Archive | June, 2009

Are 2 really enough?

30 Jun

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

29 Jun

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?

28 Jun

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

26 Jun

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

25 Jun

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

22 Jun

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

21 Jun

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.