Friday, February 26, 2010

Child Birth. According to Emmi.

And by "That sounds simple," I mean, "You are scaring me, and I am glad I can never have more children."

Friday, February 19, 2010

Tiger Woods and Sparkle Men

I don't get it. Why the hell is Tiger Woods apologizing breaking news? Fine, fine. You owe your wife an apology. You possibly owe your kids and your family one, too. But perhaps, you don't need to do that via my television. I do, however, really enjoy laughing at all of the commentary such as, "Women will never be able to forgive him." Why? What did he do to you? I hate to break this to you, maybe I should hold a press conference, lots of people cheat. Everyday. Sometimes it ends with your wife chasing you down with a golf club. I still wonder how that happened. Did she plan that lovely bit of irony? Or does he love golf that much that there are clubs just everywhere at her disposal just waiting for a moment like such? Other times it ends up with hubs shooting boyfriend in my driveway. No, No. Not my hubs. That was the crazies before us who now live around the corner. In any case, get off my TV. I have other things to watch.

Like men in sparkles.

Men in sparkles that greatly disturb my daughter. Men in sparkles and feathers and tights that Jill claims is "just not right." Even after I told her, some men love sparkles. And feathers. And even tights. She sadly shook her head and said, "They needed a daddy to show them how to not wear sparkles."

Proving after all that gayness really does stem from Daddy issues.

PS I don't believe that at all. I think it is a genetic thing. Or hormonal. Or whatnot. Don't send me hate mail.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Since I don't have to count the calories from lunch, can I have truffles for a snack?

I have never considered myself a runner, even though I used to several miles a day. And by several, I mean about five. But I don't like running. It doesn't make me happy. It doesn't clear my head. In fact, I pretty much spend the whole time thinking, "I fucking hate this. I fucking hate this. I FUCKING HATE THIS." But then I get done, and I have the skinnies. And I don't hate the skinnies. So I used to run. A lot. Sometimes outside, if the weather was absolutely perfect and my knee felt up to it. But often on a treadmill, because running outside makes my knee swell to the size of a grapefruit. I have never been fond of grapefruit. Especially on my knee.

When we moved, I gave up my gym membership. No big deal. With the purchase of our house came a fancy pants country club membership along with a sports club. Except, long story short that is an entirely different story that I am not going to tell right now because it will make me scream, we won't have that gym membership for about two more weeks. That means six months without a gym membership. In winter. When I won't run outside. Because I don't do cold.

But today the weather was perfect. No excuse perfect. And the skinny jeans were getting way too tight. I dug my running shoes out of my closet. Took the tag off the brand new running shirts I bought SIX months ago. Loaded my running mix back on my ipod. And set off, determined to make it two miles. Just go easy.

The half mile point put me just outside of our section and even with the guard shack where a line of cars sat waiting to enter the neighborhood. Which is just about where I threw up.

The first time.

Whatever. That's just how you get the skinnies faster.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

The post where I talk about oversensitive whiney babies AND open myself up to a lot of criticism.

Plus two posts in one day. It's like crazy times around here.
Even thought it is still ice cube cold around here, February never fails to be the start of our busy season. Which means, Kenny comes out of his semi-retirement and actually works, leaving me to fend for myself everyday until about 7. I know. How do I ever survive? With homework and crazy children, I never have time to cook a decent dinner. Which is why I became friends with my crock pot. Dinner is just magically ready at dinner time. While I chopped green bell peppers and onions for a green chile verde chicken dish, I watched The View, a show I try not to watch because it never fails to piss me off.

Just like today.

Small mention was made of two things. One a four-year-old boy with leg braces who was made to take them off to go through airport security. The other an episode of Family Guy that depicted a woman with Downe Syndrome. And everyone was claiming injustice.

Except? I highly disagree. I think nothing wrong happened in either situation. Other than people looking for a reason to be mad. Let me explain, before you think I am a meanie and hate unicorns, too.

My daughter is deaf. Deaf. As in, can not hear. Profoundly deaf. That's an actually medical term, look it up if you wish. At two she received her first cochlear implant, a device implanted into her skull and inner ear that long story short allows her to hear ONLY in conjunction with an outer processor worn similarly to a hearing aid. It is way more complicated than that, but the point of my story is not cochlear implant education. It is that my kid has a dissablility and a hunk of wires and plastic and metal in her head that tends to cause some issues with airport security at times.
In order to fly, I carry a medical card for Emmi. The past few trips to the airport, we made Emmi present the card herself as we are teaching her what she should do, because we know that she may require special accommodation. Special accommodation that is our job to ask for and be educated about, not the job of some hourly employee told to adhere to strict set of guidelines. Prior to travelling with Emmi, I contacted our doctor, the implant manufacturer, and the airport to determine what exactly we should do going through security and during the flight, because it is my job as the parent of a special needs child to be prepared. We were educated on the exact process, and were prepared that we may need to request a hand search for Emmi should she set off the metal detectors. I wonder, did the parents of this little boy request a hand search? Perhaps. Perhaps this wasn't handled in the best possible way by the airport security. I wasn't there. But I do highly doubt that anyone intended to harm or belittle a four-year-old disabled child.
Nor do I think Family Guy was belittling people with Down Syndrome. The clip I saw seemed to poke more fun at people's avoidance of talking about disabilities in general. The woman told the man to ask her things about herself. And he outright avoided the obvious. That was the funny part. Not that she had a disability, but that no one will talk about it. The woman portrayed was assertive. She was witty. In no way was her personality, demeanor or intellect being attacked. Am I the only one that go the point of that? Maybe it comes from having a child with a disability. Try being in the room when someone says, "Ohhh what do you have on that is flashing, sweety?!" And you point out the flashing light is not actually a toy, but a medical device. Do they ask about it? Do they seem curious how it works? Do they want to know why it blinks? Hell no. They act like they never asked the question in the first place. Like hell did they mention that elephant in the room. Like hell.
I just have no clue when we as a society got so hell bent on being pissed off about everything? And why do we think that everyone has to be accommodated? Hell, while we are at it, perfume and bright lights give me migraines. I am going to ask that everyone stop wearing perfume and dim their lights. And if you could speak in a whisper voice around me that would be nice. However, you will need to speak up and enunciate when my child is in the room, because she is DEAF. Also, she doesn't like to eat much other than marshmallows due to her metabolic disorder. I don't want her to feel bad for this. Like she is some marshmallow eating freak. Please, send all of your children to school with only marshmallows. And, could you go buy them all hearing aids to wear around, so my kid doesn't look too different. But whatever you do, do not tell her she is deaf. That would be nice.
Except it is ridiculous. And we all know it.

It was a sad day for the Internets and the Cable.

We live in a small town about forty-five minutes outside of Houston. The official population less than five hundred. We have a McDonalds and a Walmart. And we willingly moved here, because I was going to go crazy if one more teenager walked by me with their pants around their knees acting like it was cool to be ghetto when you were being raised in an upper middle class gated community. Being that I choose to move, I am sure I have no right to complain about anything. And really I have very few complaints. Except our lack of choices of cable and internet companies. And by lack of choices, I mean there is exactly one company to use. One company that sucks ass. With a dvr capable of recording two shows at a time AND YOU HAVE TO BE WATCHING ONE OF THEM.

Mid afternoon, there was a power surge. I reset all the clocks. Restarted the computers, and waited for my glorious internet access to come back. Except nothing happened. No signal. I did the whole unplug the router, blow on the cord the shit works sometimes and you know it, and wait. Nothing. Finally after a few hours I conceded that it was coming back on it's own. I needed to call the internet/cable company.

It was in that moment that it dawned on me. No working phone. Vonage phone lines and a cell that runs on wi-fi inside the house thanks to our tech shield roof. I would have to go stand outside in the cold to call. But I had blogs to read. And the book of face to check. I made the call. In the cold.

Then I went back inside to watch TV and wait until tomorrow for a tech to come fix my sad little internets. I made it about halfway across the living room, before the cable went out in front of my very eyes. Shit. Should I call back? Could the same tech take care of my internet and cable?

I decided not to chance it, so I called back.

"Ma'am, I am going to send a signal to your box, could you tell me when the box shuts off?"

"I can't walk in the house on my cell phone, because my cell phone will loose signal. So I can't see the box. I can set the phone down, and come back to tell you."

"Ma'am, I just need you to stay on the line, and tell me when it shuts..."

"I can't take my phone in the house, so you have two choices. I can set it down, and come back when it shuts off. Or I can stand here and talk to you, and not see the box at all."

"If you could just stay on the line with me while looking at the box."

"What about 'I can't take me phone inside, because it will loose signal' is confusing you?"

"Okay then sinc you can't see the box, have you checked that your TV is on the right input?"

"The cable went off right before my eyes. I know there was a shooting at my house, and my husband and I debate the existence of a ghost, but the ghost has not shown the ability to fuck with the TV. Given the fact that my internet is out also, I am going to take a chance and say it is not my TV input. Now, do you still want me to check to see if the box shut off?"

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Sometimes the crazies tell me to do things.

One day, I decided my house had to be painted. Yellow.

Although, really I didn't think it would be quite so yellow.

But then I sat and thought and looked at the yellow. And I started to hate the yellow. "Yellow sucks," said the crazies in my head. And the crazies told me that the yellow was actually the cause of all of my problems. If I didn't get rid of the yellow right that minute, I would never be happy again.
Now, the crazies are happy. The crazies apparently like Ralph Lauren Regent Metallics in Lush Brown and Torch much better than Behr Fortune Cookie.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

With a spray tan, I look just like a girl I went to high school with. Weird.

Everybody has been playing the what celebrity do you look like game. But, I fear I am not Asian enough to play along. It would be revealed exactly how un-Asian I am. There for, I skipped that. I will not deny my Italian heritage. I will embrace it. Even though the only words I know in Italian are curse words. And I learned those from my fancy private school friends, not even my little Italian grandpa. One my question my Italianess now, given my new last name and country club membership. But somewhere under that, I am really just a girl from the Jersey Shore.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The news teaches me things. Things like how to make sexy times sexier.

Valentine's Day is right around the corner. Traditionally, Kenny and I don't really celebrate such. We use it as an excuse to order take-out. Sometimes, there are a few gifts exchanged if we happen to need something at the time. Last year, I made cute little tags that spelled out "I Love you!" and attached each one to a beer. Yeah. Beer. Kenny got beer last year. With pink ribbons affixed. And I made him drink them with the pink ribbons still attached. But mostly, we ignore the day. Romantic, right?

Today, Kenny and I drug our work out to the kitchen table, so we could spread out. We had a system. Fold invoice, stuff invoice, lick envelope, pass. Stamp envelope, add return label, move to outbox. Fold, stuff, lick. We spend so much sexy times together. Who needs Valentine's Day? While we worked, the news droned on in the background.

News worthy topics? How to bring the sexy back into your marriage in time for Valentine's Day.

Let me summarize:

1. Get away from the kids and neighbors. Yes. Neighbors. Take your wife to a hotel for a night. A hotel such as Motel 6. I completely see the validity of this one. Our neighbors are constantly keeping us from doing the sexy times with her looking in our window all the damn time. Plus, nothin' says hourly lovin' like Motel 6.
2. Kiss in the elevator. I missed the part about whether or not this should be done in the elevator at the Motel 6. Last Motel 6 I saw didn't even have an elevator. Just stairs. I give you permission to do it in the stairwell.

3. Dress like sexiness. I am guess because you are going to Motel 6 to make out in the stairwell that they meant dress like a hooker.

And to think all I asked for was chinese take out from Bing's and all Kenny is getting is a golf cart which is really a present to me. With pink ribbons.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Mickey Mouse. Rainbows. Only unicorns would have made this better.

Last year, when Kenny and I got to register for all those fun presents wedding registry is like extended Christmas I found the perfect bedding. But sads. I didn't get to register for it. For one, the whole set cost over 3 grand. I have no "for two". That's it. That shit was just expensive. But pretty. Oh so pretty.

I imagined it with mirrored side tables, a tufted white velvet headboard, Ralph Lauren metallic paint in Silver Plated coupled with Disney paint in Mickey's Shadow stop laughing that shit is the best grey paint EVER, a white dresser, black velvet curtains, and finally a home for my crystal Tiffany candlesticks.

Every few weeks, I checked the website for a sale. Then. Finally. Sunshine. Rainbows! A SALE! My doctor ordered me to get a new mattress, so I would quit showing up in his office hitting him up for pain pills because my shoulder hurts so bad and I refuse to have surgery and our mattress is forever old. So with a sale, and a need for new bedding for our new mattress, it was a totally justified purchase. I ordered that shit with a quickness. All of it except the filler for the duvet. Because I am picky. My blanket has to have to right weight to it. Just right. Perfect right.

And wouldn't you know it, when I showed up at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, they had sensors over the zippers. I couldn't feel the fluff. How could I know it was right? How? And don't dare expect any of the employees in that store to actually help you by doing any work. Who was I to ask to actually be able to touch and feel the products before I buy them and drive thirty minutes back to my house? I am so demanding.

So Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We are not friends. Not at all. Your employees suck ass. I spent my money elsewhere. My duvet is the perfect weight no thanks to you.

Now I just need to convince my husband that these are also a necessity.