What Wakes Me Up in the Middle of the Night...

I'm a heavy sleeper.

The Polar Express could run right through the middle of my room and I wouldn't budge an inch.

But something that instanteously disturbs my slumber is...

My dog licking his balls.

I hate it. It equates to someone running their fingernails across a chalkboard.

My 6 year-old Shih-Tzu, Gretzky (appropriately named after the Great One, Wayne Gretzky) loves to lick his nuts, smack dab in the middle of the night in our bedroom. He's not discreet about it either. You'd think he'd like some privacy as he cleans his fuzzy peaches, but he really doesn't care. Although, he does make sure he is sitting right by my side of the bed when starts his nightly routine.

He licks his nuggets with the precision of a pornstar and then pants heavily afterwards.

Ron Jermy has nothing on him.

By the time Gretzky is done, I'm wide awake. Digusted by the slurping matinee. I open my eyes to catch him staring at me. I throw a pillow at him and turn to try and get back to sleep...

and then...

I glance back to see act 2....

Pillow Humping.

Ack!!

Having a Bad Day?

After seven years, I lost my job.

Yes, I became another one of the casualities of this economic war.

It's a rough time out there right now and no one is immune.

I always wondered how I'd react if I was ever let go. I've never in my life been fired from a job so this was pretty interesting. I'd always imagined that I'd get emotional, maybe knock a few things off a desk or two and storm out on my own accord.

But...it didn't happen that way. I was calm, cool, collected. I was assured that it wasn't performance based, but that the company had to make cutbacks and that my position was being eliminated. Did it suck any less? No. But I decided that I was going to leave with my head held high. I was an awesome, loyal employee for seven years and I wasn't about to throw everything I'd worked so hard for out the window by reacting unprofessionally.

I'm hard on myself more than anyone else will ever be. So of course, I ran the gammet of emotions from sadness and hurt to dissapointment and hate. I felt like a failure as a parent; as a mother. But in the end, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I felt like this huge weight was pulled off my shoulders. And believe it or not...I became excited; excited about the new chapter that God had waiting for me.

Anyone that knows me, knows that I'm a pretty spiritual person. If it wasn't for my faith, I'm not sure where I'd be. I live my life with the utmost gratitude and wake up each day with a prosperous mind. I know as I continue on through my journey in life, I will never quite understand everything that will happen along the way, but I trust God.

It's times like these, when your foundation is shaken, that your faith is truly tested. It's so important to keep things in perspective. I've had better days but I look at my short stint in the unemployment field as a little "hiccup" in life; it's an inconvenience.... I'll recover.

And that is exactly what it is: inconvenient.

You know what I define as "having a bad day"?

- When your life is turned upside down after you find that your 11 year old daughter has brain cancer, like my close friends Anthony and Sue

- When a F-16 yet plows into your house and kills your wife, your two babies and mother-in-law while you are at work, like the man in San Diego had happen to him

- When you discover that your grown daughter murdered your 3 year-old grandchild, as in the case with Caylee Anthony in Florida

Those are people with BAD days. I pray for them daily while acknowledging the blessings that I have in my life. I don't have bad days, only inconvenient ones. I know that I can't put back together what God has taken apart..or put a question mark where He has left a period. I just continue to breathe and keep moving forward.

Tomorrow the sun will still rise,

and I will wake up

knowing

that

living

is the ultimate gift.

Why No Christmas Picture Cards?

Ahhh... don't you love 'em? The good ol' Christmas picture cards that you get in the mail during the holidays. You know the ones I'm talking about-- the one with the whole family gathered together in matching holiday sweaters in front of a mock fireplace with the family pet. It's even better when they send along a family letter about all the achievements of little Tad or Morgan...

"...while managing to maintain his 4.2 grade average, Tad is excelling in soccer, football, baseball, band and water polo. His early acceptance into Yale as the youngest genius in history is quite incredible....."

"...Morgan graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Princeton and will travel to Slovenia in the summer where she will continue her Christian mission work..."

If you're a holiday family letter writer..more power to you. It's just hard not to sound like you're gloating when writing those things- as if there isn't a touch of any dysfunction. As proud as I am of my children, I choose not to throw it (via holiday letter) in other people's faces. I just think about the families I know that are going through different issues with their kids and know that the last thing they want to read about is how my kids are kicking ass in everything they do. 

And the picture cards...

My picture cards usually consist of Mia and Sofia (and sometimes I'll throw in an animal or two for good measure). But they never include me. 

Why, you may ask?

Well..here's the condensed version:

I'm not as "svelte" as I used to be and I'm pretty self conscious about it. And when people send me their Christmas picture cards and I've noticed some of their weight gain, I'm the first one to bring attention to it.  I'm just being honest. So..I choose not to send any cards out with me in it. 

It's just a matter of fact.

And if you can sit there and tell me that you don't do that when you receive holiday cards, you're full of crap.

You know that when you get that Christmas picture card in the mail with all the fun holiday stickers on the envelope and open it to the pic of Tom with his arms wrapped around morbidly obese Nancy with her Christmas sweater and holiday light earrings with their offspring gleefully posing in their reindeer print turtlenecks next to the Christmas tree..........you talk shit. 

Don't lie. It starts with a closer glance of the pic to make sure it's the same people you know, then it's a snicker then you call everyone in the household to come check out the pic and see how big Nancy got. Then it's a phone call to everyone that you know that knows her.

Such is life.

And THAT, my friends,  is why, you will never receive a Christmas picture card with ME in it.

Happy Holidays!

Things I Ponder...

My mind is always on overdrive.

I think about things that run the gammet from silly to sophmoric.

I seriously think it has to do with being a mom. I think that once you start having children, your hormones work together with your brain cells and say, "Hey, let's really screw with her..." (If you didn't know already, the right side of the brain controls creative activity, while the left side controls logical verbal activity; both of which have been highly affected by motherhood). 

Here are a few things I ponder...

Why does my 5 year old need to go potty "real bad" right when the food is delivered to our table at a restaurant. Even after I asked almost 10 times before hand?

Why does my SUV look like a family of 20 live in it? There are crumbs everywhere, books, Happy Meal toys, water bottles, movies, blankets, artwork, socks, hair clips, stuffed animals, fruit snacks and enough jackets to clothe an army.

Why do my kids like the clothes I pick out for them at the store, but once it's time to wear them, they find something wrong with them?

Why are my kids perfectly behaved and neat, model students at school, but are messy and fight like banshees at home?

Why does my 9 year-old insist she needs a cellphone? She doesn't know anyone but us.

Why do I bother printing out those "How to live on a budget" articles and never read them?

Why does everything look better in the catalogs? Nothing worse then getting that cute nightie set from the Victoria's Secret catalog (hoping to look like the waif who modeled it) and then being dissapointed after seeing it on-- looking like you just walked on to a porn set of a Heavyweight Humpers film.

Why is my 5 year-old obessed with the word TAMPAX?

Why do I become so judgemental when I see another women driving the car that I want (BMW 7 Series)? Right away I assume she's a gold digger.

Why do I obessess over the un-perkiness of my breasts?

Why is half my closet filled with stuff I wouldn't wear anymore?

Why do my children look like little cavepeople when I pick them up from school? Their hair is knotty and messy...clothes unkept...shoes untied. These can't possibly be mine.

Why do my kids whine and cry when I comb their hair but when dad does it, they're totally fine?

Why does the dog decide to shit a towel and diarrhea all over the place when my husband isn't home?

Why do I get poop cramps an hour after eating at McDonalds?

Why is my husband so particular about the type of toilet paper I buy? It's to wipe shit. Enough said.

Why is some toilet paper made with lotion? Who wants a moist bunghole?

Why, at 37 years of age, do I still have period accidents like a 16 year old? 

Why can't I ever be the winning 1,000,000th visitor through the gates at Disneyland?

Why do I not have any willpower when it comes to desserts?

Why does my dresser look like a clothing bomb exploded inside? 

Why do my children tell me they need to bring in a store bought snack to school at 10pm the night before it's due?

Why do I feel like keeling over from a heart attack after walking only 4 flights of stairs?

Why has my eliptical machine become a clothes hanger?

Why does my oldest kid not want me to kiss her goodbye at school anymore?

Why do I hate camping?

Why do I pray everytime I see a stranded motorist but never stop to help?

Why do I get drunk after one glass of wine?

Why do I become self conscious when I'm having sex and the dog is sitting there watching?

Why do I tell the nurse at the gynecologist's office not to tell me what I weigh? I turn my head when I step on that dumb scale.

Why do I think about all the vaginas my gynecologist sees and wonder if mine is the best looking?

Why do I lie when my doctor asks me if I do my own breast exams? Does my husband fondling them count?

Why do I look like the "before" pictures in magazines for weight loss ads? You know the ones I'm talking about- the fat, jelly, cellulite butt in a white thong next to the "after" pic of the tan, hard- as- a- rock touchable booty.

Why did I say no, when the urologist asked me if I wanted to watch while my husband got his vasectomy? Ugh, just the thought of burning penis skin turns my stomach.

Why do my towels have to be folded a certain way when they get out of the dryer?

Why am I convinced that my kids' stuffed animals reproduce like rabbits?

Why couldn't I have inherited the voluptous butt from my Latin side instead of the flat butt from my Asian side? 

Why do I have to go to bed matching?

Why are men obessesed with Playboy nipples? They think all women should have light, little, perky nipples that stay that way--- forever.

Why do all my favorite panties look like they've gone to Iraq and back?

Why does my singing voice never sound as good as it does in the shower?

Why does the car always need repair right before a vacation or the holidays?

Why, when I see really obese women, do I think if I closely resemble them?

Why have my bikini waxing sessions become therapeautic?

Do you ever wonder these things?

It's just me, right?

or... is it?

 

. 

Reflections

Ugh. I hate them.

Mirrors.

Dressing Room Mirrors.

Reflective glass.





I can't help it. I constantly catch myself looking at ...well..myself...off the reflection of glass. It's everything from the glass in the hallway at work, the glass door at the front entrance of the building, the glass in my car window to the reflection off of someone's sunglasses.

It's not pretty.

Reflections add 15lbs to your body.

Reflections enhance every pucker, every wrinkle.

Reflections inflate your thighs and double your chin.

Reflections make your hair look unruly and your arms "sausage-y"

Why do I put myself through this?

I guess I want to see what other people are seeing when they see me. Do they see what I see?

I see a mother who could stand to lose a few pounds (ok..more like 20), a neurotic perfectionist with teased hair, and ridiculously expensive shoes?

Why do I care what other people see?

I don't know. I say I don't care--but, I do.

Reflections are even worse in the fitting rooms. It seems like the more expensive the store, the more horrid their mirrors are. You'd think that the department stores would wise up and invest in mirrors that make you look 10lbs thinner. Revenue would skyrocket from all the women happily picking out clothing after looking like Kima Kardashian in the "trick mirror". I know I would.

Especially during bathing suit season. To be honest, I don't even consider any season bathing suit season. But you know it's fast approaching when every magazine on the store shelf reads "Get that Bathing Suit Body Now" or "The Bathing Suit Workout!" and all the 20-somethings at work are talking about getting into the gym before the summer or sharing tricks on how to make yourself puke after you eat. 

Yeah, yeah~ who has the time for that? I'm a full-time working mom with two young kids and a husband and 3 dogs. I don't have the luxury of any "me" time. I do have an elliptical machine (that's been used approximately 7 1/2 times in the last 2 years) and a variety of different workout DVDs. My favorite part of all the workout DVDs is when the instructor starts the routine and you're huffing and puffing..sweating...and jumping; gasping for air. You're dizzy from the heavy workout ready to keel over. You need water. And then the instructor says, "Ok, that was a great warm-up, now let's start the workout!" That's when I stop the DVD player and sit down with a bowl of ice cream to cool down.

My favorite is when I stop off for my coffee in the morning and I see other mothers in their tennis outfits or workout gear hanging out with no particular place to be. They're all so neat and perfectly tan conversing with one another while sipping on their morning latte, skinny, no whip. "Must be nice.." is all I can think.

And as I walk out of the coffee place, I see a reflection in the exit door. It wasn't the nuerotic, perfectionist mom with a few lb's to lose. It was a pretty cool chick, who's always smiling and living a life of gratitude; a talented, confident woman

THAT is the reflection I choose to see.

(or at least until I get my butt back on my elliptical machine)

;)

Redlight Men

Call me self- conscious.

Maybe a tad neurotic at times.

But if there is one thing that bothers me most, it's the men you come across at red lights.
You know what I'm talking about. You're driving, minding your own business and you come to a red light. And out the corner of your eye, you see another car pull up next to you. You continue to keep looking straight to avoid any eye contact with the car next to you..but then you do it. You sneak a peek and the dude is staring straight at you. You turn around quickly to play it off by either grabbing your cell phone to check messages or focus on your radio trying to act like your fumbling with the stations.

You can feel him undressing you with his eyes.

You slowly look down to make sure you're covered up. The last thing you need is any kind of extra boobage hangin' out of your bra.

The red light seems to be taking an eternity to turn green. As soon as the light switches you press on the gas and the car next to you manages to keep up with you so that the perv inside can keep staring.

There are a variety of men that you meet at a red light. And they run the gammet from professionals to scum bags. Let's take a look at a few that we're all familiar with:

The Landscapers
The landscapers will usually roll up 10 deep~ 5 smooshed together in the front cab of the truck and the rest hanging out the bed. At first they stare, and if that isn't enough to make you turn around, the whistles, kissing noises and "mamacita" cat calls usually do the trick. They like to pull up and get in front of you once the light turns green so that the rest of their crew in the bed of the truck can stare straight at you as you drive behind them. 

License Plate: LUVSBUSH

The Dad
The Dad will pull up alongside you in his old Astro van or Hyundai circa 1988. The windshield has a crack in it with dirty sippy cups on the dashboard and the side windows are marked with handprints. He'll usually have a couple car seats in the back (with the kids actually in them if you're lucky) with a swing set latched on top of the car. The dad will typically have a "laid back" type of pose as he sits at the steering wheel and tries to grab your attention. He'll smile and nod like "Yeah, baby..I know you want a piece of this..." When the light turns green he pushes down on the gas so that he stays up with you side by side to increase the burning desire within you to join him in his sin wagon.

License Plate: 4SKIN

The Boys
The Boys that you'll encounter at the red light usually fall in the 16-20 year old demographic. If they aren't driving mom or dad's car with their friends, they 're in a late model car with rims and a booming system so loud, it'll make your ears bleed. When The Boys try and get your attention, it's always just to show off in front of their homies. They'll try and spit game using lines like "Wassup' baby? What's your name? You gotta man?" And when you continue to ignore them, they'll flip you off and call you a stuck-up whore as the light turns green and they take off. License Plate: BONGHITZ

Mr.Corporate
Mr.Corporate will pull up to the red light with anything red and European (BMW, Audi, Mercedes). It's always an added bonus when it's 120 degrees in the Arizona heat and he has his convertible top down so that you can notice his spray-on tan as he talks loudly on his phone and tinkers with his Blackberry and two-tone Rolex. He does eveything he can to nonchalantly capture your attention. He wants you to want him. He runs his fingers through his hair as he screeches off at green light.

License Plate: GR8-LAY

The Perv
The Perv is a passive agressive perv as he drives up to the red light. If he's not driving a pick-up, he's in an older Yugo with the metal "naked women" silhouttes hanging from his mudflaps and a huge sticker on his back window that reads "Official Bikini Inspector" with the Peeing Calvin sticker in the far corner. The Perv, overweight- wearing his mesh half shirt, will look over at you and raise his eyebrows and pucker his lips. He'll keep his eyes fixated on you as he turns his 2 Live Crew "Me So Horny" cd up loud enough for everyone in passing cars to hear. He'll throw up the "V" sign with his fingers and wave his tongue through it. As the light turns green, he makes the cheeseball "double gun" motion towards you as he drives off. 

License plate: BVR PLZR

Notice that these are usually the type of men that you'll encounter at the red light who need attention. It will never be a Brad Pitt or George Clooney look-a-like tht pulls up alongside you to whisk you away.

But don't let that steal your joy.

Keep looking forward and proceed with caution. 

There will always be red lights and mystery men.

Be flattered and thank God that you still attract that type of attention....BVR PLZR or not.