If my man wants a sausage party, by golly I give it to him!

This week C celebrates his 33rd birthday (yeah, that's right. I'm 2 years older than him. I'm one of them cougars. Meow! Okay, so I'm not a cougar, but C assures me that I am a MILF - to which I say, aww thanks, babe! Now why ya be goin' and gettin' all romantic-like?)

Anyway, C has to work all week, so the kids and I threw him a little pre-birthday soiree here at home. Bear and Maggs gave him some clothes (okay, really it was I who gave him the clothes because the children don't have any money and can't drive or anything - they're kinda lazy like that) - you know his usual "Cholo on Easter" attire (I totally stole that from Knocked Up, but this description just suits the hubs and his "look" ever so well). I also made him two of my famous "mixed tapes." I put a lot of effort into these musical endeavours because, while I like to think that my knowledge of most genres of music is above average, my familiarity with rap and country is admittedly fairly limited, and rap is C's music of choice. It's actually pretty funny to be trying to select the best songs for these compilations and to hit the thirty second "preview" on itunes, only to hear "Move bitch!/ Get out the way!" or "You's a fine mother fucker/ won't you back that ass up?" - at which point the kids come running from the next room to inquire if I'm listening to "Daddy's music." You know what they say - it's all fun and games until someone calls social services...

Nevertheless, my CD's are usually a big hit with the hubs because, as my son is fond of saying, "I'm too good." In order to add flavor to the festivities C style, I suggested that we grill some sausages to go along with dinner, as this is one of the hubs' personal favorites. I myself opted for a few pomegranate martinis (damn, I'm hooked on those suckers!).

When it's all said and done, I think that the hubs' birthday party was a success. Just before bed, I paused to give C a tender peck on the cheek and to whisper ever so lovingly, "Happy Birthday, Honey. I really hope that you enjoyed your sausage party." Because I'm considerate like that. If my husband wants a sausage party for his birthday, by golly I let my man have a sausage party! I am such an awesome wife like that.

I hope everyone is getting into the swing of things on this fine Monday morning. If I can ever figure out a way to balance housework and mom duties with my blog addiction, maybe I'll get around to finishing one of the 50 unfinished drafts I have going right now (keeping my fingers crossed). But for now, I'm going to go fold laundry and scrub some toilets. Jealous much?

Blast from the past.

The following is a repost from when I first started writing this blog. I seem to be fighting something off yet again, and I just can't deal (with anything) this week. Don't fret, I have more great stories in the works - just you wait!

Until then, please enjoy the following tale of dorky teen angst, waiter-stalking, and crappy teenage cruise-mobiles. And I'd like to give a shout-out to Girl in the Room for giving me the idea to repost this.

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From December '08

Blast From the Past

This has been a busy week and I'm glad that's it's finally coming to an end - although now it's looking like the weekend might be just as busy. Bear is the "Star Student" in his class next week, and I have to make him a poster, a journal complete with pictures of him hanging out with the class bear "Ted," and snacks to share with his classmates - it's amazing how much work I have now that he's in school. And of course he has a winter play next week, a student-teacher conference, and then there's the holidays to consider...anyway, we're busy.

C is going out of town until Tuesday, and the kids and I will be left to fend for ourselves for the next few days. Bear and Maggs really love their weekends with their dad, so I've come up with lots of fun things for us to do in order to distract them from his absence. Today I took the kiddos for a ride on the carousel that's by our neighborhood Whole Foods, and then we had dinner at Chili's.

I haven't eaten at a Chili's in years, but it seemed like a good idea since it's kid-friendly (my main objective in selecting this particular restaurant), and there's one a couple of blocks from Bear's taekwondo class. For a brief period during my teen years, I frequented Chili's with two close friends on a pretty regular basis. In addition to driving our crappy cars aimlessly around the suburbs (more on my crappy car in a minute), we took great pleasure in eating out as often as our jobs permitted - and I'm not talking about Taco Bell or Burger King (perish the thought!), I'm talking about real restaurants, pretty much every day after school (and no, we did not weigh 300 pounds).

For a while Chili's was the destination of choice, and for a short time we decided that we were in love with one of the waiters that worked at Chili's because we thought he looked like Neil Finn from Crowded House (perhaps not most teen-aged girl's idea of a heart-throb in the early 90's, but to each her own). I'm not sure that he even served us food more than once or twice, but we sure thought he was the cat's pajamas.



Neil Finn. You know you want him.

On the subject of my crappy car: it was a 1984 dark red Ford Thunderbird with paint chipping off of most of the passenger-side door (I always suspected that it had been spray-painted by the previous owner). It had no AC, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if we didn't live in a place that can sometimes reach 120 degrees in the summer; that car felt like an oven in July. This car also made strange noises when it accelerated, which deterred several friends from wanting to ride with me (although if I'm being completely honest, my less than stellar driving skills were more likely the real reason people politely declined a ride in my "cruise-mobile").

Tonight when, coincidentally, I heard "Something So Strong" playing on Chili's piped in musak, it really took me back to those days. I laugh at the absurdity of our crush on the Chili's waiter (sort of a la William H. Macy's crush on the braces-wearing bartender in Magnolia, but in a funny way and, I'd like to think, less pathetic. We thankfully possessed enough self-awareness to recognize how ridiculous we were, and derived great pleasure from making fun of ourselves. I guess some things never change).

I also laugh at our version of teen angst: driving around the 'burbs in crappy cars, cranking "How Soon is Now?," and debating about which restaurant to eat at after school. (As I recently pointed out to A, we probably could have afforded better cars if we didn't spend so much money on restaurants. But as usual, our love of food prevailed). I suppose we could have been using illicit drugs and having unprotected sex (I saved that for my mid twenties. Good times.), but that just wasn't a part of our journey. We may have been dorks (okay, we were defintely dorks), but now that I have my own little girl I hope, no I pray, that someday she'll be a dork too.

I love the smell of piss in the morning.

*Disclaimer: I'm cranky. Real cranky. Read at your own risk!

So I've been sick all weekend. Just a little head cold, nothing to get your underwear in a bunch over. But of course due to my refusal inability to follow everyone around, wiping their asses cleaning up after them and generally waiting on them hand and foot, the house is a shit hole in a general state of disarray. The last time I dared to venture into the main living space of my home, there were dirty kid underwear on the kitchen floor, random half eaten waffles left lying on the carpet, and a sink full of dishes overflowing onto the surrounding counter space. And don't even get me started about what my son did to the toilet last night. Let me just say that the hubs almost had to make an emergency trip to Walmart for Drano, after my plunging prowess failed to rectify the situation (the hubs saved the day with his own mad plunging skilz. It's true though, I'm hella good at plunging. Sorry boys, I'm taken. XOXO).

What's more, this morning I was awakened at the butt crack of dawn by the ever-delightful sound of children bickering (ahhh, music to my ears), at which point I discovered that Maggs, who always occasionally sleeps with me, had also wet the bed. Good times. You know me - I love the smell of piss in the morning.

A post about the most romantic gift that I've ever received. And nipple cream is part of it.

In honor of Valentine's Day, I thought that I would share with you, Dear Readers, the most romantic gift that I have ever received. Perhaps you're wondering what an Existential Waitress considers to be a romantic gift? Flowers? Godiva chocolates? They're both fine and dandy, but no. Diamond earrings? Eh. Been there done that. A pearl necklace (not that kind, you pervs - and HELL no, by the way) and a surprise trip to Cancun? I'm really just not that much of a jewelry person. A Video iPod (back when they were all the rage) with an engraved message on the back? Close. You're getting warmer...

The most romantic gift that I've ever received is


a breast pump. For reals. I'm not kidding.



When my son was born, I was kinda flying by the seat of my pants (my standard M.O. I've reluctantly come to realize, as I fancy myself a planner), and pretty much had no clue about breastfeeding. Basically, I was a mess. We'd acquired all the basic baby gear by the time my son was born, but it had never even occurred to me that I might need a breast pump - that is, until the hubs came home with one and surprised me with it. Mind you, my husband is the kind of guy that plugs his ears and says "I can't hear you!" when I tell him that I have my PERIOD or that I'm MENSTRUATING, and is not the sort of chap that volunteers to buy tampons when he goes to the supermarket. So the gift of a breast pump really meant something to me.

To this day, I still feel all warm and fuzzy inside just imagining him perusing the breastfeeding section of Babies R Us, trying to find the perfect pump to surprise me with. He even purchased accessories like storage bags and nipple cream. It was just too cute and thoughtful. Jewelry and gadgets aside, this really IS in all seriousness what I consider to be my favorite gift of all time - call me crazy (because I know you want to). It's memories like this that remind that there is something redeeming about C when he's on my shit list for being an inconsiderate jack-ass. Later this week I'll post about the delicious dinner the hubs cooked for me on Super Bowl Sunday. I'm liking him more and more by the minute. (C may be many things, but he's definitely not dumb; he knows I'm less likely to kick him to the curb if he plies me with tasty fixin's).

Before I get ahead of myself though, perhaps I should give mention to the 24 Hour Rule (which is kinda like knocking on wood for good luck). Because that shit will come back to bite you in the ass. Every. Single. Time.

I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

Maggie just approached me, begging with much excitement and enthusiasm, for something she just saw on TV called "Bumpits." She continued to inform me that "they're only $9.99 plus process and handling, and if you buy one, you get one free!"

























The hubs seemed to be concerned by her request for Bumpits, as if he were assuming that naturally I would rush to take advantage of the twofer. However I would never purchase Bumpits for my daughter for these reasons alone:

At best she might look like this





And at worst she might look like this




Yeah, I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

Yeah, that's right. I'm doing a "Not Me" Monday post and it's Tuesday. Ya wanna make somethin' of it?

Yesterday after reading a "Not Me" Monday post over at Good Girl Gone Redneck, I decided to grab the button and write one of these posts myself. And believe me, after the Monday I had yesterday, I could use a little venting. Unfortunately, due to some unforeseen circumstances which I will go into in a moment, I was unable to finish writing said post before Monday was long gone. Anyway, here it is.

Yesterday morning, it wasn't me who hit the snooze button until the very last possible second before I had to roll out of bed and take my son to school in my pajamas and Uggs. I mean, driving around in your pajamas is embarrassing - who would do something like that?

Because I hit the snooze button so many times, it was definitely not I who provided breakfast courtesy of the Starbuck's drive-thru on the way to school. And I did not order a venti quad shot latte with whole milk for myself because that is way too much espresso, and whole milk is full of saturated fat. I adore abhor saturated fat.

It wasn't me that allowed my son to go to school with a few random stray hairs protruding from around his ears after my husband cut his hair at home. Because we believe in nothing but the best for our munchkins and always get our children expensive, professional haircuts. And I would never tell my son "I guess you'll have to figure it out for yourself then" when he threw a temper tantrum because I merely suggested that I quickly trim the aforementioned hairs.

It wasn't me that decided that Throwback Pepsi is an excellent meal replacement plan. Because Throwback Pepsi isn't wholesome or organic or any of that jazz, so I would never drink it to excess.

It wasn't me who discovered that her son has been peeing in the bathroom trash can on purpose. That is disgusting and no child of mine would do something like that.

It wasn't me that almost picked my computer up and threw it through a window yesterday afternoon because it was moving at a snail's pace. Not me, because I am of excellent temperament, and patience is one of strong points.

It wasn't me that waited until I was in excruciating pain and couldn't hear out of one ear due to the pressure of my impacted wisdom teeth to finally make a dentist appointment. Dentists are my friends and they would never do anything that would hurt me. I'm not afraid one bit to be "put under" so that they can rip my impacted wisdom teeth right out of my jaw. In fact, I'm sure they'll use special dental wizardry to perform this procedure, and rainbows and unicorns will abound.

It wasn't me that caught my kids sneaking chicken nuggets (because I absolutely never allow my kids to eat chicken nuggets) into my room where they deposited them directly onto the carpet (as opposed to a plate or a bowl or something) so that they could continue playing while they ate. (Ironically, they were doing a yoga for kids DVD when I discovered the chicken nuggets on the carpet. Can you spell c-o-n-t-r-a-d-i-c-t-i-o-n? That's like when I eat jarred cheese substance with organic corn chips).

It was not me who attempted to embarrass her husband at dinner last night by doing enthusiastic fist pumps to "Round and Round" by Rat and "I Can't Drive Fifty-Five" by Sammy Hagar at the local pizza joint. I would never do something so crude and insensitive because I'm respectful and wifely and shit.

Finally, it was definitely not me who discovered that my car keys were missing right as I was supposed to be leaving to pick my son up from school yesterday afternoon. It was certainly not I that blamed my husband, insisting that it was he who lost the keys. It was also not me who found the keys hours later in the trash can, only after my husband insisted that I look there - not that I would have minded anyway because digging through trash is good times. And I would never secretly suspect that angry spirits threw my keys in the trash (thank you, Paranormal State), because it was definitely not me that absent-mindedly tossed them in the kitchen trash yesterday morning.*

I blame the car keys fiasco for the lateness of this post. It kinda took a long time to find them (mofos. I still believe that angry spirits were involved and that by watching a Paranormal State marathon over the weekend, I opened a portal to the spirit world. I think Ryan and his team of paranormal investigators would concur). Anyway, I hope your Monday was better than mine.

*The hubs happened to be right next door to my son's school just then and was able to save the day by picking him up for me. Show off.