Monday, June 22, 2009

Best. Father's. Day. Ever!

My husband said he wanted to keep it simple this Father's Day. No Vineyard Vines ties, grilling gear, or "family coupons" for "free" hugs or car washes that the kids will forget about by the end of the day.

Nope -- he just wanted to be left alone in the tub with some of his favorite comfort food. How could we deny the man who regularly makes my heart skip a beat (and has been known to press magnetic letters into my ass) this simple pleasure?

I did get a little scared when he asked the eight year old to help him find the ketchup packets though.....

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Bristol Palin, Abstinence & Pot Pie

Much ado has been made about the Obamas’ trip to NYC last month for a Broadway show, and, as I have said before, as if the Obama's getting their swerve on in the White House isn’t enough, the New York Times ran an interesting article titled, “If they can find time for date night…”

The general gist of the piece claimed to be “a presidential elbow to the ribs of husbands” and quoted many long married couples about the pitfalls of keeping romance alive. While I read the wistful musing of spouses (mostly wives) wishing for more alone time together, I realized that I didn’t share the sentiment.

It’s not that I wouldn’t like a grand romantic gesture, what girl wouldn’t? But, I’d like to think that there is something more to it than just the occasional night on the town together. Isn’t it really what you make of your time together – whether you are having a discussion at a restaurant or over the kitchen table; or watching a movie in a theater or on your own couch - that fills that romantic void? You don’t need Air Force One to make an impression, or in my husband’s case just flowers…and food.

With thoughts of romance running through his head, my husband came home, last Friday, bearing gifts - a bouquet of flowers, a box of condoms and a chicken pot pie. I gave him a long hard look and tried to piece together the riddle, because nothing quite says “romance” like an assortment of Trojans, puff pastry and freshly cut sunflowers. Yet, it worked….and later, in the throes of passion, both of us knowing that we were rolling the family planning dice (hence the condoms), my husband whispered seductively into my ear, “Let’s make a baby.” (Usually, it would have seemed kinda sexy… okay maybe just sexy in a cheesy ‘70’s, Larry Dallas “Three’s Company,” big gold medallion way, but I’ll roll with it, just don’t tell my husband…) This time, however, he must have seen the look of utter fear fall across my face and he immediately recanted. “Okay, well, not really….um, just kidding….psyche!” And with the cagey reflexes of a mountain lion, he flung himself off of me, into the air and in the general direction of the hiding place of the latex cache.

As I watched his silhouette hopping back and forth in the moonlight….hoping he won’t totally kill the mood by breaking a toe on the dresser (yeah, we were kickin’ it old school, lights off and all….I suppose that the only thing missing was a Barry White 8 track, black satin sheets and glasses filled with Crown Royal on ice)….I could not help but think of the Dr. Seuss book, “Hop On Pop,” except my current situation, was more like “Hop Off Pop….don’t get off…hop off NOW!” Not a typical scenario by any means, just a factor in the birth control crossroads that I have found myself at yet again - I don’t want to get the tubes tied (definitely not after my neighbor's recent experience!), he's not ready to wear the "cone of shame" and the clock is ticking on our current solution (whole other post!)…which needs to be addressed asap!

You see, my husband and I have never quite gotten the birth control thing right. In my early 20’s, my doctors informed me that that when we did decide to have children, it would take longer than normal to conceive. We took the news as more of birth control pass than anything, and found out quickly that both we and the doctors were wrong. Boy, were we all wrong! It just so happened that my uber-fertile Irish peasant genes kicked in at age 25 and we had one hell of a mind blowing holy shit moment in the car after the first OB appointment. We were just shy of our 1st wedding anniversary and I’ll never forget how scared and overwhelmed I felt, looking down at all the forms for my blood work, the hospital registration information and the “Next Nine Months” book we were given. But as history is doomed to repeat itself, so were we and 22 months after the birth of baby #1, along came baby #2.

Now you would think that a young family with two children, a girl and a boy, would have been enough. We had two healthy children and were moving into a new house. So why throw a third into the mix? But I did and in a perfect storm of sorts I switched birth control options from the pill to the patch, left the kids with my parents, and packed up for a child -free vacation in Hawaii for a friends wedding. FYI – don’t use any form of patch – bug repellent, smoking, weight loss, etc – when going to the lushest, wettest state in the union. Regardless of what the box says or whatever is written on the fine print packaging insert, the patch will NOT, I repeat, WILL NOT stay-on while golfing, river kayaking, hiking to a waterfall, snorkeling, wine tasting, sightseeing, horseback riding, kite boarding, indulging in a full-body seaweed wrap at the hotel spa, sleeping, changing your clothes, listening to your iPod, flying in an airplane, eating lunch on a veranda or any other daily vacation activity. While we left two behind, we came back with one more….and lets just say baby #3 (now known as Crazy Man, he of the drawn on eyebrows) could have easily been named Aloha Kona. Or as my friend, who is a native Hawaiian and whose wedding we went to, likes to remind me, “Wow, they always said Hawaii was the land of romance….now you have proof!”

But I digress, and getting back to the end of my bedroom “date night” hijinx, I suppose Bristol Palin is right - the only sure fire birth control is abstinence. The concept is really quite simple - no intercourse, no conception. The problem, however, is that abstinence is unrealistic. In our modern world abstinence is somewhat of a punch line. It is a quaint silly by-gone notion like churning butter or listening to a song on vinyl. Why go through all the steps – We are an “Instant Gratification Nation” and nobody wants to wait for anything anymore. Is there an iPhone app abstinence and if so would you really want to download it? In the meantime, I will try to put it into practice, but it will ultimately be in vain... for Friday is just around the corner and I’m sure it will bring another bouquet and quite possibly another pot pie.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

The Official Launch of Crazy Man Blog

Today, I can honestly say that my 5 year-old (he of the drawn on eyebrows) is cooler than most 5 year-olds. Why? Today, we officially launched his blog, Crazy Man Blog...or I should say I actually let him post something on it.

Under much supervision, he creates his own content and pictures and even posts his own comments, like "Spongebob Rocks!" I jump in to add a few minor clarifications or spelling changes. But the concept is all Crazy Man!
After he proudly told his two older siblings about his blog this afternoon, he was gratified to find out that neither of them showed any interest in his blog or creating a blog of their own. "There are just 2 blogs here, that's good," he commented and then proceeded to tell me to type the numeral 2 instead of spell out two because it's "just easy."
Fear not those of you out there who have gotten random emails and/or text messages from him, he will be completely supervised while blogging....I already had to help him create more age appropriate titles for his blog posts, because I quickly realized he was cutting and pasting titles from my blog. "Selling Sex to the Suburbs - Part I" on his blog had to be quickly changed to "Glowsticks Demo, Whatever Part 1." Apparently, he liked the Part I, II and III concept.

Check out his blog, but be forewarned, it is EXTREMELY random and will probably walk a very fine line before becoming a full blown homage to Spongebob Squarepants. Live crazy and enjoy!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The Art Of The Douche Bag

I hate to admit it, but my husband and I have been living with a horrible, horrible secret. So, horrible that we carefully hide it from our children, neighbors, friends, family, co-workers. We are addicts…and our drug of choice is REALLY BAD TV. You name it – "Celebrity Apprentice,"
“The Littlest Groom,” “Wife Swap,” 3 a.m. Nick at Nite reruns of “The Nanny,” “Saturday Night Live”(the Jon Lovitz years) – if it has tanked in the ratings, we have watched it…twice.

The latest show to catch our fancy has been Discovery Channel’s “Pitchmen” – the self-promoting vehicle for career pitchman, Billy Mays and the stable of products he hawks. Yes, the same ingratiating guy with a mask of facial hair that resembles jet black shag carpeting and sells $19.99 crap that you don’t need, like the stupid little hamburger molds. (I mean come the fuck on – “Big City Sliders” - whose brilliant idea was that concept, isn’t a mini hamburger just a flat, glorified meatball?)

After watching the first episode, my husband just shook his head and muttered, “What a douche!” I couldn’t hear what he said and quickly asked what the problem was. “That guy, Billy Mays, he’s just such a douche, I mean that’s the only thing that came to mind as I watched. I feel so dirty, like I should take a shower after I watch that show.” He then began to apologize, thinking I would be offended by his language. I assured him that I was not, as I was strangely thinking the same thing.

When you think about it, in broad terms what really is a douche bag? Wikitionary defines a douche bag (n.) as the bag for holding water or fluid used in douching (vaginal or anal levage). The vulgar slang term is loosely used to describe “a worthless person, jackass or asshole, someone blatantly inconsiderate of others. The plural form is douche bags, but if you are at the Jersey Shore and happen upon a gathering of 6 or more douche bags, then you have a Bon Jovi tribute band. (I was going to say Springsteen, but that didn’t seem quite douche-y enough).

The problem is that once you identify one douche bag, you see them everywhere. It’s the same phenomenon that happens when you buy a new car. You might think that the model and color that you picked are almost exclusive to you, then you roll it off the lot, stereo blaring Scissor Sisters, and realize that every other car is the exact same as yours and the drivers are listening to way cooler music. Just turn on your TV and they are everywhere:

While through the ages “douching” and “douche bags” have been typically associated with women, a woman it seems is rarely, if ever, described as one. My husband wondered if I considered douche bag a derogatory term, like the “c” word. (You all know the word I’m talking about….the stank nasty name for the vajajay or the cha-cha). I paused for a moment and thought its not really a knock on womanhood if someone used douche bag as a derogatory term for an asshole male. Especially since most physicians will agree that douching is not really the most hygienic or safest thing to be doing anyway.

Yet, there are definitely women out there that you wouldn’t classify as bitchy, but you don’t want to start throwing around c-bombs. There has got to be a douche bag-esque name for women like Suze Orman, Paris Hilton, Sarah Palin, Joan Rivers, Rosie O'Donnell, and Kate Gosselin – women that make your skin crawl with the same feeling that you get from watching Billy Mays. At dinner with friends one night, amid a chorus of laughter, I floated out my ideal name for a female douche bag – vag (as in vagina) wipe!

Maybe being a douche bag isn’t all that bad, serial-dating, male slut John Mayer has even gone on the record stating, “Yeah, I’m kind of a douche.” And New Jersey has cornered the market on both male hair gel and the moniker (not to be confused with the tube sock and faux dockersider wearing New England variation - the Masshole). Does the adage hold that once a douche always a douche? Can a douche bag ever be rehabilitated? And what happened when a douche and a vag wipe marry, like Heidi and Spencer? Does that classify as inbreeding?

I guess I will just have to wait for more bad reality TV, like “I’m a Douche Bag, Get Me Out of Here!” or “Survivor: Atlantic City – The Celebrity Douche Bag edition,” before all of my questions are answered....

Monday, June 1, 2009

Hey Kate, 1987 called....

Really, everyone wants the Kate Gosselin hairdo?  
Bitch Pleeze!  More like Robert Smith, lead singer of The Cure, wants his haircut back!