From the crazy girlfriend archives

7 Jun

Imma tell you a little story. I just had a flashback and it’s kind of hysterical, so you should know all about it. It won’t always paint me in the best of light, but since we’re friends, I expect you to ignore that part and celebrate the fact that I’m an amazing spy.

So, I was dating this guy in my early twenties…and his last name was a breakfast food that’s making a real name for itself and sneaking into everything these days. But we’ll call him Bob Omelette to protect the innocent. I dated Bob Omelette for over a year, which is a long time when you’re 22. Towards the end, he was acting shady, and I recognized some of his behaviors because my heart had already been smashed to smithereens in similar situations. So I did what any normal person would do. I looked through all of his stuff when he went to work one day. Whatever, you would do it too. Probably. Anyway, my investigation turned up many interesting things. I’m talking things that could be used as blackmail, but it’s a small world, so I’ll just keep those things to myself.  Anyway, I left no stone or shoebox unturned.

So when I was reading the register to his checkbook, I was noticing this one name pop up month after month. I was fuming. Clearly he had some kind of mistress on the side. He was making monthly payments to her like her name was Rielle Hunter. Only that wasn’t her name and he wasn’t John Edwards. I stewed over this information for quite a while. I needed to wait for just the right moment to spring this on Bob Omelette.

One night, we got into an argument, and that’s when it all came out. -Now to my credit, the dude was cheating on me (with his secretary…how creative…oh and she was from Spain, how the eff am I supposed to compete with that?), but it wasn’t the way it appeared. I yelled out, and who is SALLIE MAE?!!! To which I was given a blank stare. “You heard me, who is this Sallie Mae and why are you giving her money each month?”

See…I didn’t have student loans during my first adventures in college, so the name didn’t ring a bell. Besides, who the fuck is named Sallie Mae (no offense to any Sallie Mae’s out there)? That was the day that I learned about Sallie Mae student loans.

But don’t cry for me, Argentina, because I had a plethora of other evidence, so I was able to quickly change the subject.

Oh and by the way, I totally dodged a bullet with that one. -And I really had an issue with his last name, so that relationship wasn’t going far. I wasn’t about to bring a bunch of Bob Omelettes into this world.

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A Dedication

27 Apr

You are still the goofy girl that I adopted during Rush.

My adopted Little, we agreed in a hush.

I will always laugh about the Firemen’s Fair.
A road trip with the girls to the middle of nowhere.

We went on rides, we laughed, and then we stopped to stare…

As you bought 30 goldfish with a toss of your hair.

A carnie met his quota as we giggled in delight

And you carried that bag around for the rest of the night.

 

We are still those silly girls though we are so much stronger

But those bags get heavy now and then, and you can’t do it alone much longer.

 

Let us cook you casseroles made with mystery soup.

Let us wipe your counters that children surely goop.

Let us fill the gaps when you need a little help

Let us know the names of bad guys and we’ll beat them with some kelp (ha!)

 

Dry your eyes, sweet girl, everything will be okay

You are amazing and I’ll always be your PB&J.

 

Listen to Nemo. Just keep swimming.❤

Bust this mother out.

21 Mar

I have recently found myself in the throes of 38ness and the old 20th high school reunion is coming this summer. Nothing will strike more fear in the heart of a woman trying to lose weight. Okay, I’m kidding. Sort of. But I like to have a good reunion planned every six months or so to keep me on my toes. I’m vain that way, so I will fight to fit into those jeans/summer clothes every time. This time is no exception.

So this journey includes the ChaLean Extreme workouts (a cult sensation with my friends), copious amounts of yardwork, walking, drinking more water than wine and not grazing all day.

I’ve only lost about 5-6 pounds so far, but my dedication is just starting to kick in. I’ve got about 20 pounds to go. What really helps is that we’ve had a lot of freak weather lately. 78 degrees in March is not normal for New Hampshire. So it’s like I’ve got a head start on things, because I keep attempting to wear warm weather clothes and they are like, hell no, girl, it’s not happening. -And I’m like, hells naw! You will fit, bitches. You will. Watch me. Oh and these are the clothes that I bought last summer because the ones from the summer before didn’t fit. Slippery slope, people.

So yesterday, I walked a mile with a 3 year old and a stroller. All kinds of hills and such. Sure, I stopped at a neighbor’s house and visited for 2 hours inbetween but I walked there. Then I came home and did almost three hours of yardwork. I can’t move today, and I’m nearly certain that a full body cast is in my future, but I have my eye on the prize. I am going to look so cute in those jeans while I buzz around the reunion in my wheelchair.

Imma bust this mother out, y’all! GTL!

Amber

23 Feb

I woke up this morning to many sweet birthday surprises. Some K-cups that Mark thought I’d like, some princess balloons, since I never get that stuff with all boys…a notepad that says, A Note From Jenny….because when I was little, all Jennifer related things were sold out. You get the picture.

Then I came across a small package. It was one of those mylar balloons. It said, Amber. Except not, because Mark had taken a Sharpie, crossed out Amber on the package, and wrote Jennifer.  I know funny when I see it, and that was funny. Oh and the balloon was deflated. -I need to make this quick because the wine is kicking in.

I called Mark to thank him, and kind of cracked when I got to the balloon. He was like, listen, I was at the Christmas Tree Shop, and you know that place. I looked through every balloon, but they didn’t have your name. Me: Oh so you decided on Amber? (stifling giggles). Him: Yes. Yes, I did. What was I supposed to do? Me: ummm, I mean, I don’t know…either get a blank one or don’t buy one? -But quickly followed by thanks for getting it, because come on…pure awesomeness.

I retold this story while getting my hair done today, and the place was howling.

A little while ago, they served me cake and ice cream. I could hear a commotion in the kitchen. They were blowing up Amber the balloon with a straw. They forgot to cross it out on the actual balloon, which is another gift. Happy Birthday, Amber.  That is all.

Bugaboo Creek and The Butt Dance

27 Jan

Disclaimer: Yes, I have three kids, and most of my posts seem to be about one of them. This is for a couple of reasons. #1: Tom, my 7.5 year old, has reached an age where I try to be careful in what I share, because he deserves privacy. #2: when you’re 4 and 2, your mom kind of has free reign and gets to share your embarrassing stories. #3: The one I talk about the most (Elliott) is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and while he is extremely challenging at times, he is also hysterical. My oldest is also a riot, but again, I don’t feel right sharing a lot about him anymore. -Jackson is two, so I don’t have enough material on him yet. Stay tuned.

So yesterday was our anniversary. We also had preschool registration, an activity for our oldest, and that kind of stuff. Finally, we went to Bugaboo Creek for dinner. This is not my favorite place to eat, but it gets the job done. They have a talking moose and buffalo, and little stuffed creatures move around from time to time. Good stuff for the kids.

Elliott decided what he was having to eat, right down to the ketchup before we’d even entered the building. In his little mind, the restaurant would know this by osmosis and have it ready upon arrival. Obviously, that was not the case. He started chanting about why he didn’t have his food, where was it, he was starving to death, etc. Thankfully, someone came with bread, and I whipped out my handy dandy, HP Touchpad…which I keep stocked with kid apps and games for situations like this. So he was in Angry Birds heaven and sufficiently distracted.

During this time, another family sat across from us and I silently apologized to them. Their kids were grown. But I saw them looking over with fondness, because their boys were teenagers, and they were probably missing the younger years. -Perhaps they’d forgotten that taking small children out to eat is actually quite a process and you need to be on your A game or they will eat you alive.

The food arrived, and Elliott was so excited that he jumped from his seat and started busting a move in the middle of the restaurant. He is generally more reserved in such situations, so not only was it a surprise, I could not keep a straight face. Yes, folks…he was doing the butt dance. Some family and friends have witnessed it. While he does the butt dance, he also beatboxes, and pretends it’s his bum doing it. Oh yes, we’re getting ready for America’s Got Talent, dontcha worry now. Normally he saves this for when he feels nervous and wants to break the ice with a new crowd. When he starts if off, he sounds like James Brown. “Ohhhh, my bum hurts, it needs to dance!” Then he starts doing the dance and beatboxing. It’s impossible to witness this and not pee in your pants. So yeah, I jumped up as quickly as possible in the restaurant and grabbed him, but he had enough time to form a fan club. That family with the teenaged boys nearly choked on their food from laughing. I had to hold him on my lap for the rest of the meal, because that boy was born to butt dance and he had the fever.

Quick story about Jackson. The other day, a friend was watching them, and they all went out to walk her dog. We don’t have a dog and apparently, Jackson doesn’t get out much. As most dogs do…the dog was lifting his leg every two inches. Jackson asked why the dog was doing so much yoga. Priceless.

Have a fantastic day! I won’t tell anyone if you want to try butt dancing and beatboxing. It’s all the rage at my house.

The itchy and scratchy show.

3 Jan

First let me just say, if I am on candid camera, I will choke someone. Do you hear me? This shit has got to stop.

Today began day one of my New Year’s resolution. I’ve had a gym membership at the new YMCA since May, and I’ve only been once. I said, self, you are going to start using that membership and you will get into fierce shape (even mediocre shape would be acceptable). I couldn’t start my resolution on the 1st or 2nd, because I don’t like to waste food, and we had some unfinished business around here. So today is the day.

I spent the weekend mapping out all of the classes that worked with my schedule and would be okay for a beginner. Then Jackson wrote me a multi-colored “letter” all over it, but it’s okay…I won’t let that bother me. I’m calm. I’m cool. Just ignore my persistent eye twitch. I decided that today I’d try Power Yoga at 10:00. I made three days of reservations at the gym’s daycare to hold myself accountable. Jackson seemed really thrilled about the whole thing. He even wanted to bring a (red) backpack. This kid was acting like a superstar. At almost three, he is practically a man, and it’s time for him to see this world. -And the gym daycare turned out to be a cruel world.

So we got there. All the way into the building, I was thinking, this is great. We’re really doing this. I haven’t been to the gym since Tommy was a newborn and he’s 7 now. I had some anxiety to overcome, but we were really doing this. Then we flatlined. Jackson was excited to see the play loft and toys, but when the door opened, he was not having it. No way, no sir. I went in with him to get him settled. It did not occur to me to bring him a 10 course meal, because we were only staying for an hour. Other moms knew better. Next time, I know to pack him a lunchbox..and a water. Okay, so he didn’t want anything to do with the 3 and under room. They offered to let him do 3 and up which is an indoor playground. He thought that sounded great…until the door opened. Then he wanted to go back to the other room. Until the door opened. Just kill me. Ask me if any staff members tried to warm him up? Ask me if anyone tried to engage him at all? That would be a no. As a matter of fact, in the 3+ room, three workers were sitting at a high top table drinking iced coffees. I suppressed my urge to kick them. The ones in the 3 and under were very nice, but it suddenly became clear to me that they had a crisis on their hands. No…it wasn’t the 25 kids with leaky noses or the 5 that wouldn’t stop crying. No, upon closer inspection, it was the small blonde girl who was scratching the hell out of her head. Then it was 3 adults surrounding her and inspecting her head. Then it was her mom and dad with them, also inspecting her head with looks of horror. Oh my God. Yep…lice. And not just a couple of lice. A head full of them and large enough for them to see with the plain eye.

Of course, right before I realized what was happening, I told Jackson that we could get a snack and some juice at the vending machine, and come back to the room together. I decided that if I didn’t get to work out today, it was okay, as long as I could get him acclimated to the daycare. Clearly, no one else was going to help me. He really liked that idea. But that’s when things became crystal clear. A cleaning team arrived and they started removing pillows, etc. Obviously at that point, I knew we had to leave. I told Jackson that we’d still get our snack and try again another day. I mean, I’m a glutton for punishment, but it’s not like I was going to work. That would have been different. I can’t knowingly send my kid back to Lice Town just to do a little yoga. Just…no. For what it’s worth, I felt really bad for the mom. She looked embarrassed, and it’s not like it was her fault. Except I think they were there for a while. But still, these things happen. It’s not like the non-stop scratching of her head offered any clues. She was practically using her hind legs like a cat to get in there. But you know what? There but for the grace of God go I. -I’ve always wanted to say that.

We left with his vending machine treats, along with a host of other parents with wide eyes. He cried the whole way home that he wanted to go to the gym. It’s a fun age. I’ll give them a good 24 hours to fumigate and we’ll be back.

Oh and my gym bag that was on the daycare floor? It’s in the garage, where it will live forever. I’ll be over here with my coffee, scratching my imaginary passengers.

10 Helpful tips for visiting Santa at the mall. A follow-up.

8 Dec

1. If you don’t have a bodyguard, bring pepper spray or a taser. Occupy Mall Santa.
2. If anyone, and I mean anyone tries to show you their wedding pictures, run like hell. That is the sign of a true crazy person. When that plastic photo holder comes out of the wallet, get out of there.
3. Don’t make eye contact with anyone.
4. Wear a hat that says, SHUT UP. I HATE YOU. YES, YOU.
5. Hire a mall cop to guard the entrance, so no one can hijack your visit with Santa.
6. If Santa says something like, “Good luck with that kid, Mom.” It’s okay to pull him by the beard, put him in a headlock, and make him beg for mercy. Stupid bastard.
7. Do not show the slightest sign that you think another child is cute. It’s not worth it. They aren’t cute enough that you want to make small talk with their parents for 10 minutes. No one is that cute.
8. Bring back-up things like a harmonica or an accordian. It’s multi-purpose, because as soon as someone starts talking to you, you can whip it out. Message sent, loud and clear. It’s also likely to clear the line a bit. Plus, kids love that stuff. Put out a hat in case people throw money.
9. If they don’t hand out a candy cane or some type of paper reindeer hat, demand a rain check.
10. If you survive this experience and get a funny picture out of the deal, it was almost worth it.

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