Archive | April, 2010

To Voodoo or Not to Voodoo?

30 Apr

Plagued by negative energies I feel I need to rid myself of this anger and stress.  This pregnancy has turned me into a serious crab ass.  Even I’m sick of myself, so I can only imagine how other people feel? (Sorry friends).

 

Last night I’m watching Tori & Dean Home Sweet Hollywood on Oxygen.  Tori is getting a Voodoo cleanse from Mama Lola.  It comes to me!  OMG, this is EXACTLY what I need.  I need a Voodoo cleanse!  I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.  This will rid me of my bad spirits and will cleanse my soul so I can come out a more complete and loving person and mommy-to-be.

I’m convinced this is all I need to do….a Voodoo cleanse.  I do a search on Google.  “Looking for Voodoo cleanse.”

I find The Voodoo Magick Shop!  OMG, this is it.

I run it by my friend, Christine, who advises me against this.  Her quote, “Good lord, don’t do that. It’s hokey.”

I love Christine to death, and I agree with her.  It is a bit strange, could be a total rip off and probably just adds to my “crazy” nature.  But, for the sake of my sanity, this blog and experimentation I’m going to check it out!  Check back to read To Voodoo or Not to Voodoo Part II to see what happens with my Voodoo experience.

I will let you all know whether I am a new woman – or whether I just plain got scammed!

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The Never-Ending Story…

29 Apr

I want to apologize for how long my previous post “And You Think Your Family is Matto?” is….this is and has been truly a never ending fiasco. I hope you can see the humor in it – I know you have if you’re one of the lucky ones who has actually heard this story from the beginning.

And You Think Your Family Is Matto?

29 Apr

Back in February I approached my Papa about taking my grandma on a trip to Arizona.  I wasn’t sure how he would feel about it; since she has Alzheimer’s, I’m pregnant and I’m sort of the “baby” of the family….maybe I should back-up?

What’s the saying – ‘Family, can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em?’  I love my family dearly, but they definitely make me matto (Italian for “crazy.”)  Being of Italian descent (have I mentioned before that I’m Italian?) my family definitely favors many Italian stereotypes.  We are the big loud Italian family, run by our own “Godfather” my beloved Papa.  Side note: Every time I see my Papa he’s wearing a different t-shirt that says “Proud to be Italian.” Or “I know You Wish You Were Italian.”  (I’m not joking, he must have hundreds!)  And just for a visual, he also carries a coffee mug that says “Of course I’m a Republican.”  I just adore him.

My Papa and I in our Italian duds

My Papa and grandma have five children – my mother being the eldest.  My mom had me at a young age so her baby sister was just nine when she became an auntie to me.  Naturally as the first granddaughter I was absolutely adored by all (are you even surprised?).  Because my mom was young we spent a lot of time with my grandparents and her siblings.  I almost became the sixth child in a sense.  But, as the years have passed I’ve kind of turned into the black sheep of the family, or maybe the pink sheep. 

I have always beaten to my own drum.  I have always liked to do things in my own way.  I have the same strength and independence as my Papa.  I’m a very ambitious and driven person.  I strive for excellence every day.  I am very hard on myself, and I know I get this from my upbringing.  I always want to better…I can be better, do better, be more attractive, make more money….In the end it leaves you truly never satisfied, but that’s a blog for a different day.  On the positive end of it, I can pretty much get anything accomplished that I set my mind to.  (Remember, I’m writing my first novel, tentatively titled “Concrete Boots!”)

So now with this background information you know that I am the oldest child (obviously possessing first born traits like being assertive and a perfectionist), with a touch of baby of the family syndrome (my narcissistic and manipulative nature, as well as my extreme sensitivity).

Now back to the beginning!  Back in February I approached my Papa and asked to take my gram to AZ.  I wanted to take her for my cousin’s high school graduation.  My Papa supported the idea and was all for it.  Unfortunately, money grew tighter and tighter and I pushed off booking the trip for several months.  Sometimes procrastinating pays off – as with most of my college papers – but not in the case of buying airfare.  Ticket prices went through the roof!

I determined that I absolutely could NOT back out of this commitment.  I was taking my gram to AZ even if it meant being the first 6th month pregnant stripper at Diamonds Gentlemen’s Club’s “Amateur Night.”  For weeks I watched ticket prices.  I prayed they would drop – or that I would magically get a $1,000 check in the mail made out to moi.  Neither happened. (Remember the book “The Secret?” – ALL LIES!)

So what do I do?  I continue to procrastinate.  I figure it will “come to me.”  It will all work out.

My uncle called me.  He had gotten wind of this (Italians like to talk and aren’t capable of keeping a secret).  He thought it was great that I wanted to take my gram to AZ.  He heard money was tight and offered to help pay for my gram’s ticket.  While that was an extremely generous offer, I do have my pride.  Of course, I declined his money.  I can do this; I can do this all by myself.

I ended up having to change our flight plans.  Sure I was disappointed, but it seemed silly to spend $800 to fly to AZ for five days to see my cousin’s graduation, that which my gram in her Alz state of mind won’t even remember.  I do have a baby on the way, and I should be saving money.  Why not go in early May, when the travel is WAY cheaper?  We can celebrate Mother’s Day, my b-day and my cousin’s 18th b-day!  We can go for 7 days!  Perfect.  Booked the trip for $500.  And before you ask, of course I asked my Papa.  He’s the Godfather, remember?

I left my uncle a voicemail thanking him for his generous offer and telling him of our alternate plans.  He called me back.  WTF?  He is disappointed that I did not book the trip over the graduation.  I explained to him that I didn’t feel right taking his money and that I’m doing the best that I can.  I can’t take criticism and was feeling defensive.  Gosh, I’m the granddaughter/baby of the family for Pete’s sake!  Can’t this family be happy that I’m taking her out there?  I’m taking a week off work unpaid two months before my maternity leave?  I’m spending money that I don’t have (remember, maxed credit cards!) to fly us out there.  Why can’t they just be happy that we’re going???? (My entire family actually suffers from “Never Being Satisfied Syndrome.”)

My uncle was very kind don’t get me wrong – he offered to pay the difference to change the flights and he suggested I talk to my Papa further about this and maybe ask my gram what she wants to do.  After all, she still has an opinion right?  I slept on it that night.  Part of me understood what he said, but the other part of me was all, “Stay out of my business, yo!”

I emailed my Papa, the pleaser that I am (first born trait), and asked him what to do.  I don’t want anyone upset with me!  I just want to do a nice thing!  I expressed my confusion and frustration…it all came out….prego hormones, I tell ya.  I thought my Papa would email me back a terse email.  “I don’t have time for this Jennifer,”  “Your feelings are stupid Jennifer,” or even worse, “Grow up Jennifer.”

It took him a day and a half to respond.  But what came back to me was the most important email that I’ve ever received in my life.  It is personal and private, and for me.  It is words that I will cherish forever.  It is my Papa telling me what I needed to hear, but without telling me what to do. 

My family has always been like an octopus.  My Papa was the head floating around the ocean, and all of his arms were his wife, his children, and ME!  The head tells us what to do and we listen.  We follow.  We do as we’re told.  But it wasn’t like that.  This time it was different.  What I will share, is the common thread amongst my entire family – our pride.  My Papa encouraged me to swallow my pride, as he was told to do one year ago when my gram was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

Fast forward to today.  I called my gram at lunch and told her I have a huge surprise for her.  She was beyond excited.  I told her about the trip to AZ and gave her a choice to fly in early May or late May.  And this is where the hilarity ensues.

My gram can’t make a decision for the life of her, as she can’t even remember the dates I keep giving her.  I repeat the dates maybe five times.  We hang up.  I email my Papa and ask him what he thinks she wants to do, as she wouldn’t make a decision.  I call my aunt in AZ to see what she thinks and if we can switch it.  Well, she’s just hung up with my Papa.  Seems he called her to tell her that as long as she can get graduation tickets for my gram and I that we are switching the dates.

My aunt, confused, says, “What are you talking about?  The trip is booked.  The tickets were too much money.”

My Papa – ever the old school Italian that we love so much – responds, “Don’t worry about it.”

My aunt, worried about it, repeats, “Dad, Jen already booked the tickets.  The airfare was too high.”

Papa repeats, “Don’t worry about it.”

She goes on to say to me, “Well, your mom may be coming out the week that you and Grandma are supposed to be.”

WTF?  I asked my mom BEFORE I booked the trip if she wanted to come out to AZ with us.  She said she would have liked to but money was tight and she was taking a family trip with my aunts and gram in July.

I say to my aunt, “What are you talking about; she can’t afford it because she’s going to Florida.”

My aunt says, “The Florida trip got cancelled.  Steve won’t get out of the house.”

WTF is she talking about?

Me: “Who is Steve?”

My aunt: “So-and-so’s husband…they are getting a divorce and he won’t leave the house so the trip is cancelled.  Your mom called me yesterday and said maybe she could fly out here instead.”

Me: “You’d think she’d mention it to me since I was the one who invited her in the first place!”

My aunt: “Yea, well, she was gonna sleep on it and get back to me today.  So, I better call her and tell her to call you.”

Me: “Ok, I will call Uncle to confirm the price change, and then I have to call the airline to find out how to even change the tickets.”

My aunt: “Right.  I’ll call your mom.  You call me back.”

Me: “Ok, I’ll call you later.”

At 4:30 p.m. my mom is calling me.

Mom: “What the heck is going on?”

Me: “OMG, this trip has turned into a fiasco!”

Mom: “I guess so….Aunt told me they want you to change it.”

I proceed to give her deets on the situation.

Mom: “If I were you I would say no, I’m not changing it.  This is when I’m going.”

I may be the pink sheep, but I certainly don’t like to ruffle any feathers – especially my Papa’s!

Me: “I couldn’t do that, Mom.  Papa sent me a really nice email telling me basically to swallow my pride.”

Mom: “Well where is Uncle getting the money from?”

Me: “I don’t know, but the fact of the matter is I have $100 in my checking account until pay day.  I literally can NOT change the tickets without his money.  So are you going to come?”

Mom: “I want to come, but I’m still not sure.  I definitely can’t go later in the month.  If I go it has to be on the trip that is already booked.”

We continue to go back and forth – some of which I’m sorry to say must remain private.  If you knew you’d be like WTF, trust me.  As we’re discussing the web of drama that has been spun out of control we can only laugh.  This is nothing new.  This is our family.  DRAMA.  This is how I became an uber drama-queen.

Me: “Mom, Aunt is calling me on the other line.  Let me call you back.”

Aunt: “What is going on?”

Me: “I was just talking to my mom.”

Aunt: “And?”

Me: “She’s still not sure about booking a ticket out here.  She’s worried about the cost.”

Aunt: “I already offered to pay for her ticket and she said no.”

Me: “I know, she said she will not take your money.  I told her what Papa said about letting go of your pride and she said ‘he would never do that, are you kidding?’”

Aunt: “Well, I really want her to come.”

Me: “So do I.”

Aunt: “I don’t think you should change the trip.”

Me: “Neither do I.”

We continue to discuss, as I open my pink Dell laptop and check airfare to the desert.

Me: “OMG, the prices have dropped!”
Doesn’t that ALWAYS happen?????

Aunt: “My computer is down.  I’m giving you my credit card right now and you are booking your mom.”

Me (I’m so not a bad-ass when it comes to my family!  I’m a perpetual wimp!): “NO WAY!  She would kill me.  You need to call her first.”

Aunt: “OK, so I’m calling your mom and Papa and then I’m calling you back.”

We hang up. 

Mom: “I don’t want to be manipulated.  I never said I was 100% going and Aunt tells Papa that and now wants you to book my ticket.”

Me (laughing): “I knew you would be mad.  I’m so glad I told her to call you first.”

Today at 10:30 a.m.

I get an email from my Papa.  It says he has found out that my mom can no longer go.  Stomach drops, yikes!  What does this mean?

I call Aunt: “I got an email from Papa.  I don’t get it.”

Aunt: “Well, what’s it say?”

I read it to her and say: “I don’t know what this means?”

Aunt: “Neither do I.  Well, my computer is back up, and I emailed him last night letting him know your mom is not coming.  I checked my email this morning and he hadn’t responded.”

Me: “He responded to me!”

Aunt: “Your mother!  Why wouldn’t she just come?”

Me: “She’s stubborn.”

Aunt: “Well, I better call her and tell her to call Papa and discuss it with him.”

Me (gasping): “OMG, she is going to kill you.”

Aunt: “Why?”

Me: “Cuz she was mad you even got her involved in this.  She said she doesn’t like to be rushed to make a decision.  And now you’re telling her to call Papa?”  I laugh.  This is rather amusing at this point.  This is like the 4th time we are discussing changing a trip that is book for 2 weeks from now!

Aunt: “OK, I’m gonna call your mom.  I’m gonna tell her to call Papa, and I’ll call you back later today.”

Me: “OK, I’ll check airfare again and text you the prices.”

We hang up.

Are you as confused as I am?

Are you starting to see why I’m matto, loca, verruckt, crazy, etc?  Is it starting to make sense now? 

While it’s extremely annoying and drives me absolutely insane….I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Family – you can’t live with ‘em, you can’t live without ‘em.  And if you’re wondering, no I don’t know what is going on with this flight yet.  The craziness will continue tonight in a mass game of “he said-she said Telephone” and I guarantee by the end of the night I’ll be beating my head against the wall and asking, “Where are we going again?”

Photo courtesy of http://www.themadhatter.net

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Daaaaamn! That Girl Fugly!

23 Apr

5th Month

They say “everyone loves a pregnant chick.”  They say pregnant chicks are cute, adorable, even sexy.  Some days I feel cute in my maternity duds with my ‘lil baby bump.  But as my bump gets bigger I notice everything is getting bigger.  Bigger butt, bigger chipmunk cheeks, bigger boobs – even bigger nipples (gross)!  

My doctor told me to watch my weight – and I have been trying – but as I’m nearing the end of my 2nd trimester I’m absolutely ravenous all the time.  Be careful if you have a Dairy Queen Blizzard.  I may just kill you for it.  Each butt cheek is a different Blizzard flavor and my chipmunk cheeks are stuffed full of Sour Patch Kids (the bambino’s fave).  

So with the belly – and everything else – getting bigger I’m starting to feel a little less cute and a little more fugly.  

Yeah, not just ugly – fucking ugly – fugly.   

I wake up this morning exhausted.  With a red, fat lip (WTH?) and a zit.  I never get zits.  I look in the mirror and my eyes pop open wide.  The inside of my head screams “WTF is this?!?”  

Finally I dress.  I can no longer fit into any regular clothes at all anymore.  It’s all maternity…all the time.  I put on elastic belly maternity black pants (so hot).  

My Stalker's Cars! Photograph courtesy of "K-Woww"

I get to my Dunkin Donuts – yes, in case you’re wondering, my stalker is there, driving a green SUV today – and I head inside.  As the sun glares down on me I lift my shades and peek at my pants.  OK, when did my pants get covered with hair and lint?  I try to brush it off with no luck.  Embarrassed, I suck it up and head inside; my big black shades back on my face and covering my eyes.  I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone today.   

I get to work and de-lint my pants.  At least now I look presentable minus the zit and my red fat lip (again, WTH?), but thank goodness for makeup and sparkly powder.   

An hour later it’s time to empty the prego bladder.  And how fun that I now pee 24 times in a 24 hour day.  Well, maybe that’s excessive…maybe 12-15 times…I’ve always been a bit of an exaggerator.   

So I’m in the bathroom, and I put my head down in my hands.  Is it 4:30 p.m. yet?  I look at my watch.  It’s 9:05 a.m.  I notice a gleam of light streaming through my black pants.  WTF is this?  There are not one – but THREE holes in the crotch of my pants.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Three holes?  Was I even awake this morning when I got dressed?  You remember what happened last time I was half asleep and dressing….I lost my DKNYs!  In the Dunkin Donuts parking lot!  After I pooped my pants!  

It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone.  I’ve always been cute and trendy.  When did I become frumpy and fugly?  I look like someone I would make fun of – flat slip-on shoes, hair tied up in a bun.  I look like the girl down the hall who works for one of the many attorneys in my building.  Let me tell you, attorneys can’t dress.  They only dress like Ally McBeal on TV.  Every day she walks by and I think she looks like a librarian.  And not a sexy librarian.  A frumpy librarian.  Like I’m one to talk now.  Not that I look like a librarian…I still have my big hoop earrings and my Juicy Couture watch and my Coach handbag.  And my slip-ons are sparkly…and Bebe.  Maybe I’m starting to look like a MOM?   

Or maybe God is trying to humble me.  Oh God, please don’t do this to me.  Haven’t you messed with me enough lately?  I don’t have that great of a personality so you’ve got to give me something!  And I refuse to be a Kate Gosselin 5-years-ago mom.  I insist on being more the Demi Moore today mom – you know, hot, sophisticated and can still bring those young guys home! Owwwww!!!!!!!!!!   

Or maybe it’s my prego brain.  I’m just too tired and discombobulated in the morning to “get it together.”  Gee, I wonder how I’ll be after I have to get myself – and a bambino – ready and out the door.  I fear this is only the beginning of frumpy and fugly mom.  Where does it go from here?  Sweat pants and scrunchies????   

As I wash my hands I stare at myself in the mirror.  I want to cry.  Where is cute, fun, happy Jen?  Who is this biotch staring back at me?  Well…I guess cute, fun and happy is kind of stretch there really.  I’m more cute, stylish and intense?  Or cute, snotty and down right awesome, i.e., self-absorbed but still has a sweet side.  Let’s go with that.  My blog is titled “If You Think I’m a B*tch So Be It” after all.  

I look in the mirror and stare at my zit…and my dull pale skin (L.A. Tan, how I miss you)…and my ginormous breasts…and my fat ass and I think, “Toughen up chick!”  Who is this wimp staring back at me in the mirror?  Good lord, I could kick that whiney bitch’s ass!  

It’s time to give myself a pep talk.  I am in SERIOUS need of a pep talk.   

I need a time-out.  It’s time to toughen up, soldier!  I have so much confusion and anxiety about becoming a mother that I don’t even remember who I really am anymore?   

The real Jen is no bullshit…the real Jen doesn’t take anyone’s crap….the real Jen is a loud-mouth, drunken Italian bitch who means well yet always manages to get in trouble.  The real Jen is quite charming – I have to be to get out of these messes one way or another! – and the real Jen is strong-willed,  stubborn and independent.  The real Jen doesn’t need anyone on God’s green Earth to survive.  The real Jen could say hello or good-bye…  

So I ask you…Who is this wimp staring me in the face?  Who is this weak and insecure girl?  Well this whiney bitch got her ass beat today!  And I’m back!   

Now…if only I can combat this fugly problem.  Then I will be officially back in business.  Bear with me Readers…we’ve got 14 weeks to go!  

P.S. I did put in pennies for my “F” word slip-ups.

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Facebook – DELETE

15 Apr

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Do I do it?  Or don’t I?

And then I do.

It’s like a huge relief is lifted off my shoulders.  I take a deep breath.

I didn’t think it would feel this good.

Life already feels easier…more relaxed…less melodramatic.

I remember the day that I did it for the first time.  I never thought I would.  And then my cousin Tami did it.  I always thought I was too old for it.  But, when Tami did it, I thought Why can’t I?

And that’s how it began.

I like it, don’t get me wrong.  It’s fun and mindless and kills boredom.

But, then, it became a habit.  A routine.  An addiction.

I’ve said before that I have a very addictive personality.  Thank God I’m not into drugs or I know I would have ended up like Amy Winehouse minus the Grammy.  As it is my fondness for boozing is already questionable.

The great – or not so great – thing about me is that I don’t do anything half-assed.  I’m all in or all out.  Where this usually ends up being rather damaging is when I’m at the mall (can you say maxed credit card?) and when I start thinking.

When I start thinking it can be really good or really bad.  I have the ability to overanalyze any situation presented to me.  Give me something to analyze and you’ll be amazed at where my brain takes us.  With all this thinking going on I needed a creative outlet to get it out…..and that is the great thing about FACEBOOK.

Facebook has been my outlet for the past two years.  If I am angry I put it out there.  If I’m happy I put it out there….sad….excited….bored….whatever I’m feeling I put it out there.  Then it’s off my chest for all to see.  My feelings have gone out into Facebook cyber-land where they can be seen or not seen, I don’t really care, as long as it’s off my chest.

Facebook is like therapy.  But way cheaper.  And way more drama.  The problem with Facebook is that people can respond.  See, if you could just put your thoughts out for the world to see but no one could ever respond back?  Hmm…there’s an idea.  Though I guess it might get kind of boring.  One of the cool things about posting on Facebook is seeing the responses that you do get back.

If you’re an easy-going type of person you probably don’t let those responses bother you.  You roll with the punches.  You are happy-go-lucky.  That is SO not me.

Sorry, but I guess I have a serious problem with people not agreeing with me.  Or with people telling me what to do.  Or with communication in general in a written response.  I do a lot of WTH does that mean?? (Notice I said WTH instead of the other one! Saved a penny! See my last post if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.)

Is this my over-analytical thinking?  Maybe this is part of my pSyChO? nature?? (Again, see earlier blog post pSyChO?)

These days I’m blaming all on my pregnancy hormones.  It’s like an insane alien creature has taken over my body.  I’m just not myself these days.  Nothing I say or do makes sense.  My mood swings dip higher and lower than the American Eagle rollercoaster at Six Flags, and they come and go even faster at that.

All I know is that Facebook was becoming a source of anxiety for me and it was time to cut it loose.  I’m not sure how this will pan out.  I’m sure I will be back at some point.  But, in the meantime, my distraught brain and sensitive heart couldn’t take it anymore.  I need to take care of myself and my Bambino.

So, ta-ta for now Facebook friends. 

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I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

14 Apr

“I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” quote from Chris Tucker as Smokey in Friday. Click on the you-tube link below to watch the 54 sec. clip. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGlgsyzGcmo
Smokey clip 

Image courtesy of http://www.noswearing.com

 

It’s been brought to my attention that I have a bit of a potty mouth.  A bit of?  That’s being nice.  I actually have a disgusting, downright shocking – and sometimes even horrifying – pig of a mouth. 

I know it’s repulsive. 

I know it’s unattractive and un-lady-like. 

But, it’s me.  I like to swear.  Just like smokers like to smoke and drinkers like to drink (well, I do like to drink, too, but another post on that later) I like to swear.  I love it actually.  It makes me happy and tingly inside.  It sends positive endorphins racing through my brain.  

When some bitch cuts me off in traffic I can’t yell “What the heck, you jerk!” 

Oh no. 

I yell (brace yourself), “Learn how to drive you FUUUUUUUUCKING C*NT BITCH!!!” 

Yes, I even use the “C” word.  I told you to brace yourself. 

I don’t make a habit of using the “C” word, though.  That one only comes out for special occasions, for special people.  The word that I use almost as often as “the” or “at” is “fuck.” 

Fuck is by far without a doubt my favorite word in the English language.  This word is truly amazing.  

Note: I tried to come up with these on my own, but this website was too good to pass up.  It’s brilliant.  I give it an A++.  According to http://www.nlpmind.com/fuck.htm :

Using Fuck as a flexible word.

Flexible use of fuck, it is probably the most versatile word in the whole fucking English language.

“Fuck” can be used in many different ways.

  • Noun: I don’t give a fuck.
  • Adjective: Jennifer is organizing the fucking event.
  • Verb: Don’t fuck it up.
  • Transitive verb: Paul fucked Jennifer.
  • Intransitive verb: Jennifer fucks.
  • Part of an adverb: Jennifer organizes too fucking much.
  • Adverb enhancing an adjective: Jennifer is fucking amazing.
  • Part of a word: Fanfuckingtastic! Absofuckinglutely infuckingcredible!

It can even be used as almost every word in a sentence, (although that’s not advised). 

i.e. Fuck it, fucking fuckups, fuck the fucking fuckers. 

Here are some examples of how the word fuck can be used.

  • Aggression: Don’t fuck with me.
  • Amazement: Infuckingcredible!
  • Assurance: Absofuckinglutely.
  • Difficulty: I’m having a fuck of a time with this.
  • Disagreement: Fuck you!
  • Dismay: Fuck it.
  • Dismissal: Fuck off.
  • Fraud: I got fucked on that deal.
  • Incompetence: What a fuckup.
  • Inquiry: What the fuck?
  • Pleasure: Fanfuckingtastic!
  • Satisfaction: Fucking “A” man!
  • Trouble: Now I’m fucked.

When you realize the versatility of this fantastic word, say it with pride. It will immediately reveal the quality of your character and the flexibility of your language skills. ;-)  

  
  Check out more fanfuckingtastic info on language.
It’s absofuckinglutely infuckingcredible!

You’re probably wondering where all this bad language – and this blog post – came from? 

Last weekend, after spuing off a cluster of expletives – to be fair I was telling a very frustrating story – as my husband and I headed to Dunkin Donuts for our morning coffee, he says to me that my potty mouth is bad.  It’s real bad.  It’s actually gotten worse. 

Uh-oh.  Will my future child’s first word be FUCK?  That would be kind of funny, but only for like two minutes.  When my kid goes up to my mother and says, “Give me a fucking cookie, Grandma,” she would beat his ass.  Seriously.  We got soap in our mouths – for saying much less – like “sucker.” 

The exact quote, circa 1989, my brother playing with his army toys yelled, “I’m gonna get you SUUUCCKKER!” 

And there was my mom.  With liquid soap.  It was horrifying.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  The word SUUUCCKKER came out of his mouth in slow motion…my brother’s face read, “Holy shit! I’m gonna be dead meat!”  To be fair, I thought he was gonna be dead meat. 

The second the words escaped his lips it was like Ralphie in A Christmas Story yelling “Ooohhh Fuuuccckkk!” as he dropped the tire lug nuts. (And P.S., if you don’t know what I’m talking about than go rent A Christmas Story because, OMG, it’s the best movie EVER). 

My brother was probably shitting his pants. 

My mom said, “Michael, get over here.”  In that voice.  You know that voice. 

My brother looked at me.  I truly felt for him.  Then my mom proceeded to squirt FOUR squirts of liquid Dial soap in his mouth.  She stood there and yelled, “Swallow!” 

I felt like she was a Nazi drill sergeant.  I wanted to cry. 

My brother swallowed.  Then he hiccupped.  A bubble came out.  

The poor kid. 

Maybe because we weren’t even allowed to say “That sucks” at home and I’m rebellious….or maybe it’s my bad temper and aggressive nature….or maybe, most likely, it’s because I’ve worked in the construction industry for several years.  In construction, saying the word “fuck” is like saying the word “fax” in an office.  It’s just second nature.  It just comes out.  Men, women, subs, inspectors, even the banker – all yelled fuck.  All the time. 

I just got so used to saying it that I can’t stop.  I can censor – around my mom and my Grandma – but that gives me anxiety.  I don’t like to censor.  I am me, take it or leave it.  And that’s what I said to my husband when we were headed to Dunkin Donuts. 

“I said fuck when you married me.  You know who I am.” 

He said, “I know, but this is getting a little out of control.  You say it all the time now.  It’s obnoxious.” 

So even though I HATE being criticized I decided he does have a point.  I DO say it all the time.  I DO over use it.  I DO have a baby on the way. 

With great sadness, I admitted defeat.  I decided it’s time to clean up my potty mouth.  I can still use any other swear word I fancy at any time and under any circumstances, thank God, I simply can not say FUCK.  I started a penny jar.  If I say FUCK (not counting this blog post for goodness sakes!) then I owe the jar a penny. 

I know a penny doesn’t sound like much.  But, that’s precisely how bad my mouth is.  If I did $1.00 I would end up broke!  I started this challenge on Sunday, April 11th.  As of today, Wednesday, April 14th, I have 19 cents in there.  

- I don’t count it if I say it and no one hears it (because then was it really said?)
- I don’t count it if I think it.
- I don’t count it if I write WTF.
- I don’t count it if I’m telling a story and someone else said the “F” word.  I mean, they said it.  I’m just repeating what they said?
- I do count it if I write it an e-mails, except to my BFs, because LORDY, that’s a lot of pennies!
- I do count it if I write it as such: F*ck (I think that one is questionable, personally…) 

SO………wish me luck friends.  I’m doing this for 1 month.  I will update you afterwards with how this challenge went and how much money is in my penny jar.  I will be donating the change to The Ronald McDonald House (http://rmhc.org/), so if you know me and you catch me, feel free to call me out on it!  I may tell you to fuck off but then there’s another penny for the children.

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pSyChO?

12 Apr

Photo courtesy of Yahoo Photos

 

I feel like calling a chick psycho is sort of the equivalent of telling a guy his member is not adequate.  I mean, all chicks are a little crazy.  That’s what makes us chicks.  We have feelings.  We are emotional.  We speak our minds.  But calling us psycho is sort of hitting below the belt.  And you KNOW it bugs us. 

Guys are content to just go through life sitting on a couch watching Sports Center and jerking off.  We’re headaches to them.  We’re pains in the ass.  We bitch and moan.  We spend their money. 

But, the cool thing about being a chick is we are SO much more than that.  We are so much more than the make-up, the shoes, the tits.  We are the heart.  And the heart is a big thing, it’s everything.  The heart is the love, the compassion, the desire.  

We tell you when we are happy.  We tell you when we are sad.  We tell you when we are mad.  We’re not hard to figure out.  We put it out there.  We give you all the signs. 

Some chicks are more “normal” while others are considered more “crazy.”  I have never tried to pass myself off as a normal girl.  The fact of the matter is I’m not normal.  But, isn’t normal sort of boring anyways? 

I’m damaged.  I’m real.  I embrace my craziness.  I’m up.  I’m down.  I’m here.  I’m there.  Every day is a different adventure with me.  I’ve been hurt.  I’m sensitive.  I have a bad temper.  I jump to conclusions and start fights.  I can be downright insecure at times.  

I can sit and give you excuses.  I can tell you about my background and childhood.  My history will convey to you why I’m damaged and emotional, where I’ve been, what I’ve seen.  But, it’s my history.  It’s my life.  It’s my worries and fears.  Not yours.  

It’s my story. 

I’m not going to defend why I’m the way that I am.  If you’re one of the lucky few you know this already.  You can look past my bad qualities and see the real me.  You look deeper inside me, and you find the truly loving, loyal and sensitive person that I am. 

You know there is more to me than meets the eye.  

I don’t let many people in.  Sure I “put it all out there,” but I am also very guarded.  I’m like a wounded animal.  I want you to love me and hold me, but as soon as you do I’ll try to bite your arm off. 

I’m crazy and difficult…and psycho?  But, I’m not going to apologize for me.  I am who I am.  Sure, I wish there were things about me that were different.  Don’t we all?  I wish I was more laid back and easy-going.  I wish I could not sweat the small stuff.  Instead, I am a zealous, hormonal Italian b*tch – with so many layers to me you may never see them all.  I won’t let you. 

But, please, before you judge.  Before you call us names – like psycho – remember that we all have a story.  We all have baggage.  And we all have hearts.  You just have to look deeper in some people than others.

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Let’s Talk Bathroom Etiquette…

9 Apr

Photo courtesy of Yahoo Photos

I know all my bathroom talk is frank – and probably pretty gross – but the fact of the matter is we all go to the bathroom and at some time in our lives we will all be forced to use a public bathroom.  Nothing is more annoying than people lacking proper etiquette in this shared space.

For men, you just walk in, whip it out and do your biz in the urinal…obviously God is a man.  But, for ladies, this is a bit more of a production.

I work in an office building with a shared public bathroom for all employees in the building.  I know some of the ladies from other offices, but others, even though I’ve seen them around I don’t “know” them.  This is because they won’t say hello or even acknowledge my presence in the bathroom.  WTF?  I realize we’re in a bathroom, but when you walk in and I’m washing my hands why can’t you say hello? 

This one lady – she makes the effort to look at me every time.  And then she gives me a dirty look!  It pisses me off!  But, I take solace in the fact that not only am I cuter than her, but I’m obviously much nicer as well…

Some other issues I have:

The Tortoise and the Hare – These people drive me INSANE.  These are the people that time their bathroom breaks like they are running a marathon.  They literally marathon pee – they pee in a minute tops.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  What is your hurry?  I guess I pee more like the Tortoise.  I take my time…slow and steady.  These people that come in and pee ridiculously fast actually give me anxiety.  I don’t want to have to pop a Xanax every time I go to the bathroom because you’re in some crazy race with yourself to be the quickest pee-er in my office building.  Congratulations!  You took a piss in 49 seconds flat.  It’s a new Olympic record.

These speedy pee-ers also cause a ripple effect of other etiquette issues.  Let me proceed.

The Sloppy Pee-er – Because you are in such a hurry to pee and exit, you ultimately end up leaving your pee droplets on the toilet seat.  This makes me throw up in my mouth every time I walk into the toilet stall.  I need to do a thorough inspection of the toilet seat before I can even sit down.  I’m amazed at the number of women that can’t seem to handle getting their pee inside the toilet, as opposed to on the seat.  Gross, isn’t that what men do?  Let’s say most of us in this building are 30-40 years old.  We’ve had substantial practice with this; we should be pros by now.

Which brings me to…

The Leave Behind – These people have done one good thing.  They’ve managed to not pee on the toilet seat.  But, that is because they added two seconds to their marathon time by putting down the paper seat cover.  Now I have mixed feelings about the seat cover.  I understand its purpose.  And it does serve a good purpose.  However, it’s just not for me.  It makes me uncomfortable.  Sort of like a seat belt.  It’s there for a good reason – to protect.  But, when I wear my seat belt I just end up feeling uncomfortable, I can’t settle in right, my driving is off.  That’s exactly how I feel when I sit on a paper toilet seat cover.  Then every time I move it crinkles….and then the pee makes a funny sound when it hits the center piece you push through…let’s not even discuss if you have to go #2…

I know, I know!  I should wear my seat belt, and I should use a seat cover.  But, I don’t.  Sue me.

Someone once said to me, “You’re such an anal person it really surprises me that you don’t use the seat cover.”

Yeah, it makes sense.  I am one hell of a Type A organized freak, but I don’t know, maybe I’m not as high maintenance as you all think.  I can drink beer and burp with the boys!

And, let me say, I fully support those of you that choose to use a seat cover.  It is actually more beneficial to me if you use one.  So use away…my beef lies solely with those people that in their race to be the fastest pee-er in the building they end up flushing and running (the Flush ‘n’ Run) so quickly that they either a.) don’t notice that the paper cover didn’t go down or b.) they simply don’t care that it didn’t go down.

So, now, when I go into the stall there sits your protective paper cover.  Now how is it protecting me if I have to touch your paper cover to flush it down the toilet?  Not to mention, sorry, but the thought of putting it in the toilet and then pee-ing on it just grosses me out.  (See above, I’m simply not comfortable with that.)

The Sloppy Seconds – These are the people that think just because they are in a public bathroom they don’t need to keep it tidy.  They splash water all over the sink, countertop and mirror.  They leave toilet paper bunches on the floor.  They put on make-up and spill pressed powder all over the countertop and just leave it.  They leave long strands of hair on the vanity.  They dump out food/drink items in the sink and don’t bother to run the water…which is especially crucial if they dump soup or cereal. There sits the left-over floaties in the sink.  I’ve also seen feminine products ON THE FLOOR, and once, I’m not even joking, a needle?!?  (We called maintenance in case you’re wondering.)  We all know how annoying it can be to clean up after the man in our lives who splashes water every where with no regard for who cleans up after him (one of the Oompa Loompas?)  Not to mention hair shavings, which he leaves, splattered about the sink…but that’s another post.

This is not a port-a-potty; this is an f’ing office bathroom.  Pretend it is your bathroom and keep it clean!  And if you are sloppy, you at least get an A++ for washing your hands.  If you’ve ever been in the stall and heard someone leave and not wash their hands (in my case it’s always one of the Flush ‘n’ Runners) you sit and wonder who in the hell that person was?  How many hands will they be touching the rest of the day?  Could they have forgotten to wash or do they wash at their desk with hand sanitizer – which does NOT cut it. 

The Pooper – Obviously at some time in your life you are going to have to go #2 in a public restroom.  It’s inevitable – especially in my situation working in an office building with a shared public bathroom for 9 hours/day.  I have sympathy for the poopers.  But, Poopers, try to have sympathy for those around you.  We understand its life and it needs to be done, but very simply DO A COURTESY FLUSH! 

The courtesy flush was a suggested add-in by my friend.  I’m personally not a huge fan of the courtesy flush.  I know where she is coming from, however, doing a courtesy flush on a commercial toilet is just no fun.  These toilets are built to flush down bricks!!! The massive amounts of water racing through the toilet bowl inevitably ends up on your ass.  You are doing a courtesy flush to be considerate to those other bathroom patrons, but at the same time, you end up hurting yourself!  Sorry, I’m selfish.  I would rather you smell my stinky poop than have my feces splashing up on my back side.  That’s just how I feel about it.

The Space Cadet – Almost as annoying as the Tortoise and the Hare is the Space Cadet pee-er.  This special pee-er is truly a joy to be around normally.  They are the happy-go-lucky person that always says “Good morning” and always has a smile on their face.  But, they are also the annoying person who comes into the bathroom singing and/or whistling every day.  My bathroom breaks are my precious personal time during my work day.  As I said above, I like to take my time.  I like to sit and relax.  I do some of my best thinking while on the toilet.  I’ve even been known to pray while on the porcelain throne.  I realize this may sound odd to some people, but the bathroom is normally a place of solace.  It is the one place you can go and be by yourself with your own thoughts – except in public.  So, when the happy-go-lucky pee-er comes into the bathroom singing and whistling as I am deep in my own thoughts I feel disrupted.  I don’t like to be disrupted while I’m doing my business.  This also gives me anxiety.  The bathroom is supposed to be a peaceful place.  Let’s keep it that way.

The Hanger-Outer – Well, I’m definitely the Hanger-Outer.  I like to take my time.  I kind of slither in…I pick my stall…I am in no hurry to do my business.  I like to sit there for a second and relish in my own thoughts.  Now, I have two points with the Hanger-Outer.  One thing that annoys me as the Hanger-Outer is when the Flush ‘n’ Runners come in and go even faster because they think I’m the Pooper.  No.  Just reeeelllaaaaxxx.  I can sit in the bathroom and take a time out.  It doesn’t mean I’m taking a dump!  It’s simply a little “me” time. 

But, on the other hand, one of the most annoying pee-ers is the Hanger-Outer.  Luckily I have bathroom etiquette so I don’t break the “rules.”  The issue with the Hanger-Outer is they never leave.  They hang out.  They want to blow their nose, check their make-up, brush their teeth, have phone conversations (No, I don’t do that)…which is all fine and dandy, unless you have the Pooper in a stall waiting to do their biz.  They’re likely to get a little stage fright if you’re in there just hanging around.  In that case, run the water and do your primping as fast as possible.  Then get out so the Pooper can poop in peace!

And lastly…

The Almost in my Stall – The Almost in my Stall pee-er is by far the WORST of all of the above offenders!!!  You know this person.  This is the person that walks into a bathroom and sees 20 empty stalls but still – for some reason unbeknownst to any of us – chooses to enter the stall right next to you.

What the f*ck are you doing?

I will never EVER understand why this pee-er feels the need to pee right next to me?  Or worse yet poop?  Please understand, I like you.  I will say hi to you and talk to you.  But, please respect my privacy.  Please do not sit in the stall next to me.  This offense actually angers me.  When I’m sitting in the stall having my “me” time and someone walks in and comes into the stall next to me, you completely distract my attention and you actually raise my blood pressure.  Do you want to be responsible for my future heart attack?  I start thinking, “What is this person doing?”  “Why must this person sit next to me?”  “What is this person’s problem?”  “Does this person have no bathroom etiquette?”  If you’re going to break a rule, I would not choose this one.  In my research I find that this is everyone’s MOST annoying offense.  Which makes me wonder who is actually committing this faux pas? Hmm…

As with my other posts, I feel the need to be a concerned citizen and to clarify the appropriate bathroom rules.  Please respect them so we can all have a more enjoyable experience when using a public restroom.

And P.S., NONE of these rules apply when you are at a venue – like a Cubs game – in that case, it’s every man and woman for themselves!

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1 Way Everyday…

1 Apr

 

I am very inspired by a website that I stumbled across today on Craig’s List. I wanted to take a moment to spread the word about this blog and to “pay it forward” by sharing this link with others. Please click the link to check it out: 

http://1wayeveryday.blogspot.com/ 

While I love my blog (and so do all of you),  my purpose in writing it is to provide myself with some form of “free” therapy and expression. I have lots of thoughts, lots of feelings, lots of rants…and this is the perfect way for me to get them out there. But, do you see what this is about?  It’s all about ME. And while I am in love with myself – of course – I am truly amazed that someone would take the time to start a blog (a daily blog at that!) about helping other people. 1 Way Everyday Blogger – I commend you. Thank you for stepping up. Thank you for taking the time to make all of us a little more humble and aware of what the important things in life should be. 

Not my Juicy Couture purse that I SO love…

Not my closet full of designer clothes and Jessica Simpson heels…

Not my Chanel shades that exude “awesomeness” every time I wear them… 

Now, hold on! I’m not all bad. For those of you who know me well, you know that I have two causes which inspire me. Not that all causes don’t inspire me, but I’d like to take a moment to tell you about MY two causes. 

1.) The Alzheimer’s Association
-and-
2.) Animal Rights 

I have supported animal rights for a long time. No, I’m not a vegetarian. But, I hate to hear of animals being mistreated or abused. Animals are innocent creatures here to love us. I have two cats and one dog. If my house was on fire I would run in to rescue them. My one cat – Kelsey – is actually a special needs cat. When no one would take him, I took him in and have given him a comfy home and lots of love. 

I’ve rescued three other cats and am currently volunteering at the Cat Guardians Shelter in Lombard, IL. (http://www.catguardians.org/) Cat Guardians is a local no-kill shelter. I meet so many amazing cats and kittens in search of new homes. It breaks my heart to hear stories of people deciding one day that they just don’t want their cat anymore. Poor Ozzie, a recently adopted fat cat, was left on the shelter door step with a note that said “My name is Ozzie.” Ozzie is big and fat and furry and sooo loving. I’m so happy he has found a new home. I am humbled to be a part of this organization. I wish I had more time and money to give. 

The other cause for which I am a strong supporter of is the National and the Greater Illinois Alzheimer’s Association (http://www.alz.org). I recently became a supporter of this cause because my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s one year ago. My grandma turns 69 on April 3rd. It is devastating to watch a loved one suffer from any disease. For me, watching my grandma, who was like a 2nd mother to me, slowly lose her mind is incredibly disheartening. And, believe me, this old Irish woman still has a lot of life left in her! But, sadly, she’s disappearing on us. We treasure each and every moment with her. My papa is her caregiver. He sees changes in her every day. He is doing an amazing job of taking care of her, and I am so proud of him! I will forever give to and support the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of my Grandma Bonnie. (I love you, Grandma!) 

So, upon stumbling on the 1 Way Everyday Blog I decided I wanted to take a few minutes to talk about what inspires me. And I wanted to take a moment to remind all of you to be thankful and inspired as well. Please, check out http://1wayeveryday.blogspot.com/ and become a supporter of the charity that inspires you! 

God Bless~

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