that your clothes will come out like this:


and this...

and definitely this:

Random Randomness & Some Wiggle

There’s not been much to say. Last week was just a not-good week, so why bore you all with me being whiny, crying, bitchy. I do that enough around my family! I’m in a better frame of mind now; did not toss the computer or my husband or my children down the stairs, so I guess that’s sayin’ something!

* * * * *

Finally went to the dermatdictologist. Yes, you read that right. My dermatologist is a D I C K! He talks to you like you’re four-and-a-half, and it might as well be a revolving door in his office the amount of time he spends with a patient. He actually scraped an X into my skin! With like a wooden toothpicky tool thing! Hard! So there was a mark like I was a cutter or something. When he was doing it, he said he was doing it to see if hives appear. No shit hives are gonna appear; you are ripping the first layer of skin off the inside softness of my arm! He is evil. And his diagnosis was pure BS if you ask me. Apparently, I have dermagraphihesadick. Apparently, five to 10 percent of ALL people get this. DRY-Freaking Skin! So, he gave me Allegra, and some prescription cortisone, told me to use non-scented soap like Dove Unscented (WHICH DUH! I already do!!!!), and a white unscented lotion. What a jackass.

However, I have not had the midnight itchies since I saw the bastard, so even if he is a dermadictologist… nah, never mind. I don’t like him regardless. And the freaking X was there for two days. I seriously almost took a picture to show you all how evil he is. Evil!

* * * * * *

The kids were having a debate on the different sexes. Tukey was saying he wished he were a girl so he could have a baby. Diva was saying there’s so much pressure when a woman has a baby and that he shouldn’t wish for that, and then somehow they were arguing about it, then Tukey was getting in Diva’s face and threw one down.

His best shot at Diva: “Yeah, well, you’re a TOILET-PAPER WASTER!”

What a GREAT comeback to put us women in our place, Tukey! We USE toilet paper when we pee! And boys don't! I might just have the most cleverest little boy in the entire world. And not only is he clever, he's also a TOILET-PAPER SAVER!

Who knew?

And then he said, just to bring his point all the way home: “When I pee, all I have to do is wiggle it!”

Just a little bit…



Man, you would not believe the stuff that comes up when you do a search on youtube for Wiggle It Just a Little Bit! How cute is THIS little girl I found on youtube?

* * * * * * *

In other Manic stupid news... I had on this shirt the other day that the children just DO NOT LIKE. Ajers was like, “Mom, please change that shirt. It makes me uncomfortable.”

I wasn't going to change out of it. We were going to a HALLOWEEN STORE for crying out loud. My kid's not going to tell me he doesn't approve of what I WEAR!! That's MY job! I like this shirt. I mean it's got a skull on some chick's body!
Plus, it has the word CAFFEINE on the side of it; see that? It's like a skull-girl-chick who is full of caffeine. I don't know, there's a story to this for sure. It's Halloweenish, don't you think?

And, speaking of Halloween... SCARY or ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE?


Here’s to my half-birthday! And a better week ahead!

Oh, and just because there's not enough time in my life for the really important stuff, Tukey and I decided to make our own "Wiggle It" video:




Peace UP! Cuz feelin' down just SUX!

In case anyone's wondering...

I am having an absolutely EFFING SHITTY DAY and am about to bash this GD computer on it's side.

That is all.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.

ACHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Straight Out of a John Hughes' Flick

WARNING: WORLD'S LONGEST POST...

And you might want to move your coffee away from the keyboard... just sayin'...

The reunion!

I don’t even know where to start. I have no voice left. I did not vomit. I did not have to lie in bed all day long with a hangover. I am as exhausted as if I had just attended my own wedding this weekend…

It was THE BEST TIME!

So, here's the story...

Friday night a couple of us went up to a bar before the football game and there were other people from school there. I had two appletinis to get my nerves chilled out.

Then we went to the football game and at first I was kind of not wanting to see people in case I didn’t remember them! After standing around for like a half an hour talking to people, we looked around and said, “Why the heck are we all standing around here when Dave’s got a tent full of hard liquor, kegs, pizzas and EIGHTIES music? AND his parents aren’t home! Oh wait, he IS a parent now!”

We were off. And since there were a few of us, we scrambled into various cars and headed over to the party, and it was so reminiscent of Friday night football games in high school where we’d crank up B96 Friday Night Mix, roll down the windows and drive around looking for parties! Except we didn’t have the stolen six pack of Milwaukee’s Best and a two-liter bottle of Sun Country Wine Coolers rolling around in the trunk.

First things first. We needed nametags upon arriving at the party, so I set Mr. Manic up with one so everyone would know who he was cuz PS, he is a very shy guy and I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable:


It was really exciting to see everyone, and everyone looked great. And so very reassuring that no one is really as old as we are, because come on, we don’t look like we’ve been out of high school for 20 years! And it was so fun to see someone and be like, “Oh my God! You look EXACTLY the same!”

Fortunately, very fortunately for me, I never had a high school boyfriend, or a major crush; never lost my virginity to a love-of-my-life boy I could quite possibly run into. I was safe! No worries in that department. That in itself is a load of worry off one’s back, for sure.

Junior and Senior year, I had a lot of underage teenage drinking parties. I’m not exactly proud of it now. But then, it was pretty cool. Actually, it’s quite a shame when you think about the dangers of drinking and driving, but for those of you in your thirties, you know it was a different time “back then.” Back then sounds almost INNOCENT compared to these days.

People were talking about how they got sexed up in my parent’s basement, ahem, you know who you are; sadly, 'twas not I! A couple guys recalled the party where the cops came and my dad bolted to the neighbors so he wouldn’t get arrested. Then he called the house, pretending to be ‘out of town’ and told me to get a cop on the phone. My dad told the cop, “If there’s underage drinking in my home, you are not to let ANYONE leave that house because I don’t want anyone to get into an accident.” For some reason, the cop agreed to this. The cops left, my dad came back to the house, and we continued the party and about 20 kids slept over!

I’m sure I have mentioned on this blog about a million times how I didn’t go to my senior prom but MY SISTER, who was a junior when I was a senior, did get asked. And of course, I had to remind any and every guy in my class this weekend that I am yes, still very bitter that I didn’t go to my senior prom.

(My real-life friends who read this are probably like: GET OVER THIS ALREADY! Right girls? Come on, it's my claim to high-school fame!)

A couple interesting things happened. This one guy came up to me and said he has always remembered that when he asked a junior to our senior prom, I bitched him out telling him it was completely wrong to ask a JUNIOR when there were perfectly good AND WILLING, Seniors who wanted to attend their senior prom. And it's not like I wanted HIM to ask me. It was just the idea that senior boys were wasting their time on JUNIOR girls!

He has always remembered this. I did not remember us having this conversation 20 years ago. But, he told me, because of our conversation 20 years ago, when his son is a senior, he’s not going to let him take an underclassman to prom! And then he wanted to take a picture of me so he could show his wife a photo of the girl who bitched him out for taking a junior to prom. I actually smiled for him?

Another guy friend of mine reminded me that he didn’t go to our senior prom either, and I totally thought he went to prom because he had a serious junior girlfriend in high school. I asked him why he didn’t take Jane (not her real name) to the prom and he said he knew there were other senior girls who were not being asked to the prom so he thought it would be wrong for him to take a junior. I was like, ‘HEY, WE COULDA GONE TOGETHER!’ Missed opportunities. If only we students communicated more. And drank less. Sounds like a recipe for a marriage, doesn’t it—communicate more, drink less!

Oh well. A prom is a prom is a prom, but a TWENTIETH REUNION… well, that’s completely off the wall crazy-fun!!

We left Friday night’s party at hubby’s insistence, at 12:15 a.m. although I could have stayed all night I was having so much fun reliving our high school days. Plus, me and high-school gal pal had just discovered the pizza. She wondered if it was bad since it had been outside for so long. I reminded her that when we were in college, we used to eat pizza from the GARBAGE CAN!! (Can you believe THAT?!?! We were poor. We were hungry. SOMEONE WAS THROWING AWAY PERFECTLY GOOD PIZZA CRUST!) Anyway, going home at midnight was a smart thing to do though, because I woke up in perfectly great partying shape Saturday a.m.!

I had to go over to the Westin to help set up because I was recruited to the reunion committee last April. I got there early, helped set up with balloons and memorabilia:

and then I hooked up with my best gal pals from high school later in the afternoon. It was seriously like 20 years had never happened. We just fell right back into our obnoxious laughing and snarkiness. I loved it. I don’t know why we don’t hang out more often—probably the kid factor, and the marriage factor, and the fact that we don’t have the opportunities high school kids have to see friends that often. But it was so great to just fall back into place, to tease each other and talk about those crazy things we did in school.

The four of us:


Mr. and Mrs. Manic:


The big party was so much fun!


Like we were all grown up but not really grown up. Things I noticed:

~There were a lot of boobs out that night! LOTS! And, Mr. Manic was the paparazzi all weekend, and it was quite interesting that when we reviewed the FOUR HUNDRED digital photos from the weekend, there were many pictures where the camera must have ‘slipped’ from his grasp causing him to get boob shots of all these boobalicious ladies!

The above is, obviously, not a boobalicious boob shot.

~Quite a few men are now bald, but funny thing is, bald is like totally hot these days, and men look really good without hair; some of ‘em anyway! I seriously saw a couple skulls I wanted to run my hand over just to feel the smoothness.

~The druggies in high school might still be druggies now too. This, I am not sure of though, because I was very, very naive in HS when it came to any illegal substance other than alcohol, so I cannot either confirm or deny. I just think there were some drugged-up dudes.

~The women. Whoa, they are H O T! Like classy hot. See:



And more:



Women tend to mature very nicely. I remember hearing once that at 10-year reunions, the men all look way better than the women.

And the 20 year is the time for the women to shine. I think this urban legend might have to do with the fact that at the 10 year, many women have either just pushed out kids, or in the process of being knocked up, like I was at the 10-year. There are NO photos of me at my 10 year. Probably for this very reason.

~Our class can still party!


It was kind of slow going in the beginning, but in a good way, like a “let’s take the opportunity to talk with some of our old friends, do a little catching up, and then crank it out like maniacs” kinda way. One guy was giving everyone five minutes. I thought that was so cool. He seriously went up to everyone, stated his five-minute plan, and gave each person his undivided attention, and was sincere when he was asking about their lives. At one point, I noticed he was spending quite a long while with another classmate so I had to go be the Committee Cop. I said, “Dude, you’re going on like seven minutes; time to move on!” Thanks though, Brian, for taking the time to make everyone really feel welcome! I thought that was so cool.

After a few drinks, the requisite questions demanding answers were asked, and I answered:

“Three kids ages 9, 8, and 6.”

I live in Manictown now but was in Philly for almost 7 years.”

I stay at home but am a writer and editor trying to get my books published.”

And finally,

“Oh yeah, married almost 15 years to that guy over there who has just taken boobie shots of your wife.”

We then did the class photo where the mean guy was yelling at us to all be quiet like he was taking a preschool class photo. Then the committee showed an amazing video of photos from high school, and after that, I went to the lobby bar because the reunion bar did not have sour apple pucker, and dang-it-all, I’m a grown-up and if I’m out partying, I want to drink my grown-up drink of choice! I ran into another classmate and she was like, “Were you just quoted in Glamour?!?!? I saw it!”

Guilty. Can’t remember the page it was (in the 200s) and I think it was in the October issue, but I did use my maiden name because it had something to do with S E X, and I don’t need my 16-year-old neighbor girl coming up to me and saying, Mrs. Manic, I didn’t know you got caught having sex in the living room by your boyfriend’s roommate and his parents!”

After all that, I was getting kind of tired. I grabbed Mr. Manic who was seriously being the BEST, BEST all night. He was like my BEEYOTCH. Doing whatever I said. Taking pictures of everyone for our class website. Bringing me drinks. A perfect gentleman.

So, we decide to go upstairs and put on some comfy clothes, then come back down for the rest of the party.

Little did I know, crazy Mr. Manic has a plan of his own…

No, you dirty minded people…MINDS OUTTA THE GUTTER! When he was packing to come over to the hotel (I was already there), he specifically brought unbeknownst to me, a special late-night ensemble. Before I show you what he had on, here is a reaction upon his entering the room:



And this is what caused the reaction:



HIS HOT MOM T-SHIRT!!!!



And then, it was time to break out the purple boas, and soon, everyone looked like this:






By the end of the night, I decided I needed a new nametag:


PS—If you’re from DGN class of ’87, please leave a comment saying hi.

PSS--Also, thank you Amber and Jen (formerly S, now K) for saying such nice things about my blog and my writing--I can't tell you how much that meant to me! And everyone who took the time to say hello and be so nice to me! It was a blast and I'm so glad I got to see you all!

PSSS--If any of you want your boobie pictures back, you’ll have to take that one up with the Mister.

PSSSS--Count down to the big Two-Fiver... Four years, 364 days...

Class of ’87 DGN ROCKS!!

RE.....

...UNION!!!

Twenty years--
happening THIS WEEKEND!

Go DGN Trojans!!!

I still don't understand why our mascot was a condom?

Bad Dream

Bad dreams suck.

They tear at your consciousness when you’re unconscious. Then you wake up and it floats back in and out of your head at odd moments during the day, threatening your good mood, making you think of the terrible ‘what ifs’ in the world. They’re crazy and scary and unpredictable, and leave you shaking and sweaty sometimes, with a heart racing akin to … (OK, thinking of a non-pop-culture icon here for SK : ) … heart racing like an Arabian horse coming in first place at the Triple Crown!

Oh but wait, that's good heart-racing, isn't it? Something good is happening when a horse wins a race, so it's probably a happy-heart-racing horse...

Let's see... heart racing in a bad way...

You're crouched in an alley in the fetal position, hands covering the top of your head, elbows jutting out, and there's a thug standing over you with a gun and he's lifted the safety hold and has threatened to shoot you point-blank. Yeah, that's the shaking, sweaty, scary bad dream image I want to convey.

So yes, bad dreams are simply put: bad. I don’t know why we have ‘em, or what they mean, or if they signify a deep-seated (I always get that mixed up with deep-seeded, and always confuse "in the same vein" as well) angst or worry in one’s life?

So, when I woke AJers up this morning for school, his eyes were still closed and he said, “Who’s crying?”

“Honey, no one’s crying. It’s just time for school.”

I then went downstairs and did whatever I do to prepare whatever kids with whatever they need to be at the bus stop at whatever morning.

Ajers stumbles down. Sits at the table.

“Whew,” he shakes his head. “Scariest dream E V E R!”

“Was it about someone crying?” I asked, remembering he commented on that when he first woke up.

“No. Dad…"

"Yes?"

"In a bikini!”

Feeling Is Living, Right?

Prepare for a total rant about whatever.

So, I’ve been off my anti-dees for more than a full week. Can I tell a difference? You bet I can. When I was on Effexor, my life was leveled, not in a bad way, but in a way where I was going through the motions, getting through my days without too much drama or screaming, or feeling low. I functioned, and felt well.

I’m off them now. There are differences. I wasn’t sure there would be, but there are definite things I notice. Pre anti-dees, which was probably four or five years ago, spilt milk would send me into a fit of rage, screaming that the GD milk spilled, and how could that have happened? It would infuriate me, and I hated that feeling.

Those feelings are back. With a vengeance. And I hate it still, but it's uncontrollable. And I’m aware it’s happening, and I try to tell myself, “So what, the milk spilled.” So what if there’s dried-up Easy Mac stuck to the stove. What is the big fucking deal?

I woke up this morning with OCD. Too bad OCD doesn’t stand for … Owesomely Cut Dude or something like that to imply I was waking up with some hottie. Other than the hottie I married—for those of you who know Mr. Manic, I’m sure you’re laughing at that one!

I woke up wishing I didn’t have to get up to get the kids to school. Gloomy perfect Monday with spitting rain, dark skies. A sleep-in kind of morning. I thought I’d get Ajers and Diva to school, and then Tukey and I could sneak back to bed and snuggle during Curious George. That was my plan. But when I got downstairs and opened the fridge, I saw crumbs on the shelves, leftover little twisty ties in the drawers, onion peels! And I went ballistic, in the "I’ve-got-to-clean-this-shit-up-pronto" way, not in the "I'm-grabbing-a-knife-and-killing-myself" way.

I took everything out, wiped down all the shelves, tossed salad dressings dated from 2006, shelved items according to food group. I just had to do it AT.THAT.MOMENT.

Then, after it was all cleaned and organized, I realized there was no food. So, I went to the grocery store. When I got home, I cut up fruit and vegetables, filled snack-size baggies with carrots, pretzels. Filled canisters with goldfish, teddy grahams, wheat thins. I couldn’t help myself.

My OCD took over. I cut avocados. Celery. Carrots. Cucumbers. Red bell peppers. Pineapple. A cantelope. Apples. Cilantro. BROCCOLI! I washed and rinsed grapes. Cherry tomatoes. I have decided that if I have to throw any of this food out, I am never going to the trouble again. I used a new knife. That felt good. And I never once thought about cutting wrists or arteries. So that's good!

With Effexor, my OCD was dead. I could manage. I didn’t care that there was some purple onion peel at the bottom of the shelf or that there was a lemon chunk that had grown fur on it. Or that a bit of salt had sprinkled on the counter. Those things didn’t bother me at all when I was on Effexor. Now, they piss the hell out of me.

It’s weird. The highs are really, really beautiful highs, like, “I am so lucky to have the family I have, the life I have” kind of highs, and then the next minute, I’m reading about the first black kids who were integrated into an all-white public high school in nineteen-fifty-something (courtesy of Time for Kids, from Ajers’ fourth grade class), and I’m sitting there with a lump in my throat and bawling my eyes out.

But you have to feel to live, don’t you? I should be thankful I am able to have emotions, and feel gladness, and even feel the sadness because that makes the gladness all the more happy, right?

But, side effects of getting off this med have been less than pleasant. Migraines that make me vomit, an all-over itching that makes me feel like ripping my skin off my body in order to get relief. I even have to get the pasta spoon out or use a hair brush to scrape relief into my back. The itching is sporadic, every other day or so, but when it hits, I want to peel the top layer off my body. Benedryl helps, but then makes it hard to wake up in the morning. I was up from 1 a.m. to 4 a.m. with itching on Sat.

OK, now I’m feeling very whiny, and distracted, and that wasn’t the point of this post, but I don’t even know if I had a point, which is making me think that the Effexor was also helping my ADD. OK, so I don’t have ADD, at least I don’t think I do, which maybe makes me think I do. Holy F bomb. Do you ever wonder if bi-polar people are aware they are bi-polar and what that entails, and how do they feel when they are bi-polar? Just curious. Cuz maybe I am. Bi-polar. Or not. I don't know!

See how whacked out I am that I cannot even stick to one subject. URGH!!

I go to the doctor tomorrow, and I have a list of things to discuss, like how do I stop itching. How do I stop these incapacitating migraines? How come I haven’t lost the 30 pounds I wanted to lose before my reunion? How come I GAINED the 30 pounds I lost through WW after Tukey was born. Why does the sun rise? Why do underwear climb up butt cracks? Why am I chewing my gum like a cow right now? Why do I enjoy posts about me chewing gum like a holstein? I do that a lot, I guess.

WHY AM I ITCHING RIGHT NOW?

You know what? I’m done. This is boring the shit out of me. Sorry I’m so whiny. Just tellin’ it like it is.

Peace UP. Maybe. I don’t know.

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PS. This post was written on Monday. I'm waaaaaayy better today.

Truly Stumped.

I began reading Greek Tragedy a couple of years ago, and while I first thought Stephanie Klein was self-absorbed and someone I would walk away from if I were to meet at a party, I can honestly say I had changed my mind. Her writing changed my mind. That says mountains about someone if they have that capacity in their work. I truly enjoy Stephanie Klein’s writing; I bought her book Straight Up and Dirty. I read her blog daily. I feel genuinely sad when her children are not doing well. I will be one of the first in line to buy her next book, Moose. And would NOT walk away at the opportunity to meet her. Plus, I always felt we were kindred spirits since we share so much: We are both mothers! We are both writers! We share the same first name! Our maiden names rhyme where only the first two letters are different! Kindred souls, I tell ya.

So when I woke this a.m. and saw that she commented on my Bra Nazi post, I thought, “COOL! Stephanie Klein read my blog!”

Then, I read the comment:

SK: 1) Do you think using the genius of Larry David/Jerry Seinfeld and just changing "Soup" to "Bra" is the most clever you can be?

MM: OUCH! She’s right. Unclever! Stolen wit even!

SK: 2) Do you find using the word Nazi as you do in this context trivializes the holocaust?

MM: No, but shouldn't "holocaust" be capital?

SK: These questions might seem bitchy…

MM: Yeah, they kinda are.

SK: They absolutely are not meant to be…

MM: Oddly enough, I do believe her when she says this.

SK: I genuinely want to know what you think. And I ask because these are things I struggle with in my own writing. I ask myself if it's cheating, taking what someone else made funny (a long time ago) and just glomming onto it, and I wonder if it does at this point just trivialize what so many went through.

I had a weight nazi, a bra nazi (actually I called her Mother Russia... so, no, she wasn't a nazi), and I used to live across the street from the real soup nazi.

MM: Wait! Stop! On to more pressing issues! You lived across the street from him? The Soup Nazi! Did you get the crab bisque? Was it really good soup or just OK soup? How was the bread? I wonder if it was hard as a rock? Did you see the actual filming of that Seinfeld episode? Was he as scary in real life as he was on TV?

Stephanie, let me ask you this—the first time you saw the Soup Nazi episode, did you laugh? Or did you feel like Jerry and Larry, who are Jewish, hurt you by trivializing the Holocaust? Honestly, I would really like to know if it made you sad, personally? Or if you felt the need to write to the Seinfeld show and tell them they were trivializing a major historical event that left so many devastated?

I don’t think most people think the way you do. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I just think you’re different. Different is not bad. And that you have more opinions and spend a lot of time thinking. Which again, not bad. Time-consuming yes, but not bad.

SK: Though I do think making references like that, to pop culture, is stealing someone else's funny, or someone else's genius. It's like taking the easy way out... to, for example, describe someone as An Eddie Haskell type. When we reference pop culture icons in our writing (and I am totally guilty of this), I think it's being lazy.

MM: True. There are more clever ways of describing a person, instead of saying Eddie Haskell type. Agreed. But I don’t think I was being lazy. I think I wanted to make an immediate connection with the reader, have them say, “Oh, I totally know what she’s talking about.” I truly don’t think that hard about writing.

I’m thinking about it now though. After I read the comment, I was like, “Hmmm.” She stumped me. I don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to reply.

I think the Soup Nazi is a relatable pop culture reference. I imagined if there were to be a Bra Nazi, she would be like the Soup Nazi. I was using a popular icon to bring familiarity to my writing. I never considered in writing that or showing the clip that I was stealing, perhaps even plagiarizing another’s work or idea.

When I write this blog, I don’t ‘hem-and-haw’ (HATE THAT PHRASE, and now I’m over-thinking it… Should I use it? Can’t I come up with something more clever? Did someone else say ‘hem-and-haw’ in a sitcom and would that be technically stealing someone’s idea or being lazy by choosing this phrase?)

I just don’t think this way. When I write, I’m just filling the page with thoughts in my head, and I try to be true to how I’m feeling, no matter if it makes my mom mad that I’m telling virtual strangers about my Xanax prescription or describing interesting ways to use a shower head. Dear God, I hope no one Googles, “interesting ways to use a shower head.” See, I just wrote that. It’s what came to me.

I think in a round-about way, Stephanie has just called me out as an unclever lazy racist plagiarizer who gloms onto popular culture icons to benefit her writing! All because of my bra-fitting experience! How cool is that? In a strange way, I kinda feel honored by being called out by Stephanie, because despite her comment seeming bitchy, I really don’t think she intended to be; I’d like to believe her, and I completely admire her as a writer.

Some of the things that come out of me, verbal or literal, might not make sense. Some people may think I’m being a word thief. As for the Holocaust, the thought that I might be hurting someone’s feelings or trivializing a major historical event did not even cross my mind. However, now that I’m turning all introspective, I am sitting here wondering, "Was this wrong of me?" I would never in a million years make some obscure joke about people falling from the sky on 9-11, so I can see why she’s asking. I quite possibly turned a major life-altering event into a joke. Certainly, if you know me, you know that was not my intention.

How many readers did I offend by calling the Bra Lady a Bra Nazi? You have to admit, calling her a Bra Nazi has more impact that calling her the Bra Lady. Perhaps I’ve offended her?

I’m thinking about it. Because of my heritage, I probably have relatives who were killed during the Holocaust. I may even have relatives who killed others during the Holocaust. But when I sat down to write my apparently now unoriginal tale of my experience of getting fitted for a new bra, my sole intent – my ONLY intent – was to maybe make a few readers laugh.

And looking back to the original post (which wasn’t so original after all!), I think I probably also owe Fergie an apology. Cuz I stole her shit also.

But you know what? I’m STEPHALICIOUS! So delicious.

S to the T, E P the H the Eee….

Ain’t no other lady stealing words like me!