Wednesday, February 27, 2008
College kid: Hey, do you have anything you need me to work on?
Me: Well hi! How's it going?
College kid: Fine, you?
Me: Awesome! I'm just jammin' to my new "80's Magic" mix I made. This stuff is awesome! (at which point I look at him expectantly with my "you're totally with me, right?" look)
College kid: Oh ok. Well, do you have anything you need me to work on?
Me : (Incredulous now wondering why he is not bopping along to the irrestistably catchy music) What! You don't know this stuff? C'mon listen to this. (Laptop spews out the lyrics: "Abba.. Abba... cadabra.... I'm gonna reach out and grab ya!")
College kid: (getting visibly uncomfortable now... it may be because I physically did a grabbing motion during that last line... it was for effect) Um.. no.
Me: Oh c'mon listen... (I rapidly give him a taste of "Let's Get Physical," "We Got the Beat," "Centerfold," and "Jesse's Girl.")
College kid: (blank stare)
Me: (truly baffled now) WHAT!! Ok how about this... (I play "Eye of the Tiger.") You know, Rocky??
College kid: Oh yeah ok! (I'm getting excited now... thinking he is totally with me now...) I think my grandparents had this video in their basement. We used to sit around and make fun of it! Like when he's boxing those frozen beef slabs or whatever. That is hilarious! (...and I'm deflated now).
Me: (I want to scream, "Hey, that won an Oscar there Kiddo!"... but I refrain. I decide to save some face) I mean, this stuff is just fun. I really like some Eminem, P.Diddy, you know, all the new stuff.
College kid: Uhhh.. yeah.... that was new... in the 90's.
Me: (deciding to forgo the rest of this converstion and verbally assault the student.) When were you born anyway???
College kid: 1990. Why?
Me: Get out. We're done here.
So this is how it happens. You think you are hanging in there, keeping up with the times. One second you are hair spraying your bangs and rockin' some leggings with colored socks and the next second you are wondering how you got so old? I always thought working at a college kept me young at heart, turns out it's dangerous working with a population that never ages. Excuse me, I'm going to go listen to some Keyshia Cole and Fallout Boy.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
On this, the night of the biggest awards ceremony in the world I would like to take a moment to say thank you. Thank you so much to the Academy for recognizing me with the Mother of the Year award. I mean sure, I was going to say it's a privilege just to be nominated but that's a load of bull. Honestly, I wanted to know that the 7 times I cleaned up puke in the past 12 months were all for a greater cause. There are so many people I want to thank. Shrek- you've been like a brother to me. All of those times when things got hard, you were always there for me. You were so loyal and so true. When a new US Weekly came out and required my attention, you never let me down. You'd entertain my impressionable child with your potty humor in all of your green glory and for that I am eternally grateful. I'd also like to thank my personal chef. It wasn't easy gaining 15 extra pounds so I'd have that frazzled, puffy, working mom look, but with your help we succeeded. I mean, I hate to brag but I'm like Charlize Theron in Monster... without all the serial murder but you get the idea. It's impressive.
I'd also like to thank my enormous support network. BK, McDonald's... Taco Johns- I couldn't have asked for more. You guys have been like family. It some of my darkest days, your ability to throw me into a carb-induced coma was a savior. I'll never forget you.
I'd like to thank my Tide-to-go pen. Remember all those times when I spilled my lunch on my suit? God that was fun. Very professional looking too I'm sure. Salsa on the lapel just screams "I'm super successful bee-otches." So, now does this mean you'll start sending me free stuff?
Lastly, I'd like to say thank you to my trusty minivan. Sure, you've forever decimated my reputation as hip, tempted me to buy horrible window clings and refused to maneuver around curbs. And OK yes, the money I should be spending on cute new heels and clothes gets spent on filling up your enormous 700 gallon tank. But... wait... where was I going with this one... screw you minivan.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
And we've all at one point been the single person who thinks that kids are sort of cute when they're on TV or when they say a really bad word or something, but who otherwise doesn't want anything to do with snot or poopies or Dora the Explorer gummy things. I mean, who hasn't veered from the cereal isle at Hyvee when they see their friend with new baby in tow coming straight at them just to avoid have to say the whole "oh wow he's so precious, oh wow he's so big, oh wow look at that hair, oh wow who's he look like, oh wow what did he weigh" baby talk gig. Because next thing you know you're stuck listening to a harrowing story of back labor and dimples that we think came from Great Aunt Sally. Let's face it, you don't honestly care what he weighed do you? He's a baby, just assume somewhere between 5 and 9 pounds and call it good. There's no reason to know the exact ounce-age is there? Will it really change the way you voice one of your two token responses you have all cued up- either A) wow, what a big boy! or B) wow, what a little guy! No! That answer is no, it won't change anything but now you have to shop for tomatoes and frozen peas with images of childbirth in your head. Produce and childbirth should never go together. Ever.
The point is, mind the rules. If you have friends without kids, spare them the details of all things you deem cutesie and important. They don't want to know. Seriously, the ABC's aren't fun for them. But if, like my super cool, funky fun, really smart, world travelling, marathon running, previously uber cool friends, they have joined the ranks of parents, then it is an open floor. All baby stories are game. All horrific labor stories should be told. All tales involving puke, poop and public humiliation shall be shared and all comparison of minivan vs family sedan should be made. Because childbirth you see is the great equalizer. No matter how cool you were before, no matter how awesome your stainless steel table looked with your flea market-find ochre-colored wing-backed chairs, once you join the ranks of parenthood you have lost all coolness. You are now on the same playing field as that nerdy guy who coached your 4th grade soccer team. Rest in peace coolness.... rest in peace.
Monday, February 18, 2008
(This is a picture of where I spend my days. This is NOT a black and white picture. It actually is this gray and dismal. Sadly I'm not joking. If you look close you can see a little green banner on one of thee lamp posts.)
They say the best poetry stems from the darkest of places. In the spirit of utter depression, I thought I'd share some winter poetry. I really put my heart into it. No, not really. In fact I don't know who wrote it. Probably some sadistic smart-a$$ in California who is nursing a sunburn and recovering from heatstroke. But since I am officially depressed from this relentless, horrible, icy, snowy, winter, I thought I'd share this little ditty none-the-less.
It's winter in Iowa
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At twenty-five below.
Oh, how I love Iowa
When the snow's up to your butt;
You take a breath of winter
And your nose gets frozen shut.
Yes, the weather here is wonderful
So I guess I'll hang around,
I could never leave Iowa
'Cause I'm frozen to the ground!!
(PS- the nose thing does actually happen. Sick right.)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Oh the things I love...
My Daughter, Husband, Mother, Brother, Father, Nieces, Nephews, Grandmother, Family and Friends. Abba. Scrubs. Clive Owen. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Green Olives. Sunny Days. Sex & The City. The Rain. Enya. Clive Owen. Grey’s Anatomy. Reading. Lakes. Poker. Movies. Violins. Crinkle Cut French Fries. Greece. Maple Leaves. Guns N Roses (who am I kidding, all 80's music). Fountain Pop. Coldstone Creamery. Mexican Food. Clive Owen. Tennis. Dark Chocolate. Boating. Shopping. Wedding Cake. Randy Travis. Sleep. Vacation. Exercise. Pasta. Poetry. Art. Hobnobs. Sunburns. Clive Owen.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Oh sure, he's been known to be verbally abusive. But don't we all have a little verbal agression in us??? Sure, he crushes dreams... in my world that's called pragmatic. I particularly enjoyed some of the following, he's a man after my own heart!
"Not in a billion years. There are only so many words I can drag out of my vocabulary to tell you how awful that was."
"You are utterly insignificant."
"Oh!! You just killed my favorite song of all time."
"You are dreadful. Really dreadful. And I’m saying that to be kind."
"You actually sing like a train going off the rails."
"You have a singing teacher? Get a lawyer and sue her. I’m serious."
Yes, he's got a way with words! There are times when I want to BE Paula. Well, without the washed up popsinger career. Sure, she has a healthy dose of crazy in her, but when my man Simon is all sweet and cuddly and flirty I want to jump into my TV and become her anyway. Ahhhhh.
He has even been known to have a soft heart- which by itself would be kind of pansy and lame, but in light of his otherwise boorish behavior it's quite appealing!
Love you Simon! Maybe you could be my valentine? Or just send me a card? An e-card at least? It doesn't have to be sweet. In fact, I prefer it not be. Something like, "Be Mine you pathetic train wreck, excuse of a woman. Hugs and Kisses, Simon." Now that's hot.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Actually, I am referring to the horrific spectacle you'll find in public restooms all across the nation. Unsuspecting women are trying to flush toilets only to find out there IS no flusher! What, you say! No flusher? That's right. The electronic eye is going to "automatically flush" when you stand up. As it turns out, that little electronic eye is drunk. It likes to screw with people. It doesn't matter what you do, that thing is not going to flush when you want it to. Now, don't get me wrong, it just might flush right when you walk in or right when you sit down. It taunts you. It says, "see, I work. I am ABLE to flush when I choose." But do what you will, that thing won't flush when you stand. Now you have two options. A) Just leave. This option is impossible because the people in the other stalls will definitely judge you and give you the "hey, there's the freak that doesn't flush" look. So that leaves option B) Battle the Bowl. This means you do whatever it takes to make that freaky toilet flush. Sure, you can wave your hand in front of the sensor. Rookie mistake. That never works. Next, you sort of jump around nonchalantly. Boring. Sooner or later you realize you have to pull out the big guns... actually put some heart into it. Last time I was at Kohls I had to pull out moves I haven't done since the mid 90's. When the Electric Slide didn't work I resorted to the one thing I promised myself I would never again do in public... the Macarena. Sure enough, the violent gyrations and rhythmic spasms did the trick. In your face toilet... in your face.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
We got there, we ate lunch we had a great time. Now, fast foward 5 hours, no naps, endless M&M's and 1 sugar coma later.
First of all, yes she is wearing a new outift, we had a belated Christmas gift exchange. Anywho, I love how she has just ripped her stocking hat off and used it as a pillow (notice the big fuzzy ball part by her shoulder). She's scrappy my girl. But my favorite thing of all...
is how her big, purple, Dora sunglasses just weren't working for her in upright position. She promptly removed them, turned them upside-down, replaced them on her little button nose, and fell asleep. She rode like that for over an hour, the whole way home. Hey, I never said she was a genius!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Oh Mommy, the best part of all was how they were all rolled up so pretty like that. I bet you did that yourself didn't you Mommy? I mean sure, you never seem to be organized enough to fold the laundry or empty the dishwasher, but... it's at least theoretically possible that you painstakingly rolled up a bunch of stickers for your little LoveBean? I mean, I am a pretty good girl aren't I Mommy? There was that one time like... 9 months ago... when I even let you sleep in until 8 AM. Don't get me wrong, the $45,000 offer and Twix bar helped (thank you for that by the way, they say college is going to be killer in 16 more years). Anyway, I just had so much fun unrolling all those little square stickers Mommy. You're the best!"
Oh, and for those who are a little slow: cost of said stickers: $41.00. Thank you Uncle Sam for making my little girl smile... really... thank you... heaven forbid she play with the fun little blue sticker on the bananas.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
I thought about this as I watched my daughter sleep this weekend. I let my tears slip down my cheeks. I asked God as I often do, why did I get so lucky? What did I do to deserve something so beautiful as becoming a mother? Maybe the Lord knows better than I do, maybe I wouldn’t have endured the way my great aunt did? I know that I’m not perfect. But I pray that God knows how indebted I feel, that I got to feel the kicks, the heartburn, the back pain, the swollen feet and the itty bitty hiccups. I thank Him for the runny noses, the toes stubbed on Little People, the sleepless nights, the lullabies, the little kisses, the Potty Dances and even the bribery. Because ultimately it means that I get to be a mother, and I am forever grateful for the Gift.
In Memory of Effie. 1916-2008.