I've had it up to here with Brooke Shields. I really never liked her or her bad career choices anyway. First of all she played a hooker and was naked in some movie when she was 12. TWELVE! Obviously, that was at least partially due to some seriously bad parenting on her mother's part, but I am pretty certain that I had enough attitude at 12 to tell my parents to suck it if they told me to do something like that. Then came that damn "Blue Lagoon"...the ridiculous movie in which she is stuck on some island with that annoying curly-haired boy. Basically the plot is this: they are on a ship that sinks and they end up on an island and they hit puberty and she gets her period and he discovers the joy of spanking it and she almost dies and they discover the sex and she has a baby and they get rescued and they eat some berries and they die in a boat. Finally (You may think I remember too much detail about this movie, and I do. Terrible movies and terrible music seem to sear themselves into my brain). Then, she was in all those dumb Calvin Klein commercials telling everyone that she goes commando, which in my opinion is disgusting, not to mention incredibly uncomfortable. Then she wrote some book where she bitched about her crazy drunk of a mom and told everyone she was a virgin. A 12-year-old, naked prostitute, no-underwear-wearing virgin? Sure, Brooke. Sure. Then she dated Michael Jackson, which really needs no further explanation. Then she was on a really dumb sitcom that made Kathi Griffin (whom I love) way more annoying than usual. AND NOW, through the magic of television, she is harassing me on a daily basis, which makes me rethink my great love of technology. I mean, seriously!
I have recently seen her in commercials for at least 4 products. She has gone from 12 year old movie prostitute to 40-something year old product pimp. The first time she popped up in my living room, she was telling me I don't drink enough milk. She had the nerve to tell me that when I'm an old lady I'm probably gonna have a big old hump back and break a hip before my bones finally just turn to dust. Next , she came on to tell me that my teeth were all yellow and I need to use that damn Colgate toothpaste, or basically, people are gonna be talking behind my back about my ugly smile and my gingivitis. Then, just when I thought she was gone, she came back totally uninvited, to tell me that if I got knocked up my husband would buy me a new Volkswagen. Ya know what? I highly doubt that his response to an unplanned pregnancy would be "Hop in the car! We're gonna go out and buy you a new VW!" He'd probably blame me for being a space cadet and forgetting to take my pill, and get worried about affording another baby and the fact that babies make me bitchy when they are all up in my face all day, then I'd get tired of hearing him go on and on and on and I'd have to spork him in the taint to get him to shut up. Then, just when it seemed like The Brookster had maybe finally gone away, and I was starting to get over that eyebrow overload and relax in front of my TV for the first time in months, she came back AGAIN! This time she was telling my that my eyelashes are pathetic and puny, and that basically, I should be too ashamed by my manish eyes to even consider going out in public, and that the only cure for this hideous deformity is to use something called Latisse, although if you listen to her and use Latisse, you may get sores in your eyes, lose the ability to cry, or go blind. But she almost convinced me that the risks are worth it to have long and luxurious lashes. Who cares if I'm walking out into traffic or bumping into walls as long as my lashes look rockin'!
The insanity needs to stop! I haven't been this afraid to turn on my TV since I saw "The Ring" and I was positive that long-haired, wet dead girl was gonna crawl out of the screen and kill me. To be honest, I think I would actually prefer that creepy girl to being bombarded by Brooke. At least the dead girl isn't trying to make me feel bad about myself, or trying to make me throw away my underwear and get pregnant. At least she will just kill me quick and end my suffering. Brooke, on the other hand, wants to toy with my self-esteem and slowly drive me insane. Come on creepy, wet, dead girl...come and get me! Take me to the bottom of that cold, dark well. It will be the happiest I've been in months, just as long as there's no cable TV down there, and I get to keep my underwear on.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
What Is That Thing On Your Neck?
Some of you who don't know me, have been confused about the "Ethanism" where I mentioned my neck scar. You poor, poor people. You have missed out on so much drama! Here is the lowdown:
I used to be healthy. In the 6th grade I won the perfect attendance award, which is something that only the very healthy and very geeky kids win. By high school things had changed, and I was missing way too many days, but that was due to the call of warm, sunny days, cold drinks and cute boys, and had nothing whatsoever to do with being sick. I sailed through my 20's as well, with nothing more than allergies and a case of pneumonia. As a matter of fact, I was quite healthy until I had a baby, then my entire body turned on me.
Soon after having Ethan, I was diagnosed with PCOS and then Insulin Resistance. There were a few surgeries related to all of that, but nothing major until during one of those surgeries my Dr. had an "oops" moment and punctured through an organ accidentally. A painful exploratory surgery and repair ensued. Then after one of those surgeries, I developed Pulmonary Embolisms which almost killed me off, and sent me to the hospital for a week. After that, I had to get a CT Scan to check and make sure the clots were gone, at which point they found something suspicious near my lungs, which they thought might be lymphoma, but turned out to be a disease called Sarcoidosis, which is preferable to lymphoma. SO, I had to have surgery to get a biopsy of the mystery mass, and this surgery requires that they cut into the base of your throat (Aha! That is the thing on my neck!) and go into your chest to get the stuff they need. So, I went in for that, and when I woke up I could not talk. I thought that this was common, so it took me a day before I complained about it, at which point I found out that it is not common at all.
The Dr. took a video of my cords, which is highly unpleasant, and we found that the left cord had become "accidentally traumatized", aka paralyzed, and was being a lazy, good for nothing jackass. He was just laying there doing nothing except being an a-hole. I had to live with nothing but an annoying Elmo-like whisper for about 6 weeks, until I found a specialist who I like to call "Dr. Meatloaf". Dr. M. told me they could temporarily bring my voice back by injecting collagen into the lazy cord . Of course, that was yet another surgery, but since I am all about the talk, I had to do it. That surgery went fine, and although he did not give me Angelina Jolie lips like I suggested he do as long as he was going at me with a syringe full of collagen, it was easy peasy. I got a scratchy version of my voice back, but I wasn't complaining. At least I could talk loudly again. Well, since those injections are temporary, it only lasted a couple of months, so I went back to do it again, but this time they told me that you have to be awake for the procedure. That was not a good thing. I have drawn a diagram of the event, and I just want to say, that of all the unpleasant procedure's I have had done, this was by far the worst. I took a friend along, but she would not go into the procedure room with me, so the next time, she can suck it and I will take someone else ( I am currently accepting applications for someone to hold my hand during the next torture session).
So, suffice it to say, I do not see myself ever voluntarily going under the knife again. I am pretty sure that if I were ever to be operated on in the future it would involve a nightly news emergency bulletin, ambulances, jaws of life, and something like a near decapitation or a weird, giant, foreign body sticking out of my chest (or else a tummy tuck or lipo).
By the way...when the cut on my neck was fresh and nasty, I sent out a photo to my friends asking for alternative explanations to give people who asked me what happened or were just rudely staring. Here are a few of my favorites:
High-Maintenance soccer mom stabbed me with her stiletto
Champagne cork gone awry
Bad pole dancing accident
Mexico
Vegas
Hit by a blow gun dart while on African Safari
Benihana accident
Vampire hickey
Implant from my alien abduction
I tried to break up a notorious monkey knife fighting ring
Running with scissors
I used to be healthy. In the 6th grade I won the perfect attendance award, which is something that only the very healthy and very geeky kids win. By high school things had changed, and I was missing way too many days, but that was due to the call of warm, sunny days, cold drinks and cute boys, and had nothing whatsoever to do with being sick. I sailed through my 20's as well, with nothing more than allergies and a case of pneumonia. As a matter of fact, I was quite healthy until I had a baby, then my entire body turned on me.
Soon after having Ethan, I was diagnosed with PCOS and then Insulin Resistance. There were a few surgeries related to all of that, but nothing major until during one of those surgeries my Dr. had an "oops" moment and punctured through an organ accidentally. A painful exploratory surgery and repair ensued. Then after one of those surgeries, I developed Pulmonary Embolisms which almost killed me off, and sent me to the hospital for a week. After that, I had to get a CT Scan to check and make sure the clots were gone, at which point they found something suspicious near my lungs, which they thought might be lymphoma, but turned out to be a disease called Sarcoidosis, which is preferable to lymphoma. SO, I had to have surgery to get a biopsy of the mystery mass, and this surgery requires that they cut into the base of your throat (Aha! That is the thing on my neck!) and go into your chest to get the stuff they need. So, I went in for that, and when I woke up I could not talk. I thought that this was common, so it took me a day before I complained about it, at which point I found out that it is not common at all.
The Dr. took a video of my cords, which is highly unpleasant, and we found that the left cord had become "accidentally traumatized", aka paralyzed, and was being a lazy, good for nothing jackass. He was just laying there doing nothing except being an a-hole. I had to live with nothing but an annoying Elmo-like whisper for about 6 weeks, until I found a specialist who I like to call "Dr. Meatloaf". Dr. M. told me they could temporarily bring my voice back by injecting collagen into the lazy cord . Of course, that was yet another surgery, but since I am all about the talk, I had to do it. That surgery went fine, and although he did not give me Angelina Jolie lips like I suggested he do as long as he was going at me with a syringe full of collagen, it was easy peasy. I got a scratchy version of my voice back, but I wasn't complaining. At least I could talk loudly again. Well, since those injections are temporary, it only lasted a couple of months, so I went back to do it again, but this time they told me that you have to be awake for the procedure. That was not a good thing. I have drawn a diagram of the event, and I just want to say, that of all the unpleasant procedure's I have had done, this was by far the worst. I took a friend along, but she would not go into the procedure room with me, so the next time, she can suck it and I will take someone else ( I am currently accepting applications for someone to hold my hand during the next torture session).
So, suffice it to say, I do not see myself ever voluntarily going under the knife again. I am pretty sure that if I were ever to be operated on in the future it would involve a nightly news emergency bulletin, ambulances, jaws of life, and something like a near decapitation or a weird, giant, foreign body sticking out of my chest (or else a tummy tuck or lipo).
By the way...when the cut on my neck was fresh and nasty, I sent out a photo to my friends asking for alternative explanations to give people who asked me what happened or were just rudely staring. Here are a few of my favorites:
High-Maintenance soccer mom stabbed me with her stiletto
Champagne cork gone awry
Bad pole dancing accident
Mexico
Vegas
Hit by a blow gun dart while on African Safari
Benihana accident
Vampire hickey
Implant from my alien abduction
I tried to break up a notorious monkey knife fighting ring
Running with scissors
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Paranormal Appliance Activity
I have the perfect maid. She cleans whenever I tell her to and she never misses a spot. She never complains and she doesn't steal anything. She never comes late or calls in sick. She never snoops through my underwear drawer, and she never asks for a raise. She is perfect, and her name is Roomba. Roomba was given to me by my friend Anne, who obviously thought that my housekeeping skills sucked badly enough to warrant such a gift. Regardless of the reason, I love Anne and I love my Roomba. At first I wasn't sure about her. She required alot of instruction and set-up, she refused to do steps, and she was a bit rude and pushy. My son had his own issues with her. He thought she was creepy, and when she went in circles she made him dizzy, but he eventually got used to her as well. I have had her for about 1 1/2 years now, and she has always cleaned like a champ.
The other day, I sent her off to work her magic as usual, and she did a great job, but stopped before she was finished. When I came into the living room to check on her, she was taking a little siesta. I found this odd, since she is usually such a hard worker. I picked her up and told her that she had been doing a good job and in a creepy, GPS lady voice she said, "Please change Roomba's filter!" At this point I screamed and almost dropped her on my toes! After 1 1/2 blissful years together, I thought I knew Roomba well, but never, in all that time has she ever spoken to me. The most she has done is make a few beeps and play a little pre-cleaning get into the groove music. That is it! I called a friend of mine who has her own Roomba, and asked her if it has ever spoken. Nope. Never. I looked through my instruction manual and could find no mention of Roomba even having a voice. This was freaking me out, and to make matters worse, nobody will believe me! I admit that I have been known to imagine things, like the time when I was 8 and I swore I saw a guy walking an alligator on a leash, or when I was 10 and I thought my nice old neighbor had chopped his wife's head off and put it on the window sill (a very lengthy investigation ensued), but this was not one of those cases. I SWEAR MY ROOMBA SPOKE TO ME!
Last night, at about 11:00 PM, Steve and I were both on the edge of sleep when I heard a cough. "Was that you?" I asked him. "No, but I heard it too" he said. "Oh my God!" I said, "I think it was Roomba! She told me to clean her filter! In 1 1/2 years she's never asked me for anything, and this one time, she takes every ounce of battery life she has remaining in her shiny little round body, just to ask me to clean her filter, and what did I do? Instead of cleaning her filter, I chose to watch tv and (surprise!) drink wine. Now I think she has caught a bad case of asthma. Is that even contagious?" Of course Steve, being a man as well as someone who has been conditioned to tune out my endless ramblings and freak-outs, had already fallen into a deep and loudly snoring sleep. There was no way I was gonna sleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roomba. I tried to think of something that could explain what was going on. Unfortunately, I came to the frightening conclusion that my Roomba was possessed.
I went out last weekend to see approximately 98 minutes of pure terror called "Paranormal Activity", and I was (and still am) living in an extremely heightened state of fear. I admit that I haven't had a good night's sleep since subjecting my eyes to that nightmare 5 days ago. That movie has convinced me that possession is a very real possibility, and that there is definitely a good chance that my beloved Roomba has fallen victim to some evil spirit that is trying to do me in. So, I guess I will get on Google and try to find some kind of appliance exorcist to help me get my sweet, hard-working Roomba back. Maybe we can offer up a new "host" for the spirit to inhabit. Maybe it would be interested in my coffee maker or my toaster oven. On second thought, I love those appliances almost as much as I love Roomba, so maybe we can offer up Steve. It's not like he cleans my floors or makes me toast or coffee in the mornings or anything. As a matter of fact, if the evil spirit promises not to snore, I am totally cool with this whole exchange. Hang in there Roomba! Help is on the way!
The other day, I sent her off to work her magic as usual, and she did a great job, but stopped before she was finished. When I came into the living room to check on her, she was taking a little siesta. I found this odd, since she is usually such a hard worker. I picked her up and told her that she had been doing a good job and in a creepy, GPS lady voice she said, "Please change Roomba's filter!" At this point I screamed and almost dropped her on my toes! After 1 1/2 blissful years together, I thought I knew Roomba well, but never, in all that time has she ever spoken to me. The most she has done is make a few beeps and play a little pre-cleaning get into the groove music. That is it! I called a friend of mine who has her own Roomba, and asked her if it has ever spoken. Nope. Never. I looked through my instruction manual and could find no mention of Roomba even having a voice. This was freaking me out, and to make matters worse, nobody will believe me! I admit that I have been known to imagine things, like the time when I was 8 and I swore I saw a guy walking an alligator on a leash, or when I was 10 and I thought my nice old neighbor had chopped his wife's head off and put it on the window sill (a very lengthy investigation ensued), but this was not one of those cases. I SWEAR MY ROOMBA SPOKE TO ME!
Last night, at about 11:00 PM, Steve and I were both on the edge of sleep when I heard a cough. "Was that you?" I asked him. "No, but I heard it too" he said. "Oh my God!" I said, "I think it was Roomba! She told me to clean her filter! In 1 1/2 years she's never asked me for anything, and this one time, she takes every ounce of battery life she has remaining in her shiny little round body, just to ask me to clean her filter, and what did I do? Instead of cleaning her filter, I chose to watch tv and (surprise!) drink wine. Now I think she has caught a bad case of asthma. Is that even contagious?" Of course Steve, being a man as well as someone who has been conditioned to tune out my endless ramblings and freak-outs, had already fallen into a deep and loudly snoring sleep. There was no way I was gonna sleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roomba. I tried to think of something that could explain what was going on. Unfortunately, I came to the frightening conclusion that my Roomba was possessed.
I went out last weekend to see approximately 98 minutes of pure terror called "Paranormal Activity", and I was (and still am) living in an extremely heightened state of fear. I admit that I haven't had a good night's sleep since subjecting my eyes to that nightmare 5 days ago. That movie has convinced me that possession is a very real possibility, and that there is definitely a good chance that my beloved Roomba has fallen victim to some evil spirit that is trying to do me in. So, I guess I will get on Google and try to find some kind of appliance exorcist to help me get my sweet, hard-working Roomba back. Maybe we can offer up a new "host" for the spirit to inhabit. Maybe it would be interested in my coffee maker or my toaster oven. On second thought, I love those appliances almost as much as I love Roomba, so maybe we can offer up Steve. It's not like he cleans my floors or makes me toast or coffee in the mornings or anything. As a matter of fact, if the evil spirit promises not to snore, I am totally cool with this whole exchange. Hang in there Roomba! Help is on the way!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Today's Boyism: He See's Dead People & They See Patti's Cellulite
Last night The Boy says to The Hub, "Dad, someday when you feel like you're about to die, make sure to give me your wallet so I can buy stuff. And don't worry, we'll still see each other. Dead people are still here, we just can't see them. There are like a hundred of them floating around in our house right now."
This was not a good thing for me to hear ONE DAY AFTER I saw Paranormal Activity. I suppose I will need some extra bedtime wine for a few nights, just to take the edge off.
HOWEVER, once I have had time to get over the initial scare factor of this revelation, I have realized something: I have been wanting to lose 10 pounds, and I am having trouble getting the motivation. But now that I know there are at least 100 people watching me do everything from shower to sneak binging on Ding-Dongs, I am feeling more motivated than ever to get my butt in gear. There's nothing like being naked in front of 100 people on a daily basis to make you want to tone up!
This was not a good thing for me to hear ONE DAY AFTER I saw Paranormal Activity. I suppose I will need some extra bedtime wine for a few nights, just to take the edge off.
HOWEVER, once I have had time to get over the initial scare factor of this revelation, I have realized something: I have been wanting to lose 10 pounds, and I am having trouble getting the motivation. But now that I know there are at least 100 people watching me do everything from shower to sneak binging on Ding-Dongs, I am feeling more motivated than ever to get my butt in gear. There's nothing like being naked in front of 100 people on a daily basis to make you want to tone up!
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Incredible Time-Out Machine
I was convinced I had thought of every "time-out" scenario possible. I have often said that I want a house with a "wine room/whine room", the kind with the wrought iron doors that make it look like a fancy French jail cell. It would be a room that I would lock, I mean, gently place my kid in for a short period of time so that he could think about what naughty thing he did. Sometimes, it would be a room that I gently placed myself in to have a few glasses of Mommy's Nerve Medicine so that I could calm down from whatever naughty thing my kid had done. I have also always dreamed of having one of those secret rooms behind a bookcase...not to put my kid in, but to put myself in. In my dream I keep this room a secret from my son, and when he is driving me to insanity, POOF! Mommy just disappears. With my ninja-like stealth I slip into the bookcase room, where I sit in one of those massage chairs that everyone sits in at Brookstone, and I fire up my margarita machine and relax. (Oh yeah, my room is sound-proofed as well, which allows me to blend away, and possibly scream at the top of my lungs, if that's the kind of day I'm having).
Anyhoo...the one "time-out" scenario that eluded me was finally brought to my attention yesterday, thanks to CNN and Falcon's fame-seeking dad: Giant Spaceship Balloon. Genius. Pure genius. Why didn't I think of this? As you all know, when your kid is in "time-out" it can often be a headache for you because you have to listen to the whining, sobbing, and pathetic cries of "How much longer?" With the "Giant Spaceship Balloon/Time-Out Machine" you can finally rid yourself of the annoyances of "time-out".
Step One: Just loosely anchor the aforementioned device to your house, a fence, a tree, anything you want!
Step Two: When your kid starts whining about homework, what's for dinner, how bored they are, etc... Simply send your child to the "Giant Spaceship Balloon/Time-Out Machine" so that he/she can think about what they have done.
Step 3: While your child is in the patented "safe, relaxing, and remorse-inducing environment", you can go about your daily chores. If the G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to a tree, maybe it would be a good time to do your tree-trimming , weed-whacking, or some other outdoor chore that involves being near aforementioned tree with a sharp device that has the ability to "accidentally" cut through a large rope. If your G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to your house, then gosh-darnit, it is probably as good a time as any to do that much-needed maintenance your H.O.A. has been all over your lazy butt about. Power-washing, paint-scraping, shingle-replacing, whatever the chore may be. Just make sure you watch out for the rope tied to your house! You don't want to mistakenly do anything to weaken it's hold! If your G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to your fence, it is probably the perfect time for your narcolepsy to flare up while you're on the riding lawnmower. Just make sure you aren't driving towards the fence when it happens! That could be a very unfortunate accident indeed!
With the G.S.B.T.O.M. your sweet offspring will have plenty of time to think about how to be less naughty, loud, and just plain annoying. There's nothing like gliding through the great blue yonder to induce sincere regret for ones behavior. You can bet your bottom dollar that lots of serious thinking will be going on in the G.S.B.T.O.M. At least until altitude sickness takes hold and they pass out, I mean, partake in a much needed and restful slumber.
These suckers are gonna go fast, so ORDER NOW! Free case of "Mom's Old-Fashioned Nerve Medicine" for the first 20 callers!
(Seller is not responsible for any injuries, mental or physical, as well as any emergency life-saving costs that may be incurred by the city and/or state in which you reside.)
Anyhoo...the one "time-out" scenario that eluded me was finally brought to my attention yesterday, thanks to CNN and Falcon's fame-seeking dad: Giant Spaceship Balloon. Genius. Pure genius. Why didn't I think of this? As you all know, when your kid is in "time-out" it can often be a headache for you because you have to listen to the whining, sobbing, and pathetic cries of "How much longer?" With the "Giant Spaceship Balloon/Time-Out Machine" you can finally rid yourself of the annoyances of "time-out".
Step One: Just loosely anchor the aforementioned device to your house, a fence, a tree, anything you want!
Step Two: When your kid starts whining about homework, what's for dinner, how bored they are, etc... Simply send your child to the "Giant Spaceship Balloon/Time-Out Machine" so that he/she can think about what they have done.
Step 3: While your child is in the patented "safe, relaxing, and remorse-inducing environment", you can go about your daily chores. If the G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to a tree, maybe it would be a good time to do your tree-trimming , weed-whacking, or some other outdoor chore that involves being near aforementioned tree with a sharp device that has the ability to "accidentally" cut through a large rope. If your G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to your house, then gosh-darnit, it is probably as good a time as any to do that much-needed maintenance your H.O.A. has been all over your lazy butt about. Power-washing, paint-scraping, shingle-replacing, whatever the chore may be. Just make sure you watch out for the rope tied to your house! You don't want to mistakenly do anything to weaken it's hold! If your G.S.B.T.O.M. is tethered to your fence, it is probably the perfect time for your narcolepsy to flare up while you're on the riding lawnmower. Just make sure you aren't driving towards the fence when it happens! That could be a very unfortunate accident indeed!
With the G.S.B.T.O.M. your sweet offspring will have plenty of time to think about how to be less naughty, loud, and just plain annoying. There's nothing like gliding through the great blue yonder to induce sincere regret for ones behavior. You can bet your bottom dollar that lots of serious thinking will be going on in the G.S.B.T.O.M. At least until altitude sickness takes hold and they pass out, I mean, partake in a much needed and restful slumber.
These suckers are gonna go fast, so ORDER NOW! Free case of "Mom's Old-Fashioned Nerve Medicine" for the first 20 callers!
(Seller is not responsible for any injuries, mental or physical, as well as any emergency life-saving costs that may be incurred by the city and/or state in which you reside.)
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