Thursday, July 30, 2009

I've Been Thinking About You...But I've Been Busy...Please Don't Forget Me...I Would Miss You...And I Promise I'll Write...

Sorry there have been no posts since Monday. I have been a busy bee...toiling away at work...ah the life of a retail "design" associate. But I just wanted to let everyone know that I should be back again next week (hopefully less busy) with more. I hope that is a good thing.
Love to all,

Monday, July 27, 2009

Romeo...Romeo...Please Come Carry A Swan...

Once Upon A Time...I was in love with Leonardo DiCaprio. (please to be stifling your He was "IT' for me. I watched him "grow" through "Growing Pains". I applauded him in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" I drooled over him in "Romeo and Juliet". He was my Romeo...Claire Danes sucked it as Juliet.
I wanted to take my hand and brush that shaggy hair from his eyes. I wanted him to call to me on my balcony under a glowing moon and starry sky. I dreamed of him...with a swan slung over his shoulders...beautiful boy...beautiful bird. So I drew him in my diary...

My Leo...
With a swan...
Slung over his shoulders...
(cuz' that's what teenage girls draw...and swans are cool?)

Something changed. My love for Leo faded as most teenage crushes do. I watched him go through the world in the limelight...and I was happy that he was happy. It wasn't was me. I wasn't ready for stardom, or commitment...or the jealousy I felt because of all of the other girls. So it ended. I grew up.

I did find love again...many times. There was Johnny and Brad...Keanu and Ben...Christian and Hugh. But it was never the same. I didn't see them under my balcony...I didn't hear them call my name...I didn't draw them in my diary...they were not worthy of a swan.

Then...I met Brendan. (collective sigh heard now) He was a bartender with sideburns, a skinny poofy haired vision in an Applebee's uniform. He was the Romeo to my Juliet...the Jack to my Rose...the perfect set of shoulders to drape a beautiful and dreamy swan.

We may not be movie material. We are a perfectly dorky pair. He may not write me sonnets, or fly me on a boat bow...but he'll always be my Brendan...and he'll always have a place in my diary...exclusively...with a swan.

(P.S. Please to not be peeing on it Bren)

That's all for now,

Friday, July 24, 2009

Jazzercise....Find It...Feel It...Do It...

I don't go to the gym. I don't run unless someone is chasing me. The few times I have glimpsed the inside of a sweat salon...I have taken up residence on the rowing machine...closed my eyes and felt the breeze blow me as I floated on a gondola through the canals of Venice. During this "exercise" there is a guy in a stripey shirt singing Italian love songs and pushing us along at a snail's pace. Needless to say...I sit in the gondola...I do not row.

BUT....and that's a big big BUT...if this were the kind of class they were givin' at the gym...I'd be there in a heartbeat....and I'd lose a ton of weight laughin' my ass off (sitting in the back...propped against a wall).

Please watch this...the whole way's priceless. This is the lady who invented Jazzercise. She is a gem in white leggings with a tan to boot. I love her. I love her and her...freaky twin sidekicks.

...I pirated this video from Petuniaface. My blog stalks her blog....Thanks Susannah!...

Have a great weekend!!!

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Dad...I Promise To Never Text You About My "1st Time"...

There is a phenomenon out there called "texting" that I just don't understand. It baffles me. Am I that far "out" of things that I am now 30 years old and...gulp...super "uncool"?

Ok, I can admit it...I have never been "cool", but I have always understood or at least admired everything that was indeed "cool". I participated in the whole pegging of the jeans thing. I owned the Victoria's Secret satin bra with no boobs to fill it. I sprayed my hair with AquaNet and smacked my lips with Bonnie Bell. I got it...but I don't now.

Remember pagers? I got pagers...I didn't have one...but I got them. Hello, call me are needed. There weren't cell phones of course this was communication at its finest...perfectly acceptable. Now we text, we twitter, we blackberry or whatever, we facebook, we blog. We have bastardized the English language...we have perverted simple communication skills...we have warped our connection to each other. I am so far outta the game.

I just got my first cell phone last year. I don't even know my own phone number. I never turn it on and nobody can get ahold of me. It is for emergencies...and playing Tetris while I'm on the toilet. I don't know how to "text". I don't get why I should be "texting" anyway. Can't I just call and leave a message or simply phone say, "hello?" I guess I now understand how my parents feel about e-mail. My texting is like my father's chicken peck typing skills...slow, muddled, and with complete lack of interest. How is texting easier than leaving a message? I have to press the numbers a billion times to say...WTF! This is not convenience.

If you need to tell me something...please don't text me. You can call and leave a message...I promise I won't pick phone isn't even on...there is no chance of your having to hear my voice, or actually hold a conversation...I guarantee it. You can e-mail me too...I do check those (need a good price on a penis enlarger or some Xanax???) You can "snail mail" me. I still love getting a real live letter as much as when I was 5 years old.

We can plan and plot and bicker all without cramping our thumbs
...but maybe not our "style"...

That's all for now,

Monday, July 20, 2009


Why is it...that every time I drag myself to the mall (Brendan in tow) to buy clothes (which I desperately need) I can't find anything that I like, or that fits, or in my size? Are the mall gods playing a cruel cruel joke on me?

I need pants for work. I am down to 2 pair (which I wear everyday) and one pair is held together at the hem with staples...yes staples (and have been now for a year). The other pair is stained around the ankle from walking through the constant mud puddles and last winter's sludge. I am a fashion don't. Ever heard of a "fashion plate" ? Well...I am a fashion spatula, and any modicum of chicness drips right through the slats. Does someone want to nominate me for "What Not To Wear"? Puhlease?

And what is up with all of the high waisted trousers? I don't need pants to cover my nips....I need them to cover my ass. (It's flat but it's mine, and you don't need to see it) So this season the pants are high waisted...and the length is too long (I just don't wear heels). But every season seems to contain the pants with floppy front. You know, women's pants that look and feel like there's room for some balls? I don't have balls. you have any balls? If I had balls...I would buy these pants...but I don't have WTF do I do now? The girls at work taught me a new word...FUPA. For those of you not in the know...this means Fat Upper P*ssy Area. FUPA. I guess the pants designed for ball baggage are really meant for FUPA's??? This is all too they make FUPA underwear and bathing suits too? Have I been in the dark here? When should I expect my UPA to become a FUPA...and is it assured that it really will?

Fashion and FUPAs...F*CK!!!! Just give me a paper sack now...cuz' it's all goin' down hill from here.

That's all for now,

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Braveheart My Ass...Try Brave Wife...

Brendan is watching Braveheart again...AGAIN. Don't get me's a great movie and all...epic...really...but AGAIN???

There are movies that he watches incessantly...over and over...and over.

Die Hard ( #1 through Never Gonna Die...I think that is #64)
Lethal Weapon ( If Mel Gibson goes agro on my screen one more time...)
Old School (Yeah it was funny...the 1st ten times)
Indiana Jones ( And The Temple Of Suck) oooohh...he might divorce me for that one !!!
U5279HQ (or has Weird Al in it...nuff said)
Yeah, they're all good movies...except the Weird Al one (I never actually sat through that...just can't do it...). But men in general ever get they have to do everything til the point of blacking out? I watched Twilight like 30 times when it came out. That's different. I was practicing for the slight possibility that there may be a quiz later on...and this kind of thing really matters in the grander scheme of things.

I don't make Brendan watch The Color Purple (it has Oprah at her finest). He doesn't sit through repetitive screenings of Beaches (or my assured tears).
7 Brides for 7 Brothers...anyone...anyone? (Great friggin' movie...I I only made him watch Pride and Prejudice a couple dozen times...and again...that was for practical purposes. He needed to bone up on his...uh...ballroom etiquette...yeah...and his piano forte. (He's coming along quite nicely)

So...our movie preferences are our taste in food, and music, and genital scratching habits. long as he keeps me company through the important things (like Project Runway and So You Think You Can Dance) I will sit by his side through yet another painful 175 minute Mel Gibson flick with a big and loving and very very brave....HEART.

That's All For Now,

Puddle Of UGH...

Where are the hot sticky days of summer...the real ones...the ones where the sun burns your eyelids while you count the birds in a cloudless sky? Where are the roadside lemonade stands where children peddle sugary sweetness for a dime? Where are the watermelon seeds that litter the front steps...little landmines spit from a sloppy smile? Where are the freckles and tan lines from a day spent lazy on the sand? Where is the sun...the golden one...the incandescent light?

It has been raining....more to come. It doesn't doesn't doesn't cleanse. It is just rain and thunder and wet.

Days are spent in dry blowing air...inside...and they trickle by one. The summer is passing, the rain keeps falling, and the sun's not showing.

Maybe there will be a sun storm tomorrow...flashes of lightning gold...thundering silent warmth and dripping metallic rays.
But no...tomorrow it will rain...again. No sandy sticky chin. I will work in a stuffy another book and count the days of gray and cloudy skies.

That's all for now,

...ok, not my most uplifting post...but damn it...when it stops raining, I'll write a friggin' rainbow or something. Let's just all do a collective zenish OHM of prayer for sun, and if it more depressing posts of UGH.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

You Were Meant For Me...And I Was Meant For You...

My mother in-law has a bowl of yellowed tattered photographs. I love this bowl. I love looking through it and seeing the people now considered my family when I didn't know them like I do today.

I see a woman who lavished her children with love...dressing in costumes, Friday night camp outs in the living room, reptiles in the tub.
I see a clan of brothers dressed in knee socks, hair cut in the shape of a bowl, those polo shirts with the alligator patch on the shoulder.

I see my husband as a baby...a big headed little wide eyed peach. When I rummage farther in the bowl I see my Brendan growing. A little lion cub on Halloween, a superhero on a Tuesday, a cowboy any day of the week.

I see a little boy, so intensely concentrating on his Lego's, the golden glow from a desk lamp highlighting his white blond hair.

For me, there are albums of old pictures. I love to see the Polaroids, the flimsy half blurry pictures of times I can't bring back...giggles I can't I forgot how to play.

My sister and I are there swimming daily in Lake Champlain, me with a pig nose made by chubby fingers out of pink construction paper-my hair a ratty tangled mess. I see me on the only pony I've ever owned...the kind made of plastic and springs...and his name was Blackie...he rocked me gently, but I ran him hard. Oh, and me in my Underoos...I loved my Underoos...I was Wonderwoman...I was Barbie.

I can see myself change through those photos...a little different with each passing year.

I think of how far Brendan and I have come from then til now. There is still a cowboy hat (no,'s an Indiana Jones hat) and it he wears it every Halloween. Thankfully the knee socks and bowl haircut have left us, now replaced by a responsible suit and tie, and salt & pepper hair-growing more salty every day. Superhero underwear has been traded for a ridiculous pair of Winnie the Poo boxers...I'm still trying to hide them where he can't find them.

There is still that intensity when he concentrates. I love that look. It shows his passion for anything. It's why I married him.

Walgreen's (yes...I said Walgreen's) cotton undies are less "chic" than my beloved Underoos but much more cost efficient in the convenient 3 pack available for $6.99. I still believe I am Wonderwoman...Barbie can suck it (that anorexic, big-boobed bitch). The pig nose has been replaced by "my" nose...I'm still deciding which is better suited to my face. beloved Blackie...I don't remember what ever happened to him. Maybe we sold him to a farm where he could run free and rock wild and have little plastic Blackie babies...maybe he's in Barbie's dog food. I miss ya buddy.

I think that I have changed more than Brendan...I somehow lost something on my way up til now. He still has his childlike can't imagine where mine went. But I like to "imagine" me not doing the dishes tonight!

Those photos that our parents took remind us...of how we used to be..what we were...who we were...that we were loved. I love looking at those pictures...and seeing us today. The same but different. I imagine that somehow we were meant for each other...the little us...cowboy and cowgirl...lion cub and piglet...a stupid haircut and a ratty all grown up and Indiana Jones loving Husband and the Barbie hating Wife...

That's all for now,


Thursday, July 9, 2009

Taking a Vaca Bitches!!!!

My parents are coming to town....I need to clean my house. I need a maid! Oh....Brendan.....(sung in a sing songy come hither voice)
I just cleaned my entire kitchen floor on my hands and sparkles...oh yes it sparkles.
So I am taking a small break from da blog. I will be posting again next week...ya'll come back now...ya hear?


P.S. I have Conjunctivitis, cramps, and a crabby husband...please pray for me or do an anti-rain dance or something in my honor....I'm gonna need it.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

SUPERSIZE !!!!!! quack quack

We used to bed, Brendan and I. We used to spoon. I 'spose it's called a full size bed..when really there's just no f*ckin' room.

Brendan flails...Brendan moans...he punches, kicks, and ends up mummified in sheet. The dreams he must be having...the wedgies he must be getting. The bruises I have suffered (and not the kinky kind)

Then there are the cats. My little "men" in fur pajamas. Gus (purrrrr) and Max (lick lick lick). They take up...well any flippin' part of the bed they want. Obviously! On my chest, behind my knees, on my feet, or sidled up to my side. Little personal feet early morning (or anytime they want to ) wake up call.

It was a constant Battle of the Bed. I lost. I hugged the edge, ate sides of cat hair as a bed time snack....I complained...A LOT...we got a KING!!!!!

The theory behind the King size bed was perfectly logical. More room for Brendan...more room for me...the leftovers for Max and Gus. Ha Ha Ha. Someone didn't get the memo (hint: Brendan, Max, and Gus).

There is now a chasm of King between Brendan and me. I can make sheet angels and still not touch him. Though...he still does he nighttime Hokey Pokey...and ends up with a dazzling boxer filled crack. I miss those first few minutes when he held me.

Gus and cuddle man candy men...they still smother my uneasy slumber and cat hair coat my tongue. I just can't bear to kick them out. They love me...they really love me...when I feed them.

We used to cuddle, we used to spoon. Then we got a KING size bed...and though I am less bruised and battered...I miss the tangled mess of my "family" the bed with no f*ckin' room.

That's all for now,

Monday, July 6, 2009

Shits Ahoy!

I'll never forget the day my mother fished my shit out of Lake Champlain. I can't really say it any less candidly. It's what she did...and I'll never forget it.

We were on the and her...her and me. I told her I had to go to the bathroom. And though there was a beach house mother...busy having relations with the sun...told me to "just go in the water."

So I "just went in the water". And out to sea it went...well actually...out to lake.

I was pretty proud of myself. I walked back up to my mother on the beach, plopped myself in the sand and giggled as I watched my turd-berg bob and drift, steamy and perfect.

My mother wondered what I was giggling about...I pointed to my isle of perfection...she froze in horror...and proceeded to dive right in.

I watched her dump her iced tea, and wade into the crystal waveless depths...cup in hand...then scoop and cover.
My fun was mother so ashamed. I'll never forget that day...the day my shit submarine got shot down.

Today, I picture that same situation. What would he do if our child (someday) took a dump in the lake? Without a doubt...there's no question...he would have stuck a flag in it and screamed, " LAND HO !!!". He would be so proud. 'Cause that's just Bren...and guys are different. Brendan pees on dead fish on his way home from work...and why..."because you just have to pee on a dead fish!", is all he answers. I'm not talking about when he was 5
(he peed on meatloaf when he was 5)
(oh and his brother)
(on purpose)
(and told him he wet his bed)
(even though the wet spot was up by his head)
...he just peed on the dead fish last week, and probably yesterday. And he'll do it again tomorrow...if the dead fish is still there...or he'll find a live one that will challenge his ability and aim.

God I love my husband. God is he weird. Please don't let us have turd-berg producing children...please let them hold it in...I just don't think I could handle it if my kid dropped a deuce in the lake...and then my husband peed on it...

Thanks Mom, for fishing out my shit...(sh)it really means a lot.

That's all for now,

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Lost In Translation

We went to our favorite little Thai restuarant last night for, Brendan and his mom Jan. Thai food = yummy. Every time we go...we giggle like idiots over the names of the dishes on the menu. Somehow we just can't decide which to order???

1. Phucket Fried Rice (Phucket! I'd like the Fried Rice)

2. Prik Khing Chicken (Well, if the chicken is the Khing of Priks...I'm havin' me some of that!)

or a healthier choice...
3. Larb Salad (I'll have the salad please...hold the LARB)

So ofcourse me with my sick sense of humor thought I'd blog about it. Here are some funny asian signs that a little "lost in translation". Enjoy!

"Civilized Urinating" Is there really any other way?

You can use em'...just don't embezzle em'

Perhaps this says it all...

My skin is feeling a little parched...I think I'll "TRY YES TO CARROTS"

This one is my favorite!!!

I'm glad Brendan takes the train to work everyday!

Bus = Luggage Gangsters

Train = Plethora of Luggage

That's all for now,