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.

What's That Smell?

"Mommy, what's that awful smell?"

I roll down my window to take a whiff. "Eww."

"It smells like feet and throw up and glue!" says Sofia

"It smells like that stuff that mommy uses in the wash to makes the white. That bleach stuff! Mom, what's it smell like to you?" asks Mia.

I take in another whiff of the air. It did smell kind of bleachy, kind of bitter--

a scent that only women and homosexual men would recognize...it smelled like semen! The spermatic aroma danced through the air as it poured from the hundreds of trees that lined the streets of the school.  

I thought I was being my usual overly-dramatic self. So I decided to do what I do best...Google it.I pulled out my smart phone and logged on to the internet.

And thank goodness I did. There ARE trees out there with this foul smelling odor!

According to Wikipedia, they're named the Trees of Heaven, (or Ailanthus altissima), an invasive species from China, brought to California by Chinese miners and railroad workers around the turn of the last century. They has since earned the monikers “stinktree” and “ghetto palm” (for their ability to grow in the harshest of urban conditions). 

Ok, not only that..but there were MANY inquiries about this "Sperm Tree" online. A few of the questions ranged from:

There's this tree that sort of smells like human sperm in summer (I think when  it flowers). A pretty strong distinct smell. What's it called? Is there a plant/tree that smells like male sperm?

to comments like:

 

. . .when I took those deep cleansing breaths this morning, I caught a whiff of Sperm tree in the air, and it was it was pleasing to the senses...

So, remember- when you're driving around town and smell the fragrance of semen, it's most likely the beautiful Trees of Heaven and not you... or George Michael.

"Hey mom..you still didn't answer my question! What do you think it smells like?!"

I smile and reply, "Almonds... yes, almonds...."

And with that, Mia sits back in her seat and mumbles, "Ugh, if that's what almonds smell like,  I will never, ever eat almonds...even when I grow up...ever!"

I smirk- Thatta girl...

;)

Never Buy a Joke Book for a 9 Year-Old

The sound of my childrens' laughter is music to my ears. 

It's hard not to smile and laugh with them when you hear the deep, belly laughs emanating from their little bodies. Both my children have inherited one of the greatest things that man can ever receive: a great sense of humor. 

But... they are not stand-up comedians...yet.

On a recent trip to Barnes & Noble, Mia (my 9 year-old) decided she wanted to get the alamanac of joke books: 500 Hilarious Jokes for Kids by Jeff Rovin. 

It should've been called 500 Ways to Annoy Your Parents and Drive Them to Drink.

Like most people, I enjoy a good joke or two. Yes... A good joke or two; not 500 within three days. So, we check out the book and she starts with page 1...in the car. And usually- I'm overly animated at the beginning with my laughter and Sofia (my 5 year old doesn't "get it"):

Mia: Hey mom, What color is a burp?

Me: I don't know. What color is a burp?"

Mia: Burple!

We all laugh in unision. "That's a good one!" I say.

Sofia: I don't get it!

(Sofia starts to get irritated)

Mia continues...

Mia:How do turtles communicate with each other?

Me: I don't know. How do turtles communicate with each other?

Mia: With their shell-phones!

Again- we all laugh in unison

Sofia: I don't get it! (Sofia crosses her arms and is starting to whine at this point)

17 jokes later-Mia still continues-and I become a little shorter with my rhetoric

Mia: Oh wait..this is a real good one!

Me: what?

Mia: this joke.. it's a real good.

Me: (frustrated) Geez..well then tell it already.

Mia: Ok, ok...oh this is funny.... ok...What did sushi A say to Sushi B?

Me: what?

Mia: You want to know the answer?

Me: Yeah

Mia: You really, really want to know?

Me: Yessss

Mia: Guess.

Me: NO! I do not know what the hell sushi A said to sushiB!

Mia: WASABI?!

Sofia: I don't get it. (tears are shed)

AND.. the jokes kept flowing even after we got home:

In the kitchen...

"Mom-Why did the dog go to court?! He got a barking ticket! Get it?!!"

In the bedroom...

"Mom- Why did the orange stop half-way up the hill? It ran out of juice! Get it?!!

In the garage...

"Mom- What do you call two spiders who just got married? Newlywebs! Get it?!!

While I'm on the toilet...

"Mom-  Why did Tigger look inside the toilet? He was looking for Pooh! Get it?!!

She would not go away. The jokes just kept coming and coming and coming. As I screwed the cap back on the Cuervo Gold, I had formed a plan. The next morning, Mia walked into the kitchen looking for her joke book. It had magically disappeared . Awwww....

I re-directed her attention to a new episode of The Dog Whisperer on T.V. and she forgot about it for awhile.  I gave it a few days and then it magically re-appeared. She was so excited when I gave it back to her. I suggested that daddy would LOVE to hear her jokes. She skipped off...

"Daddddyyyy....I got a good one"

Yes! Let the other parental unit share in my suffering! Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha <---my evil laugh.

"Mommy.."

I looked down. It was Sofia.

"Knock, Knock....."

The Thong

I have to admit... when the thong became THE item to have, I was a little resistant. I mean, how comfortable could a piece of material rubbing between your buttcheeks be?

Don't get me wrong. I like sexy underwear. They say wearing sexy panties underneath your work clothes can make you feel sensuous...like a naughty vixen underneath the conservative outer wear. But honestly, if I'm sitting at my desk trying to pull a piece of lace out of my labia, then it aint' happening. Plus, after having two children, I'd rather not look at myself wearing a piece of silk with dental floss attached. The tummy and booty aren't what they used to be- especially when the tiny little straps dig into my fleshy hips and the butt floss is wedged so far up, I get a rope burn on my brown star; just NOT a pretty picture. And you gotta make sure that you're waxed and smoother than a baby's bottom down there if you're going to attempt to wear a next-to-nothing-made-for-a-porno thong; there's nothing worse than looking like you're hiding a Furby in your undies (doesn't do anything for the look you're trying to pull off). It doesn't help either when your 5 year-old goes, "Ewwww" when she walks in on you changing into your thong. My 9 year-old is more inquisitive, "Mom, are you missing a part of your panties? Am I going to have to wear those when I'm older? Do all mommies wear those? How about my teachers?"

But...I do buy thongs; pretty, breathable smart thongs. I buy thongs for the reason they were intended- to avoid any pantylines. I like to be comfortable. Normally, I prefer the Jockey bikini panties. No, they aren't the high-waisted,Little House on the Prarie, grandma briefs that you're thinking of. They're the cute, cotton panties that are a tad more flattering.

Would my husband love for me to walk around the house with nothing but a thong 24/7?

Of course.

But..really? Who does that??

Here are a few things that irk me about the thong:

- When ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When 400 lb ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When you put on a fresh, clean thong and then have to take a shit

- When the material in the front isn't enough to cover the tummy bulge

- When you try your thong on and you look nothing like the models who wear 'em

Another thing that bugs me: when I walk into Victoria's Secret and I see 13 year-olds' buying thongs. What the hell? They barely have hair 1 on their "cha-cha" and they're going through the bins of thongs with careful precision like they have someone to impress. Scary...

If it isn't bad enough...

Then Sisqo goes and makes a song about it..

"...Baby make your booty go da na da na

Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong..."

As much as I complain about the thong, I'm also thankful for it. (And also maybe a little jealous that I can't walk down the runway like a Victoria's Angel with the perfect little butt and not a stretchmark in sight.)

Long Live the Thong....

Just Swing

It's not easy for me to relax.

I'm not a relaxer.

It's part of being a mom. There are always a million things going on and you feel you're on this endless treadmill. And life can become overwhelming. But, I must admit, I recently found a way to escape, if only for a few minutes, from the hustle and bustle of my daily life.

I came across it unexpectedly on the playground at the kids' school. I've always passed by them and never thought twice to try them out...

The ever-so-lovely, swings.

Like I said, I didn't plan this. But one morning, Sofia asked me to come to the playground area before school started. She wanted me to push her on the swings. So I made my way to the sandy play area and started to push her. And the higher she went, the louder she squealed with delight. I sat on the swing next to her to take a breather.

I started to sway back and forth..back and forth...back and forth. Hey, this was pretty cool. I then grabbed each chain to hold on to and started to pump my legs back and forth. I had a pretty good rhythm going and I started to go higher and higher. I probably looked pretty silly as I swung in my Christian Louboutin heels, but I didn't care.

As I rose higher with every swing, I was magically transported back into my childhood. I felt like I was in Kindergarten again with my dad pushing me higher and higher until I felt like I could touch the clouds. I felt the wind blow my hair back while the morning sun warmed my cheeks. I looked down at my feet and I no longer saw my heels, they were transformed into my red, Keds sneakers that I used to wear on my little 5 year-old -feet. I was free without a care in the world. I was a kid again.

Tears started forming as I basked in the glory of it all. I didn't want this ride to end. I wanted to jump off this magical time machine and remain 5 years old...

But the bell rang. My swing quickly slowed down and my heels reappeared. It was time to go back to real life, grown-up stuff. I hugged my kids before they ran off to their classrooms- each of them carrying a piece of my heart with them.

I walked away from the swing and then had to take a look back.

"Thanks," I said, "for letting me be a kid again...."

I pull my car keys out of my pocket and walk out the gate into my reality.

The Great Poo Stand-Off

Sometimes I feel like my brain lives in a Jerry Seinfeld-esque type of world.
I think about the most insane things and find comedy in the minutiae of every day life.

Like a few days ago...

In our office, the bathrooms are out in the hallway and we share the facilities with all the other offices on the 4th floor. It's a pretty intimate atmosphere in the ladies room. There are only four stalls and everything echoes... everything.

That's why, when nature calls and I gotta "back the big brown motorhome out of the garage", I take the elevator down to the 1st floor where usually no one uses the restrooms. My code for this is "2-on-1". (Thank you to Cindy Dias for sharing the code).

On this particular day though, I had company. As I was sitting in the stall, trying to take care of business, another woman walks in. And out of all the eight empty stalls she decides she is going to take the stall right next to mine.

I hate that.

I start to contemplate whether I should just finish up or wait. I hate to be rushed. She probably just came in to go pee. So, I decided to hold it all in until after she left.

But..

She didn't leave.

She had the same intention I had.

She was doing a 2-on-1.

She started to tap her foot. She wasn't leaving anytime soon.

It was a Poo Stand-off.

I wasn't about to give in.

I started to whistle.

She started to hum.

I refused to lose this battle. I would not go down without a fight.

I could feel her smirking on the other side.

Who did she think she was?! I was here first!

I started to play solitaire on my phone.

Then... I heard it....

The burst of a fart, a splash and the unraveling of toilet paper.

Hahahahahahahahaha (that's my evil queen laugh).

She quickly gathered her belongings and left the ladies room as I proudly did the cabbage patch dance while still sitting on the toilet.

Was there a point to this story?

Not really. It was just one of the little annoyances in life that I'm pretty open about.

Now you will never visit another ladies room again without thinking of me and my
Poo Stand-off.