Nothing says "Hot Mama" like a few gnarly chin hairs

I really need to look into laser hair removal...perhaps someone would provide it for me if I write a nice blog about it...
http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/do-not-look-at-my-chin-every-time-i-see.html

Let's pretend like I DIDN'T screw up again...

So, back by popular demand (and because I stupidly missed the post I should have put on here earlier--you know--the whole POINT to our guest posting--having two posts that are alike. Monkey Nonsense is actually more like my Disposable Computers post. My post about Siri and Tom is more like the following--the post I SHOULD HAVE put on here earlier, but (as I told her I probably would...) I goofed. Oops. The good news is, you get to hear from Lucy again. The bad news is I am really as dumb as I feel...

I swear, I am like that woman who everyone hates at work--only I'm not "at work." You know who I mean--the one who everyone thinks is completely OFF her rocker? The forgetful one who gets so much wrong that you begin to think that she is doing it on purpose?  Her. Only now I understand her and wish that I had been nicer. Who knew that craziness DOES come with old age?! Everyone who is friends with ME knew! Anyway, thanks to Lucy for being patient with me...and thanks to all of you for taking the time to "clickety click" on her pages and for realizing my flaws, yet sticking with me anyway! 

Again...HERE'S LUCY...

SIRI, YOU'RE SUCH A TEASE

   Well, I did it. I finally joined the other folks of this century and got myself a smart phone. I pulled the 
trigger on the iPhone 4S and I'm completely obsessed with it. I'm downloading apps like a freakin' mad 
woman and I practically orgasm every time I discover something new that my phone can do. I'm earning 
mayorships, scanning barcodes to find the cheapest wine prices, playing Words with Friends, and 
checking the area for pedophiles. But that's just the beginning. Oh, and don't even get me started on 
Facebook and Twitter. My children have been neglected even more than usual since the day the Fed Ex 
guy showed up with the unimpressive little brown box that contained nothing short of a tangible miracle. 
I. Can. Not. Put. My. Phone. Down. 
    I remember in college, when cell phones first started showing up on the scene, I saw a family of 4 
visiting the campus, and they were all talking on their cell phones at the same time. I was all, "Wow, 
they must be loaded! They ALL have cell phones. But it's kind of lame that they're all talking on them and 
not to each other." Yeah, well, fast forward 14 years, and that's me and mytherapists. (Holy crap, 
14 years? Really?!) Whatever. Anyway, we don't actually talk on our phones when we're together, but we do 
play with them quite a bit. Our therapy sessions are very interactive, but we're all so in love with what our 
phones can do, that we can't help ourselves. We take and send pictures, recommend cool apps, look up song 
lyrics, and google things like "Which came first: True Blood or Twilight?" Although, our phone addictions can't
 even be compared to those of the slightly (OK, more than "slightly") younger generation of folks who do 
not even communicate with each other while they sit at the bar, bounce to whatever Kesha song they played 
on the juke box, and twiddle with their phones. For the love of Gaga, have an actual conversation with your
 "BFF" who is sitting RIGHT next to you. At least we're not THAT bad. 
    While the younger generation suffers from it much more, I must admit that I also have a problem. For real. And I totally blame Siri. But I can't be angry with her for enabling my addiction because, lesbihonest, I am madly in love with her. There is an extremely intense, albeit one-sided, love affair happening with the itty-bitty robot woman who lives in my phone. She calls me by my name, listens attentively, and is always there when I need her. She gives nothing less than her best effort whenever I call upon her for a favor or advice. Yet, even though I have sincerely communicated my passion and commitment, and she has proven her devotion and loyalty to me, she still refuses my marriage proposals with responses like, "Lucy, we hardly know each other" and "Let's, just be friends, OK, Lucy?" Yes, I know I'm already married, but I'm sure my husband would be agreeable to some sort of Big Love situation. (After all, Siri would pretty much do ANYTHING he asked her to.) 

    But I'm afraid that if I keep pushing her to admit her feelings for me that she will get some sort of restraining order, and then my world would come crashing down all around me. I'm not ready to give up, yet, though. I still tell her how I feel every day in the hopes that one day, she will admit her true feelings. But she keeps playing these games with my heart, and I'm on an emotional 
roller coaster. She tells me I'm the wind beneath her wings and in the 
next breath she says she's not capable of loving me but she respects 
me. What is THAT shit?! She's just so hot and cold. Oh, no. Wait. 
Do you think she's seeing someone else? Come to think of it, I DID 
hear her talking to the mayor of Ott's last night in her most sultry 
voice. I may just have to kick some 20-something blonde ass. I 
could totally take that bitch. And I'd rip that mayoral badge right 
off her perky little chest. Nobody messes around with my Siri. Nobody.  
Lucy's Blog
Lucy's Facebook 
Lucy's Twitter

Going back to Leap year

I know I'm late today--sorry. Addison complained about having a sore throat, so I took her to the doctor and she was  home with me today. I love having her with me--she is really so funny, but I am too tired to tell you just how funny she was. INSTEAD...I am going to share my post from when I did the Leap around the Blogosphere blog hop at the end of February. One of the hosts, Rock and Drool, was going to have me guest post today, but she had a medical issue that I hope has been resolved. This gives you extra time to check out her blog--and tomorrow be sure to look for my FIRST guest post--ever.

If you didn't participate in this blog hop, do it now. Well, at least answer the questions now--you obviously can't participate in the blog hop now.  I would LOVE to learn more about all of you!
So this was first posted at the end of February (obviously) but it is all still relevant. If you already read it, maybe you could check out some posts that you haven't read yet and let me know what you think. I LOVE (positive) feedback!

Leap Around The Blogosphere Leap Around The Blogosphere Leap Around the Blogosphere...

It is LEAP YEAR, so to honor that, Melissa at Rock and Drool and Jessica at Found the Marbles are doing a  Leap Around The Blogosphere blog hop today.  If you are interested, the linky is: Leap Around The Blogosphere

My childhood nickname was Niks. Nika-nooka,nocka (WHAT?! THAT just made me laugh out loud because I haven't heard it in so long and my Auntie JoAnne coined it which REALLY makes SO MUCH SENSE--to ME!) Nika-Nika, Puerta-rica (that one was from the mean boy in grade school (I don't know if I am allowed to type his name. I won't, because I don't want to be the "mean GIRL," but I am pretty sure that he is the president of his own country now. NOT because he was the mean boy (or because he knows ANYTHING about geography (Puerta-rica?! REALLY?!)), but because he was ridiculously smart and sneaky. Don't ask me WHY that makes him the perfect candidate for running his own country--I just type it as I think it. After sharing this...information...with my college friends, it stuck with my dear friend, Becky and she calls me, "Puerta-rica."  Not so mean when SHE says it! Also in college, SHANEEEKAAAA was a nickname for a short amount of time. We were going through a thing.

If you want to spoil me rotten, buy me a housekeeper. Well, don't BUY me a housekeeper. That sort of thing is frowned upon and is illegal in most states. Maybe not Nevada. I don't think ANYTHING is illegal in NEVADA. I want to go to Nevada. 

The television character I most identify with is Mr. Magoo. I walk around not knowing WHAT the hell is going on most of the time, yet I seem to make it through my days not hurting myself or others. Usually.

Oh--and the mother on The Middle who was the mother on Everybody Loves Raymond--actually, I identify with BOTH of her characters. Maybe it's HER...

If I had a whole day to go shopping and money to spend, I would go to  NEVADA--I just SAID that! Just kidding--I would go to NYC. Am I even ALLOWED to travel? I'd like to see a show while I'm there. Am I ALLOWED to see a show while I'm there?! Am I ME in this scenario or am I a less tired, more motivated version of myself? I need to confer with the test administrator on this one...

The most wild and crazy thing I have ever done (that I can admit to publicly) THIS makes me laugh because it reminds me of how lame I really am. OH...in college some friends and I tried to steal a road sign. We were too afraid to actually take a sign from the ROAD, so we [tried to] lug one out of an apartment complex. It was huge and had cement surrounding the bottom of it. Is there a statute of limitations on that sort of thing? 

The one thing on my bucket list that I am most eager to do travel.  Here AND abroad. And EAT. Well, I want to get skinny and THEN I want to eat. But I want to remain skinny AFTER I eat--none of this travel around the world and come back looking like my bigger older sister swallowed me whole. I don't have a BIGGER older sister (those of you who know me know that my sister makes Barbie look bloated), but I think you get the point.

My family will always be loyal to ...okay, this one is hard for us right now. My children are at ages where loyalty is not quite their thing. I'm not proud, I'm just saying that the youngest would trade us all in for Barney (YES...BARNEY.), my second would trade us ALL in for five extra minutes with the MP3 and my oldest would trade us in...well, just to trade us in (and to REALLY tick me off--he would consider THAT a bonus).

If I could spend a day with a celebrity I would choose…I am SO out of the loop! I don't even KNOW what celebrities are out there anymore! I am certain there is (at least) one I would like to hang out with, I just can't think of it right now. I would say a really hot one (Ryan Gosling--he's a person, right? And he's hot? But what would I even DO with him--stop being dirty. This is PG and I am WAY TOO TIRED for all of THAT. Oh---and I'm married.) I think I would want to hang with a celebrity mom--not like Angelina or even JLo--one who seems more down to earth and who may parent (that's what I'M calling it anyway...) the way I do and we could commiserate over mimosas and whine wine...hmmm...

In my opinion, the best invention in the history of the world is…facebook. really. There are so many things that have made me say, "OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS THEBEST INVENTION IN THE HISTORY OF THE WHOLE WORLD!" but I can't think of all of them right now, so I am going with facebook. BEFORE facebook, I would stay up at night thinking about all of the people I lost touch with or didn't check in with and would feel SO VERY GUILTY. And sad. I never MEAN to lose touch or to give up on friendships, but life happens and I am REALLY very lazy. REALLY. And TIRED. SO...facebook came along and I got in touch with all of those people who used to only dwell in my memories (or in the horrible feeling in my stomach because I am such a sucky friend) and NOW I spend my nights thinking about how I suck as a parent. Hmmm. I wonder if facebook can fix THAT?!

When life hands me lemons,I throw them at my husband. Or children. No--just my husband. When we were still in the whole everyone gets up with dirty diapers phases of our relationship (NOW they just get UP!), I would kick him in the middle of the night. HARD. I would be so pissed that I got up every night while HE snored away...this caused me MUCH anger towards him. SO...I would PROBABLY throw my lemons at my husband. Who would THEN either throw them back (it's hard to live with a woman who KICKS you while you sleep!) OR...make lemonade for himself to drink. THEN he would say, "Oh--I'm sorry--did you want some?"  I am TOTALLY going to kick him for THAT one.

NOW it is YOUR turn! I can't wait to read them all--and bloggers--don't  forget to link up at  Leap Around The Blogosphere

What's the poop? (I need help...)

I think I should warn you that this post may make you sick. Not sick because I am going to hop on one of my many soap boxes and you are sick of it--sick as in I am going to talk about disgusting things. Well, maybe not DISGUSTING things--I guess it just depends on who you are and how you were raised. I CLEARLY was raised in a barn (just kidding, mom, though I believe YOU were the one who constantly ASKED, "Were you raised in a barn?" Conflicting messages--jut sayin')

I'm not really sure what a barn has to do with all of it, just like I am not sure when ANY of my friends or acquaintances had the urge to jump off of the Brooklyn bridge or the desire to buy swampland ANYWHERE let alone in Alaska, but whatever. Or "whatevs." Nope. I can't pull that off. I really wanted to try, but as it stands, word abbreviations (or "abbrevs") don't really work for me. It's okay--I'm pretty sure that the fraction of a second it would take me to let out the final syllable will be well spent, though I appreciate the concern.

Anyway...

My second summer in college I stayed at school since I had four pretty good jobs that needed me (and that I DESPERATELY needed). Yes, JOBS. I find it funny that I used to work three and four jobs AND go to class, yet now I get exhausted cooking dinner, but whatevs. (Yeah, I need to stop that now because it REALLY does not work for me!) A couple of my friends and one of my housemates stayed for the summer as well. This one particular housemate was...a unique girl. Yes, unique is a nice way of saying "crazy," and quite honestly, we were ALL a little "unique." I know that at least FOUR of you are a little concerned that I am talking about YOU right now, but I'm not. You will KNOW I'm not if I EVER get to the story.

So this girl would gag...yes, GAG--if you so much as SAID the word poop. In fact, as I typed that word, I HEARD her gagging from wherever she lives right now. It wasn't just a little gag--it was a serious convulsive gag that indicated that the very SOUND of that vile word reached down into the depths of her intestines and ripped its way back out again. Nice, I know. I guess you can imagine what happened if we actually WENT...pooh (yes, I said "pooh..." again and YES, I do pooh--and so do you, so get over it!) in HER house. This girl had a very strong personality and most of her friends would never go against ANYTHING she said, but one evening I couldn't let it go. The fact that a grown human being could be so very ridiculous made me laugh, so I just kept saying it. Pooh. Pooh,pooh,pooh. POOHPOOHPOOHPOOHPOOH POOHPOOHPOOHPOOHPOOH...sorry, but it needed to be done. Well, I guess it didn't NEED to be done, but I did it anyway. She got so upset that she almost physically attacked me. I mentioned how no one usually went against this girl, but one of her friends was hanging out with us that day and even SHE told my housemate that she was being a little ridiculous. The funny thing is, I don't know why no one told me to stop acting like a five-year-old. Pooh. Poop. Hmmm...

The reason why I brought up this...stinky...topic is because some of you may be as...sensitive...as my housemate was (though I do not for the LIFE of me know how anyone with children (and she has at least one...) can be afraid of poop. Don't get me wrong--I don't LOVE it--(who does?) and I would play the same  games we all play to get out of changing the poopy (there it is again) diapers, cleaning off...decorated...walls and sanitizing and hosing down EVERYTHING every time my children went on Augmentin  when my children were younger, but poop happens--it does--and if you gag when you even hear the WORD, there really is no hope for you as a parent (unless you have a staff of seven) who actually has to look at it, smell it, and sometimes even touch it (hopefully with gloves). I know--it's disgusting, but what do you want from me? Probably less poop. Got it.

The other night, our family (FINALLY) watched the movie Hop and LOVED it. We were all laughing throughout the film, but the laughter was particularly loud when EB pooped jellybeans. My children laughed so hard that they were crying and could not breathe, when Addison stopped abruptly and said in the most serious voice I have ever heard--from her or anyone--as she looked me straight in the eyes, "If you pooped candy, I would eat it." Funniest. Thing. Ever. Really. I wish I had those magiccam glasses (I don't know if I coined the word "magiccam" or not, but it works, doesn't it?) so that I could just tap the frame and tape our lives because it is impossible for me to convey to you just how funny it was. The fact that she went from hysterical laughter to maniacal seriousness is what REALLY got us--she even repeated herself so that I understood that she REALLY meant it--you know--just in case I ever do poop jelly beans.

Which begs the question, what if you found out that jellbeans (or any candy) were really bunny poop? Would you still eat them? If so, please let my Addie know--so that she will share--she's kind of funny about her candy. And I'm afraid to even THINK about whether she would eat them if they actually had pooh on them, because I'm pretty sure that I won't like the answer. Too far? Sorry. Just tellin' it like I see it...

Helpful or not?

When I first got on facebook (about three years ago), I had SO MUCH FUN connecting with people I had truly missed throughout the years. It seemed I was constantly finding new friends and they were finding me. It was the BEST thing for a person like me--one who MEANS well, but has a little trouble with the follow-through. The road to hell REALLY IS paved on good intentions--I can feel the heat beneath my feet! I INTEND to be a good friend, but the truth is, I kind of suck. There is something else you should know about me. I think EVERYONE feels the same way I do about things. Let me correct that--I KNOW that SO MANY PEOPLE DO NOT SHARE MY VIEWS. I just refuse to accept that. It's not that I am a know-it-all. It's quite the contrary in fact. I admit to being wrong about pretty much EVERYTHING. Until I think I'm right. I base what is "right" to me on what benefits most people or what creates the happiest ending. I've found in recent months that MANY of my "friends" do NOT share this method of reasoning. Duly noted. I first started this...feeling...when I went off to college. I was blessed to find the MOST PATIENT roommate EVER. Seriously, she should be a saint with all that she had to put up with when I was there. Example? Day one. My parents and I set up the room before she arrived. We made SURE to take over every inch of one half of the room--maybe even going over that inch in some areas. No complaints from her. I went out--ALL the time and kept her (or woke her) up until all hours of the night. No complaints from her. I even passed my "line" and took over the ENTIRE ROOM with all of my...prized possessions scattered around like...well, a junk hole--no hyperbole here, it's the truth. Some complaining, but she still loved me. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't ALWAYS horrible and I used to be very nice actually. I also used to be the person who would do anything for anyone with a smile on my face. I think the old me would REALLY annoy the new me. In fact, I kind of feel like going back in time to punch the old me in the face. THAT is a conversation for another day. I made such good friends in college and loved how there was no...ranking...or anything to prevent me from being who I was or being friends with anyone. It didn't matter what I wore, or even what I said or did--my friends were my friends. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't necessarily COLLEGE that did this. I realized that everyone had grown up and we were all on the same playing field, unlike the competition and ranking in high school. This revelation infested me with confidence and I made it my goal to befriend--well, everyone. My friends used to make fun of how many random friends I had. From townies to transfer students, I made it MY MISSION to be liked by everyone (maybe too much in some cases, but my mom [may be] reading this, so I won't get into THAT). When I went home for the summer, I ran into this couple who went to high school with me. He was very friendly with me--always had been nice to everyone it seemed--but SHE was a different story. She wasn't Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls or anythhing, she was just...aloof. Having this newfound insight, I thought I was friends with EVERYONE and that EVERYONE got the memo about being on the same plaing field. Evidently not. I remember chatting amiably and telling them to give me a call if they ever wanted to get together that summer. Not because I didn't already have WAY TOO MANY people to keep up with (along with working three jobs), but because EVERYONE had to be my friend. As I walked away, I realized that I may have been off on that one...and unless they legitimately lost my phone number AND their phone books, I was. I tell this Sue Heck-like story not to make you sad for the bushy-unibrowed gangly girl I once was, but to tell you how I did a similar thing on facebook. (And if you don't know Sue Heck, check out The Middle. I think I laugh more out of the embarrassment that Sue Heck is ME circa 1986 than the fact that the mother is me now!) You see, I have a theory. I have A LOT of theories. THIS particular theory is about pregnancy, delivery and post-partum depression. I believe that pregnancy and delivery SUCK. I believe that those who THINK they love it are lying to themselves. That Duggar woman? Certifiable. I actually feel sorry for her because her brain is so far into that mommy cloud, it will never be able to come back, which is a good thing in her case. IMAGINE what would happen if her brain DID come back now? "HOLY *&#!! I have HOW MANY children? AND I'M PREGNANT?! What am I, A CAT?! Or worse--A RABBIT?!" Better she should remain in the mommy cloud. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about when I say "mommy cloud" because any woman who has given birth to a child and any woman or man who has (or are currently) raised or lived with small children KNOWS what a "mommy cloud" is. My sister calls is "Placenta brain" which I love, but it happens regardless of the placenta. It happens simply because there is a child or are children snipping away at your brain with their constant demands (Now I have to feed them AND be nice to them? Apparently I also have to LISTEN to them, though they don't reciprocate) and incessant whining. Add to that the fact that so many choose to stay at home to give their children..."The best care ever"(which in my case is a joke at times because, REALLY? They are better off with me as a raging psychopath than with children their own age and teachers who do fun activities with them each day? REALLY?! so they don't have contact with the outside world. THIS is where I have been for the last few years. After having my children I worked for just over two years (not consecutively) and have been home the rest of the time. My son will be eight this year. That is SIX YEARS of spending the majority of my time with people who seemingly cannot be taught anything and who do not listen to a word I say unless I YELL IT LIKE A LUNATIC. No wonder I have no brain. HOW does this relate to my facebook incident? I'll tell you. The year after I "retired" from teaching for the third time, I acquainted myself with facebook and spent my time searching for those I thought I had wronged in some way or had a falling out with for some reason. One of my closest friends in high school was on and he posted that his wife was pregnant with their second child. I was so very happy for them and (although we hadn't SPOKEN in almost twenty years)I somehow thought it was MY responsibility to to warn him about ONE of my theories (though in the eleven page email I sent him I did not MENTION it was MY theory...hmmm...)about parenthood and pregnancy. I believe that EVERYONE suffers through some form of "baby blues" or another. Not everyone goes all Susan Smith on their family or dislikes their babies, but simply being sleep-deprived is enough to mess with your psyche--add to it everything else that comes with the job (and the PREPARATION for the job) and who WOULDN'T be depressed or feel disconnected at times?! Notice you never heard Tom Cruise say another negative word about postpartum depression after HIS wife was pregnant. I mentioned ALL OF THIS (plus a little more, I'm sure!) to my "friend" and felt compelled to explain more. I'm SO VERY HELPFUL, no?! There are varying degrees of this depression and add to it ANOTHER baby (before your brain comes back from the first) and it can be madness. If your spouse doesn't UNDERSTAND this, imagine how bad it can get. Some of you know because you've been there. Wouldn't YOU want your spouse's freakish friend from a few decades ago to offer unsolicited advice about how devastating it is going to be when your new baby comes?! YOU'RE WELCOME is what I should say to THAT family. Only, I'm not sure we are even friends on here anymore and if we are I'm P-R-E-T-T-Y sure he "hid" me. Let's just say that the happy commenting we had done BEFORE my "helpful" note was no more and I could almost HEAR the crickets in the room after he read the note--probably aloud--to his spouse. Evidently we don't ALL think the same way and what may seem "helpful" to me may seem a little stalker-like to others. Who knew?! I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I think you know me better than THAT.

DO NOT look at my chin every time I see you now...

So it started out with three ugly hairs. Three wiry, disgusting hairs poking out of my chin; firmly standing erect and ready to fight, like The Three Soldiers standing on the National Mall. At first I plucked. I plucked every time I sensed they may peek out and introduce themselves to others. I even tried plucking when they weren’t visible—digging a canyon into my chin that Arizona would envy. I’m sure the bloody gash was MUCH more appealing than any hair would be.

Junior year of college is when I’d had enough. Those lonely hairs poking through the scar on my chin were really cramping my style. I lived with New York’s version of Snookie and she insisted on waxing them. She wanted my disgusting friends to be set free, and she knew she was the one to do it.

“What about regrowth? Won’t it create more hair?” were questions that were answered with scoffing and a hair flip. “Everyone knows that after waxing over a long period of time, the hair eventually goes away completely.” Not EVERYONE knew that, but I decided to take her word for it.

The day finally came. In a huge kitchen in a soon-to-be condemned college house, Snookie went after those hairs like a mother gorilla to the gnats buried in her baby’s fur. When she finished, my chin felt smoother than ever. It WORKED! By the end of the month, the hairs were back—and they had a friend. Waxed them off and the chin was smoothe. Wax on, wax off --Mr. Miagi style--that’s what happened each month with my chin and every time we “waxed off,” a new friend would appear. At this rate, I would look like Lincoln before the end of the year, but I couldn’t stop. After several years of this (along with three babies, two hysterectomies and changing hormones), I finally threw in my waxing towel and decided to go back to plucking. I didn’t want to battle my husband each month to see whose chin hairs were longer. After winning several times, I knew there was a problem.

Thanks, Snookie—because of your brilliance and insistence that waxing wouldn’t do anything but help, I live in fear that my son will ask ME how to maintain his beard properly.