Are 2 really enough?

Lately, I've been having this overwhelming feeling, more than an urge, more like a longing, to have another baby. Am I completely insane? Probably, but that's no surprise. I don't know what it is, I don't know if it's because it seems like everyone is either pregnant or just had a baby, or if it's just the deafening ticking of my biological clock that I hear. It seems like every time I turn around I just keep getting older, and it's pissing me off. I almost had a breakdown this morning when I was doing my hair. Usually, anytime I see a gray hair, I yank it out by the roots in an act of aggression/rage/despair. This morning I start yanking hairs out, and I had at least 12 before I stopped counting. I quickly turned off the bathroom light and finished getting ready in the dark. The wrinkle between my eyebrows is getting deeper by the day, and I swear I almost slipped into a conversation about bunions with a lady at the grocery store. I think it's just this overwhelming feeling that all the lady parts are drying up and if I wait too much longer, I'll forever miss my chance to have another kid.

It seems like I go through this every few years, but this is really as bad as it's ever been. It's a good thing that last time I went through this (and finally came to my senses), I decided I should go with an IUD as birth control just in case. Poor birth control is actually how I got pregnant in the first place. I was taking the pill and got an ear infection and was prescribed amoxicillin. Just a fun fact in case you didn't know, amoxicillin makes the pill less effective. There's apparently a warning on both the amoxicillin bottle and the pills, but who reads those warnings anyway, they're always just a bunch of legal crap that isn't even remotely important. Yeah, turns out, it is kind of important. So I didn't get 1 surprise, but 2. And that's another thing, I read somewhere that women who have twins naturally (without any fertility treatments) are more likely to have multiples again. That could be enough to make me be committed indefinitely. Good Lord, once was enough. Double the formula, double the diapers, two babies crying at once...ugh, it was horrible. There were so many days that I spent the day crying, right along with them. Don't ever fall for it when someone says, oh, twins? Yeah, I know how that is. My kids are a year apart. Yeah, no you don't know how that is. It's not even remotely the same. You have to do everything...at the SAME TIME. So to even take a chance at doing that again...I dunno. Maybe I don't want more kids after all. Or maybe I do. Maybe I'll adopt. I just don't want to have a baby for the wrong reasons, i.e. fulfilling my need to be really needed. Now that the kids are older, and I'm apparently turning into Grandma Moses, I just don't feel as needed as I used to.

Maybe for now I'll just keep using my furbaby as a substitute for a real baby. She's got all the benefits of a baby (needs me, loves me, is fun to dress up) without all the crappy side effects that babies have (doesn't require going into labor/having a c-section, doesn't need burping, doesn't wake me up to eat at 2 a.m.). She really doesn't seem to mind be my baby-substitute.

This is probably why no one ever comes to visit

Today marked the end of our house guest experiment, Chris’ brother, Jason, went home today. We had hoped he was going to stay longer, at least through July, but he decided that he really wanted to go home. I’d imagine it’s hard for a teenager to be stuck in this Podunk state, I know it was for me. I always wanted to leave here, it’s not like we’re in the mecca of…well, anything. To make matters worse, it’s been raining for the past two months, I think we’ve had a total of maybe 5 days of sunshine all summer. So take a teenager not at all accustomed to life here in Seattle, err, I mean Maine, and coop him up inside, add in a crazy sister in-law (yours truly), two kids who find the need to ask 20 questions about your every move, and a couple of misbehaved dogs, I’d want to leave too. I don’t at all consider this a failed experiment though, I’ve actually learned a lot.

1. I am a huge control freak/total OCD/really should be on medication. I practically followed the poor kid around with a dust buster. I checked the bathroom after he took a shower because I wanted to make sure the bath mat was up. You know you have issues when you can’t watch tv peacefully because you just “know” the bath mat was left down. It’s so sad. Now, common sense would tell you I’d just ask him to pick it up when he was done. I never was real big on the whole “common sense” thing. Why have common sense when you can have a neurosis?

2. I am ridiculously possessive of my stuff. Saturday, Jason woke up late, sometime around 1 in the afternoon and he’d missed lunch. So he made a sandwich and decided to have some Oreos, but there weren’t that many left, so he finished the package. Well, they were MY Oreos, I claimed them fair and square, damnit. I was like, you ate all the Oreos? And he goes, yeah, there weren’t that many left. Now, I know damn well there weren’t that many left, and it really wasn’t a big deal, but I was really, really upset. Like crying. Hysterically. Chris came home from work, and I was like, JASON ATE MY OREOS! He was like, ok…do you want me to go buy you some more? I was like, No! I want THOSE Oreos! They were mine! Poor Chris was unsure whether I’ve completely lost my mind, had PMS, or was really that upset about Oreos. He hugged me and rubbed my back as I sobbed, he was like, shhh, I know baby. They were your Oreos. Shhh, it’s ok. Let it all out. The only saving grace here, is I didn’t cry in front of Jason, I pretended it was fine, I did the nonchalant head nod, and was like, it’s cool. It should’ve been cool, except I’m crazy and possessive so it was sooooo not cool.

3. Living with a teenager isn’t nearly as scary as I thought. Sure, there were times I could tell we were driving him nuts. And yeah, he sometimes communicated with us through grunts and eye rolls, but he was also really fun to have around. When we went to the mall, he was really fun to shop with. He actually cared what I thought and asked me my opinion. He didn’t watch the Disney Channel endlessly, and we could watch really inappropriate things with him that we can’t with the kids like, Kendra and Harper’s Island. He was great with the kids, and they adore him. And he enjoys making fun of Chris almost as much as I do.

So while it will be nice to be able to get up at 2 a.m. and pee without having to shut the bathroom door , and I did miss being able to walk around with bed head all day on Saturdays sans bra or deodorant if I chose to, I’m gonna miss having him around. Even if he did eat all my Oreos.

A new brand of horror?

Friday night Chris and his brother went to the movies, the kids were at their dad’s, and I spent a blissful evening at home alone watching the Dog Whisperer. It was cool because I learned that my dogs aren’t the only poorly behaved dogs, and really there are other dogs that are way, way worse than mine, which was nice affirmation. When they got home, we decided to watch The Girl Next Door, a movie that was on Chiller, which is a channel that shows “scary” shows and movies. Chris and I have watched it before; it has stuff like Twin Peaks, Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction, nothing scary. So we start watching this movie, and in case you wanted to see it, stop reading, because I’m going to tell what happened. So this movie was beyond fucked up. Basically it’s about this girl, whose parents died in a car accident, and she has to go stay with her aunt. Her aunt is really sick in the head, and has a thing about women and girls, she totally hates them. I think we were supposed to infer that she really hates herself, or something, I don’t know. So anyway, she also has this really weird relationship with all the neighborhood boys, they all hang out at her house, she gives them beer, talks to them about sex in totally inappropriate ways, just acts like a really, really bad parent. So anyway, she starts this horrible torment and torture of this poor girl, first verbal, then physical. Then it just gets downright disrobing. She ties the girl up in the basement and lets (at first) then makes the neighborhood kids beat this girl. They starve her, beat the shit out of her, it was awful, and the mother just stands back and watches. Then it got worse. The torment turns sexual, they end up putting out lit cigarettes on her, burning the words on her stomach so all men will know what a whore she is, rape her, and in the end they “fix” her sexuality with a blow torch. And as Forrest Gump says, that’s all I have to say about that. Ok so anyway, horrible right? Just a reminder this was on regular cable. Not premium, not pay per view, plain old regular cable. I watched the whole movie with a scowl on my face. I kept looking at Chris, and he had the same face, utter disbelief that we were watching this horrible movie. It wasn’t that it was really graphic, I mean it was graphic, but it didn’t really show anything, it was more inferred, they’d explain what they were doing, etc. The problem was, this was just a sick, sick movie. The whole premise of the movie was just so fucked up. This is exactly why I gave up watching horror movies of any kind about a couple of years ago.

I used to watch horror movies all the time, in high school my friend and I watched every Halloween, Children of the Corn, you name it. We loved it, it was fun to be scared. Her (now) husband used to even say that we should get our pizza from “Haddonfield House of Pizza” (the name of the town in the Halloween movies). It was corny and scary and just plain fun. So Chris and I decided one night to watch Hostel. Hostel…is not a horror movie. Hostel is the worst movie on the planet. Ever. It’s this movie about a hostel in some Godforsaken country, and basically people pay to torture people. It is by far the most graphic, most disgusting, most disturbing movie I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I watched it almost 3 years ago, and I STILL have nightmares. It was so, so terrible. Again, that’s all I have to say about that. Anyway, I swore off horror movies because I was tired of directors and writers fooling me into thinking that this was the your average run of the mill horror movie: Hostel, the Saw movies, Running Scared (which wasn’t even a horror movie, it had one particular scene that had nothing to do with the plot, but was a blatant attempt at shock/disturbing value by the director/writer. It’s a movie about mafia violence, but this particular scene was about a middle-aged couple who “rescue” children by kidnapping them, torturing and killing them in a rubber room while videotaping it. Totally ridiculous). I’m all for art, I love to write, and hope that someday someone will pay me for it. However, if I sit around and think up new and more disturbing ways to torture people…I shouldn’t be paid, I should be given medication and possibly hospitalization. Maybe it doesn’t mess them up the way it did me, but man, it was awful. So I swore off horror movies. I just think that they’d taken it too far. And I don’t know if I’d ever made it clear before or not, I’m really not very prudish. I’m not one of those people that decides morality for other people, to each their own I say. I have enough of my own crap to worry about, certainly don’t need to tell other people their business. But I’m so sick and tired of the people on networks and movie studios deciding that people need more violence, more gore, more disturbing abuse, torture and sick fucked up head games. NO thanks. I guess its back to romantic comedies and sappy tear jerkers for me. At least they don’t make me question the humanity of people.

By the way, The Girl Next Door was based on a true story. Which just makes the fact that someone decided to rewrite this girl’s abuse and torment in an even more disturbing way without even really telling the girl’s story, just spending 2 hours seeing how far you can push the torture envelope is just sick. It just makes the whole that much worse.

FYI, this is one of those posts that I write when I just feel the need to rant and bitch. To make it perfectly clear, I’m not reviewing these movies, I’m reviewing the practice of shock value in Hollywood.

This is the obligatory warning, disclaimer and big fat red flag for this post

I haven't made it a huge secret that I'm kind of a makeup whore. I tend to spend way too much (remember the $28 mascara?) on fancy brands, in hopes that they'll work better than say Wal-Mart brands. My makeup is like a who's who of overpriced cosmetic companies, Yves Saint Lauren, MAC, Christian Dior, etc. I think it's because I've always had a really hard time with my skin. I had acne, tons of sun damage from the slather on baby-oil and bake in the sun days, and I guess I've always been just really kind of self-conscious about it, and I figure, well hell, if they can charge $50 for foundation, it must be pretty damn good. Well, it's the same with skin care products: lotions, potions, etc., I have them all. So in apparently "helping" me with my constant quest for the best skin care products, Chris sent me an email that said, you've never tried this before, and attached this article, 6 Valuable (And Disgusting) Ways They're Reusing Human Waste. I think he's mocking me...or offering his services. I don't know I'm kinda disturbed.

Now, if you're my mother, please stop reading right now. Like RIGHT now. I'm going to try to say this as tactfully as possible, but I make no guarantees. Ok, so we've all (I'd hope this is a "we" and I'm not the only one who knows about this) heard about how if a guy "deposits" on your face, it's supposed to make it softer. Personally, I think that practice is reserved for porn stars and wouldn't test the theory, but lots of people swear by it. Well, now there's a product called "Cmen Beauty Now" (yes, really). Apparently semen is an antioxidant, it slows the aging process and it's better and stronger than Vitamin E. I have a wrinkle, right in the middle of my eyebrows, that I would do just about anything to get rid of. You know what I wouldn't do? Rub semen on my face. I would inject botulism into my face a la botox, but not semen. Like ever. I can't think of anything more disturbing than rubbing semen on my face, except maybe injecting the foreskins of circumcised babies into my face. Yes, you can do that too. There's a company that's decided to use foreskin as an anti-aging/scar healing treatment. I only wish I was making this up.

I don't even know what to say about that, except, what the fuck are these scientists on? Typical behavior though. Men (and I have to believe that men invented these asinine products because I can't imagine a woman saying, "yes! I'll inject foreskin in my face!") thinking they can solve all of woman's problems with their penis.

Drunk in the trunk

Last night we were on the way to our church’s block party and we passed my tailor’s, whose shop is right next to the Nascar collectible shop. My tailor is this little old French lady, who has to be like 93, and she is so, so good, and uber cheap. She has the dinkiest little shop, not that you could even see it from the road because it’s totally dwarfed by the 5 foot day-glo orange lettering advertising the NASCAR collectible store’s sign. Which is either totally ghetto or totally country, I’m not sure which. Anyway, we’re driving along, and Davey starts singing this song, at first I couldn’t make out the words, and then Kat lets out a squeal and hits Davey in the arm. Kat yells at him, I don’t have drunk in the trunk! Davey bursts out laughing and starts singing louder, his song now completely clear, “junk in the trunk, junk in the trunk”. Over and over and over. Chris and I look at each other, trying not to laugh, and I’m like, David, do you even know what that means? He’s like, yeah, it means you’ve got junk in your trunk. I’m like, yeah, and what does that mean? He goes, like JUNK in your butt. Then Chris says, and junk would be…? Davey gets the most serious look on his face and says, poop. It means you have poop in your butt. Once Chris and I stopped laughing enough to be able to speak, we were like, uh no, buddy. That’s really NOT what it means.

So we’re kinda semi-horrified at 1. Why he would ever say “junk in the trunk”, 2. Why on earth he would think that meant you have poop in your butt, and 3. Why Kat though he said drunk in the trunk. The only thing I can figure is, it is summer vacation, and since it’s been raining, they’ve been stuck inside with a lot of t.v. I completely blame it on the Disney Channel, I think he picked it from there. It's those damn High School Musical kids, they're a bad influence with all that singing and dancing. He probably thinks it’s talking about poop because, well, that’s what Davey does. He’s a gross little boy who thinks everything is about poop, boogers, dirt and bugs, but hey, what 9-year old boy doesn’t, right? The last one is a bit more perplexing. Granted, I’ve been drunk in a trunk, but that was a long, long time ago, and certainly I didn’t share that little tidbit with Kat. I think 9 may be a tad young to hear stories of my drunken debauchery days. So I can’t figure it out at all, so I’m like, Kat, why would you think he said drunk in the trunk? And she says (in her new super annoying valley-girl voice that she also no doubt picked up from the Disney Channel), well, I didn’t think he’d be talking about poop. I mean, as IF anyone would say that. That’s GROSS. Fair enough.

Damn, I left my cat ears at home

On Saturday, we went to the mall. I love, love, love shopping and Chris doesn't often take me to the mall. Something about me and a mall full of retail store just sends Scrooge McDuck into a wild wallet-locking frenzy. So I suggested to Jason that perhaps HE'D like to go the mall, and of course Chris couldn't say no. We had a great time, I shopped the MAC counter at Macy's, which is like a little piece of heaven, and of course Kat had a ball in the Rainbow Brite On Acid store, otherwise known as Justice (formerly Limited Too). But seriously I felt about 112 by the time the day was over. It was ridiculous.

We were in Best Buy when this parade of club kid-looking teenagers came in, and I had everything I could do not to laugh and point/stare with a gaping mouth. They were apparently dressed up like Japanese anime characters (or so Chris and Jason said), but I think they were on something. I'm not trying to be judgemental or anything (ok, maybe I am a little), but they were full on freaks. For instance, this girl had on black fishnet tights, knee high lace up boots, a black and pink tutu, a corset and wings. Like wings like you'd imagine a little girl wearing on Halloween when she dressed up like Tinkerbell, only this chick's wings were black. She was like Tinkerbell from hell. Several of these people were wearing ears, like cat's ears. There were people in floor-length capes with white painted faces, vampire looking people and one guy dressed up like Aladdin, complete with a stuffed monkey on his shoulder. And it's not like we were at some comic book convention, or a video game store, we were in the fucking mall. They were just shopping around, pretending like they were just in jeans and a t-shirt, like they weren't totally freaking all the other people in the mall out. Like, oh yes, these are my cat ears, they're very normal and I always dress like this. It was crazy. Who dresses like that and says, I know we're all dressed up in our anime garb, but let's go to the mall! I could totally go for a pretzel!

So then we went to Hot Topic, which is this/punk/goth/I'm trying to be a rebel to piss my parents off store. Really, the only saving grace that store has was a Ramones t-shirt that we bought for Davey. They had this music, and I use the term loosely, playing so loud you had to yell to talk to anyone, and the "singer" was just screaming. I guess it was like thrash metal or something, but it was even more obnoxious than that. On top of that, there were these 2 kids, couldn't have been more than 15 or 16, and they were going on about "classic rock". One kid was like, oh totally, Shout at the Devil is a good one, but I prefer a real classic like Girls, Girls, Girls. Now, in case you didn't grow up with the best music ever made (80's hair bands) these young men were talking about Motley Crue, one of my favorite bands ever. Anyway, the other guy was like, yeah, I took my mom to a Crue concert, it's a little old for my taste, but it's pretty good for classic rock. Hello? Classic rock? Led Zeppelin? Lynyrd Skynyrd? The Who? Jimi Hendrix? Cream? THAT'S classic rock. The first tape I ever bought was Motley Crue, Dr. Feelgood. I assure you, if I bought that when I was like 10, there's NO way that's classic rock. Granted I bought it on tape because cd's were almost unheard of at that time, but that's hardly the point. That's not classic rock, because I can't possibly be that old. And yes, the faux thrash metal was very offensive to my ears, but that's not a sign I'm old either. Shut the hell up or I'll beat you with my cane.

So between the freaks on parade and my startling realization that 30 is hella old, I went back to the MAC counter and tried to get some anti-aging cream. The douche bag clerk recommended botox.

Happy Father's Day

Today is Father's Day, and even though I'm running the risk of being a complete blubbering idiot by the time I finish writing this, I've got a 2 stories I want to share. I think that they are stories that need to be told, because sometimes we forget to tell the stories to people that need to hear them. And because I'm not big on being mushy or all sentimental, and I don't say things half as well as I write them, here goes.

My parents met in high school. They were inseparable, they did everything together. My grandparents thought of my father like the son they never had. They got married right out of high school went to college where they shared a tiny little trailer, where they thought they would live happily ever after. After about 7 years, I came along. Then one day, happily ever after came to a screeching halt. My father came home one day and told my mother that he was leaving her. For another man. He was gay. The man that my mother had known, for what must've been forever, decided that he'd been lying to himself or some other ridiculous excuse for needing to "find yourself", and promptly divorced my mother. My mom was heartbroken, but she decided that she would not let this man ruin my life, or hers. After a few months of fruitless dating, she met a man who swept her off her feet. It was truly love at first sight. The one hitch was of course me. What man in his 20's wants to be saddled with a child, especially not his own? This one did. He decided that my mom needed a husband, and I needed a dad. They went to court and this man adopted me (all it took for my real father to walk away was a promise of not collecting any more child support).

That man, my dad, my real father, is the only father I've ever known. Never, not once, has he made me feel like I wasn't his. Never, not once, has he treated me like I was anything other than his blood. I don't remember my biological father, nor has he ever been in contact with me. But this isn't about him, or what he didn't do. This is about my dad, and what he did do. He made me his own, and even though he can be arrogant, brash, and as easy to love as a porcupine, he is the kindest, biggest hearted man I know, and I love him with all my heart. He is my dad, even though our blood isn't the same.

***

I'd been dating my ex-husband for about 5 months when I found I was pregnant with twins. I was 19. Everyone around us said we had to get married, that's the "responsible" thing to do. We got married, even though neither one of was sure that we should. We drove each other crazy, if there was a button to push, we pushed it for each other. We were married for 5 years, and it was a hard, hard 5 years. We separated and then got back together at least a dozen times in those 5 years. I'd like to think we tried to make it work, but we were like oil and water. We truly brought out the worst in each other. The last time we had been separated for about 3 weeks when I met Chris. He was funny, charming, understanding, and he was crazy about me. Everything my husband wasn't. Chris treated me in a way that I'd never been treated by anyone. He never yelled at me in anger, he never raised his fist in frustration, he showed me how much better my life could be, how much better my children's lives could be, without the seemingly never ending cycle of violence. I knew that with or without this man, it was over with my husband. If I wanted to break the cycle of violence forever, I had to end our marriage. It got really ugly, the only thing uglier than our marriage was our divorce.

Chris and I developed more than just a relationship, we became best friends. It seemed that in each other, we'd found the missing pieces of ourselves. We completed each other's sentences, answered each other's questions before they were asked, we were the perfect pair. The only problem was, he was in college in South Carolina, I lived in Maine. We did the long distance dating thing for 2 long years. I desperately wanted to leave here and start my life again, but part of the divorce agreement said that I had to stay here to retain full custody of my children, and as much as I loved Chris, I would never choose anyone over my children. Chris decided that was fine, he'd just have to start over in Maine. He left college, his family, his whole life and moved to be with me. His relationship with the kids was rocky at best for awhile, but he never gave up. He knew that they need a full-time dad, and love him or hate him, he wasn't walking away. We lived together for about a year when he asked the kids if it would be ok if he married me. They said yes, I said yes, and we got married on January 1, 2007. There are still days that one of them may say, "you're not my dad!" and Chris will sigh and say, "you're right I'm not, but I wish I was. And I love you like I am."

So for the dad that chose me, and the dad that chose my kids, Happy Father's Day. You are the best men I know, and I know I don't say it enough, I can't ever say it enough. Thank you.

It's gonna be a loooong summer

So yesterday I talked about bribing (some may call it buying off) my kids. I still stand by what I said, it's an invaluable tool in close combat situations...no wait...yeah, close combat with 2 pre-pubescent kids that's about right. Anyway, they brought home their report cards, and they did really, really well. Although, I have to hand it to these fine public schools, we don't do grades, grades are too much pressure on kids. We have politically correct things like, "practice and support needed", or "meets". Not "needs improvement", or "your kid is a total slacker and there's no way they're gonna see the 4th grade", no, that would be too harsh. So they both did really well, lots of "meets". Kat's teacher did write a personal note about Kat craving attention and being a drama queen (yes, I'm serious), but overall, they did a great job. David improved a lot since his last report card, he's been working really hard, actually doing his homework and not just saying the old standby, I finished it at school, etc.

So to bribe them reward them for their report cards, Chris and I decided to buy them both new Razor scooters. They love them, they've been scooting up and down the driveway, or as Kat says, "scootah, scootah, scootah" (we ARE from Maine after all) for hours and hours on end since they got them. Well Davey, never the master of coordination or balance, fell off and got a nasty little scrape on his knee. No big deal, who hasn't gotten a little road rash as a kid, right? Well, yeah, except that he's fallen so many times that his scrapes have scrapes. Of course my Florence Nightingale kicked in and peroxided the hell out his knees, put about a tube and a half of Neosporin on it, and slapped on the two biggest bandaids I could find. He limped around for a bit until he sufficiently used up all my sympathy then ran off, back to his prized scooter. So I'm wondering, is this my bad karma rubbing off on the kids? Have I gone terribly wrong with the universe when I bribed rewarded my kids for doing what every kid should do, when they did well on their report card? Have all of my "questionable parenting skills" finally caught up with me and now my children are suffering? No, I think they just have a grown ass man running around acting like a damn teenager for a dad. Check out the video below.



Yes, that's Chris. yes, he's using the kids old scooters as rollerblades/skis/death machines. Yes, he's a big tool. And I wonder why my kids act like they do. It's not karma, it's just my big kid of a husband being a great role model. Sigh.

This is a post about toilets

I don’t think I mentioned it before, but Chris’ brother staying with us for awhile this summer. I was horrified, I mean like, gasping shock, when I went into the bathroom this morning. No, he didn’t leave toothpaste all over the sink. No, he didn’t leave wet towels all over the floor. It was way worse…he forgot to put the toilet seat down! Now, Chris and David know that this is the fastest way to send me into a maniacal head fit, well that and when there’s pee on the toilet seat. And if y’all have little boys, you know it happens much more often than it should. I mean he’s got built in aim for Christ’s sake, you’re telling me he honestly can’t hit the big hole in the middle of the seat? Anyway, the toilet seat was up. Well, it wasn’t the seat part, that part was down, it was the cover that was up.

Ok yeah, I get that’s total OCD. But I don’t care. I think looking into toilet bowls is disgusting. Perhaps it’s because it brings me flashbacks of my heavy drinking/puking days, I don’t know, but I just don’t like it. And I so don’t get why men/boys can’t seem to just put the cover down. They think they’re God’s gift if they remember to actually put the seat down, you know, like they’re doing you some ginormous favor for not being a total slob, but they can’t just grab the cover at the same time? I mean, why would Mr. Toilet Seat Inventor slap a cover on it if it wasn’t meant to be used? I guess I was lucky, for several years before I met Chris, I was doing the single mom thing, and had ample opportunity to teach my son toilet seat etiquette (his future wife will thank me) , Chris was a little harder to train. Once I was visiting Chris in the his apartment that was masquerading as a cesspool of disgusting college boy germs, and the ONLY good thing I can say about that is that he put the seat down when I came. He was all, I put the toilet seat down because I knew you were coming. I was all, gee thanks. You didn’t bother to pick up the smelly gym socks or get rid of the stale beer smell that’s coming from that corner, but you did get the toilet seat down! You’re the man of my dreams! When he moved in with me, I was like, 2 choices, love. Put the seat AND the cover down, and you can live. Don’t, and you can face my wrath. I told you Chris was smart. He always puts the seat and cover down. Would you want to deal with me? I wouldn’t. I’m scary.

Bribery is power

I know that’s it’s probably not cool to say this, or that as a mom, I’m supposed to admit it, but I really dislike children. I like mine, I mean, they’re sufficiently trained to not piss me off, but other people’s children drive me nuts. You know those kids in the grocery store that are either hanging all over their mothers, or are screaming bloody murder because they couldn’t have Captain Frosted Cocoa Bits? The other day we were in the grocery store, and there was this adorable little girl. She had the cutest little dimples and blond curly hair. She was happily gabbing to her mother, who was of course only have listening as she juggled her phone, shopping list and a baby on her hip. Then the little girl decided she wanted a cookie or something. Her mother was all, not now baby girl, too close to dinner. Well, this kid was not having it. She shrieked and started throwing an all out fit. Her mother looked apologetically at me, and I tried not to give her the disapproving “aren’t you going to do something about that” face. I smiled and tried to ignore this screaming little brat. Her mother was doing all she could not to yell at this little monster in public (because really, who hasn’t made the mistake of yelling at their kids in a public place, only to find a gaggle of onlookers who shake their head in disgust at your feeble attempts to quiet your kid). The formerly cute little girl was in full on screaming mode, big globby snot running down her face, her cheeks all red and blotchy, starting to break out in a sweat because of all the energy she was putting into this fit. Then her mother, probably in desperation/bribery, gave her the damn cookie. Like magic, the little girl regained her composure and happily munched on her cookie.

David did that once in a grocery store. He was screaming and kicking and being absolutely horrific because I wouldn’t let him touch everything on the shelves. I’d read in a magazine that when your kid throws a fit in public like in a grocery store, you’re supposed to calmly get your stuff and leave, you’re never, ever supposed to resort to bribery. Leave the cart, take your child by the hand and walk out. That way he’ll get the message that his behavior isn’t appropriate. So I grab David’s hand and start walking away. David though, must be smarter than your average kid, or that was just the worst advice ever, because David refused to walk, I was literally dragging him down the aisle. Right, pulling your kid out by the arms while his legs are dragging along behind him is worse than bribery. Then I knelt down and whispered to him, if you stop I’ll give you a cookie. He stopped. Instantly. Ahh, the power of the bribe.

Anyone who tells you that bribery doesn’t work is kidding themselves. I’ve bribed the kids with everything from a new Sidekick to money to a PlayStation 3. Yeah, you might run into the occasional self-absorbed kid (hey, that's what Sunday school is for, right?), but at least I can grocery shop without worrying about the next hide your face and hope no one notices that it’s your kid that’s screaming his head off tantrum. I wish that poor woman could say the same thing. This is of course why Chris says, we don't need any more kids. Your blog is like a baby, only better because it doesn't poop. Ain't that the truth.

Truly, truly outrageous

The other day the kids were outside, enjoying one of the rare sunny days we've had lately. It's been raining so long, I've actually been keeping my eyes open for any old men building very large boats, or animals marching two-by-two down the street, but I digress. So the kids are outside, and it's a rare opportunity for Chris and I to watch t.v. Normally, we'd watch something that we don't watch around the kids, you know the good shows, with lots of sex, violence and explosions, pretty much anything on Fox. This day though, as much as I tried, I couldn't stop watching the Disney Channel, Hannah Montana to be specific. Now I've talked some trash when it comes to Hannah Montana taking over my ipod, or the uncanny likeness of her love interest and Johnny of the Cobra Kai, and I'd like to do the same here, but I can't. I sat there for not one episode, but two. I didn't move, I was absolutely riveted. It was a little obnoxious and annoying, and I did laugh out loud a couple of times, but no matter how much I tried to bring myself to change the channel, I couldn't do it. It was about 5 minutes into the second episode when I gasped in horror, this is JUST like Jem! Jem? Truly, truly outrageous? Kick ass 80's cartoon? Don't pretend you don't remember Jem.

Jem was a rockstar with pink hair, and was the lead singer of a band called the Holograms. She had an alter ego, the sweet, girl next door, Jerrica. She turned into Jem through magic/technological advancements/holographic awesomeness. But no one knew that Jerrica was Jem, and she had to keep her secret at all costs. Jerrica was always torn between being "herself" and being Jem. Sound like any other "secret pop star" you may have heard of? *cough* Miley Cyrus *cough* Hannah Montana. The only difference is Hannah Montana's power is in her blonde wig, and Jem's power was in the super kick ass earrings (show time Synergy!). Hannah Montana has to deal with rival popstars who want steal her fame. I can't remember the girl's name, but she had a ridiculously high pitched, nasaly voice that sounded like someone dragging their fingers down a chalkboard. Jem of course had The Misfits, who bordered on a little scary.

I know, I know. You think I'm a. insane, or b. have been hitting the margaritas a little too hard. Actually, either could be true...but that's besides the point. Jem is totally Hannah Montana. And what annoys me the most about it isn't that the clever people at Disney recycled the best 80's cartoon ever, or even that my kids look at me like I'm crazy when I hold onto my ear and yell, "show time Synergy!" when it's time to get ready. What really annoys me is that I didn't think of it first. I mean, this was my favorite, favorite t.v. show ever. I really should've thought of re-doing it. I mean, if they can redo Transformers and make a zillion dollars, I totally could've redone Jem.

The kids didn't believe me when I told them how awesome Jem was. Then I showed them this.



How can you argue with that?

I'm changing my name to Jane...or Charlemagne

This morning I was reading about making money blogging, because Chris says it's time to start making some money with my writing. And as much as Chris likes to think that we're gonna be able to live off the income from my blog (dooce, anyone?) I just don't see it happening, but I figured I'd give it a shot. So I'm looking for handy tips and tricks, when I come across this great site, Absolutely Bananas. She's a mommy blogger/blog tip-giver (that's the actual term you know). Anyway, I was reading about essentials for any blog, and I'm discovering I've taken none of the suggested steps, and I actually suck more than I initially thought. I was reading one suggestion about protecting your privacy and it totally freaked me out. There's this site, called whois that enables you to see all the personal information about the person who has registered the website. Now you'd think since I've had a blog for like a year, I would've known that. I totally didn't. I was like, well, let's test this theory, I'm SURE it's not that easy. Yeah, it's really that easy. I put in my website and it brought back my name and street address. So here I am blogging away, completely oblivious to the fact that my personal information is right out there for the whole world to see.

Then I read this story about a blogger who had posted her baby's pictures and stuff on her blog, and someone stole them and passed them off as her own and just acted like all around wack job. So now I'm totally freaked out. I've always made fun of people who didn't use their kids' names on their blog, like calling them Brussel Sprout and Flowerpot (which is totally what I'm calling my kids from now on), but now I'm thinking maybe I've done the wrong thing. The likelihood of getting a stalker is pretty slim (since I have like 8 daily readers), but I'm freaked out anyway. So I go to godaddy and upgrade my account so that now I'm not listed on this horrible website, and then had this conversation via text messages with Chris, who was beside himself with concern.

Me: That's freakin scary. It doesn't say my address, but it still says my name.

Chris: Well, your name is Merritt, that's gonna be hard to hide.

Me: True...

Chris: I mean, if you search Google for just that, you'll probably find you...

Me: Probably :/ I'm changing my name to Jane.

Chris: Jane Doe?

Me: No, just Jane.

Chris: Oh. Jane is a weird name. Go with one of those fancy names like Charlemagne.

Me: And you think that would help people not identify me because Charlemagne is so much more common than Merritt?

Chris: No, but at least it's cooler than Jane. How about Rambo? I'd totally name my kid Rambo.

Me: You're retarded.

Chris: I know, isn't it wonderful?

Clearly he's overwrought with concern. And on a side note, this is why we're not having more kids. Rambo? So not happening

That's MISS merrittocracy to you

So after channeling my inner sloth for a couple of weeks, I decided I'm totally renewing my commitment to writing as well as my commitment to my little pet, aka, my blog. I figured since it's been a year since I started this blog, it was time for a facelift. Yes, I know I did this a couple of months ago, but I'm retarded and couldn't figure out to code CSS or HTML or some stupid shit that makes your blog pretty. So I'm back with Blogspot, because Blogspot is more for dummies (don't get offended, you know it's easier than Wordpress). I did all the designing, including the header, which goes to show you, Blogspot really IS easier. I only started on this yesterday afternoon. Unfortunately, none of the comments transferred over, but I'm still trying to find a way to fix that.

Anyway, new look, new commitment, I figured what the hell, let's just totally change everything! I also have a new url. I'm now missmerrittocracy.com, which is even more kick ass because I don't have to have stupid "blog" in my title. Plus, it makes me feel really important/pretentious/cooler than you. So update your bookmarks, I'll keep the other site up directing y'all to here for awhile.

I'll do a real post tomorrow.

No, I'm not dead.

So I didn't die. I wasn't hiding in some mountaintop commune of nature lovers and I didn't join a convent. I just needed to not be so "plugged in", as dumb as that sounds. I of course cured myself of that this morning when I downloaded TwitterBerry on my Blackberry. I don't know why, and there wasn't any real reason for my mini-freak out, I just didn't want to have anything to do with the internet, my blog, etc. I didn't even do Facebook. I was just like, bleh.

It's not like I was really doing anything. I watched about 734 episodes of Law & Order SVU, which totally gives me nightmares, because really, when you see that many stories about rape, murder, child abuse and incest, what do you expect? I cleaned my house a lot...even though it wasn't really messy. I've vacuumed and dusted almost every day, and I've steam cleaned the carpets no less than 10 times in 3 weeks. It's kinda sad. Welcome back OCD! How I've missed you! I did get my "new" couch, which I love. As it turns out, I didn't even need a sofa table because the couch is perfect and all I had to do was rearranged my living room a little, which kinda pisses me off, because I HATE it when Chris is right. I got a new Blackberry, which I absolutely love. Umm...what else? I took off my acrylic nails. I got drunk on Memorial Day. We were at my parent's house, and my dad has this "margaritanator", that makes like a tub of margaritas at a time. I probably drank my weight in tequila, and lemme just say, that's A LOT of tequila. I think that's it. Seriously, I haven't done shit in 3 weeks. Joining a convent probably would've been more interesting. Although, they probably don't have margaritanators in convents, but they totally should.