Neil Diamond + Chanukah Song = GROOVY

So over Thankgiving, as we were driving up to my in-laws, the song "Forever in Blue Jeans" by Neil Diamond comes up on our iPod.  I've always liked that song, and I start humming along.  About 1 minute into it, my husband proceeds to tell me, "you know, this song is all about Neil Diamond wanting to have hot animal sex with his woman....listen to the lyrics".  I was totally appalled.....that literal bastard had done this to me before with "Shipping Up to Boston" being about a pirate's lost wooden leg, and with George Michael's "Freedom 90" about him struggling to come out of the closet. Sure enough, he managed to do it again....I can never listen to that song without thinking about leopard print rug, a young Neil Diamond (whose modern equivalent, btw, is the one and only John Mayer) and some coked up '70s skank getting it on in a California chalet.

So on the heels of that....I found out today that old Neil just posted a cover of Adam Sandler's "The Chanukah Song" on his website, with a South Park like animated video.  Given that Friday is the first day of Chanukah, I thought I would pass it along to you as my gift.  I don't believe there is any hidden meaning to the lyrics of this one, but I am sure my asshole husband will figure out a way to ruin it for me somehow.  In the mean time, enjoy!




UPDATE:  There is now a YouTube version for those of you on your phones!  Click here!

The Drought Explained.....

Apologies! Apologies! As you can see, my output on this blog has slowed considerably over the past few months. The fact that this has occurred in conjunction with the end of the school year is no coincidence. With three active children, summer always seems to be a combination of breaking up arguments, chaffeuring the kids to their various day camps, and counting the minutes until bedtime. But this summer has been very different, as I have had legitimate reasons for my lack of posts.

First, I was quite excited when I was presented with the opportunity to sign me and the kids up to star in "A Chorus Line Jr." at our local theatre. Our youngest, aka The Crazy Man, has always shown a penchant for naked dancing around the house, and my middle son, he who is obsessed with France, recently exhibited an odd curiosity for "jazz hands".

I'll admit that my daughter needed a little convincing, but after about 7 repeated viewings of the "Sound of Music", I convinced her she could be the "Lisel" to my "Maria" in this production (and that "Cookin' Mama 2: Soul Food Edition" might be in her future for her DS). Plus, I checked, and there was little opportunity for that little attention hog to steal precious spotlight from me.....bonus! The impromptu tribute to Michael Jackson we performed during the finale will be talked about for years to come in our town, no doubt!

Next, was the unfortunate incident you may have read about around the 4th of July. We were going to do a water balloon toss during our annual BBQ, but my husband thought it would be a bit more exciting if we did it with sparklers instead.

As you can see, that bastard miscalculated that after a few Coronas his aim might be a bit impaired. Don't worry, the Crazy Man is doing fine...though my husband did try to blame it on all the "fruity dancing" he had been doing lately instead of improving his eye-hand coordination. I am so glad our last performance of "A Chorus Line Jr." was the week before, otherwise I would have had to scramble to find a kid to do the moonwalk during the finale.

Then, this past weekend we had some drama here after we broke out the Slip and Slide.....We had a bunch of neighborhood families at the house for some summertime fun, and one thing led to another, and my husband thought he would show off by giving the kids a head start "midget toss" style....

Unfortunately for one of the two year olds on the street, my husband was busy talking about the god damn Tour de France or something with one of the other guys while mid toss and you can see the result. Who's got the poor eye-hand coordination now, asshole?

Soooo....it has been a pretty busy summer here as you can see. Please bear with me.....school is just around the corner, and that means plenty of bus stop time.....which is blogging gold for me!

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.....

Sober People Don’t Do That!

It was just after midnight when I got out of the car. House keys in hand, I wobbled off in the general direction of the door. “Okay,” I told myself, “I can do this. Must keep the pants buttoned until the coast is clear.” The internal pep talk ended as I straighten my sweater and neatly arranged pieces of hair behind my ears. I tightly gripped the wad of cash in my hand and kept mentally rehearsing what was beginning to sound like an implausible alibi. I was giggley, woosey and couldn’t think straight. Like a teen coming home well past curfew, I tentatively entered the house. “Hi. How were they? Did they give you any trouble? Did they go to bed on time?” I said in one rapid fire sentence. Smiling hard at the babysitter, I was trying to look and act my most serious, my most adult, my most sober. And it was VERY hard. I couldn’t focus on a word the girl said, as my thoughts were racing…How many glasses of the Benzinger did I have? How many beers followed? Why did I only eat 3 scallops and the amazingly decadent cheesecake? Since when did the chandelier in the entry way swing in circles?

We don't go out that often, and when we do, I always end up wondering the next day what possessed me to drink so much. See, I always fancied myself as a friendly, slightly incoherent Sinatra-singing drunk, who would jovially repeat her stories, dance very badly and become an extremely close talker…or in my earlier years, to some degree publicly disrobe. (Don’t worry it wasn’t in an “Old School" – Frank the Tank, streaking kind of way…more like an all of these tequila shots have made it really, really hot in here vibe.) This night, however, the sitter didn't seem as nervous as the other ones, and accepted the outstretched money (always with an extra hour or two tacked on for tip) without the bewildered looks I have grown accustomed to getting. "I think we are in the clear," I began to say in my head, hand poised on my belt buckle. Then my husband came in. “Arrghble…blurble? Good?” He said. “Drive safe!” I said as she quickly ran out the door. “Darble…ack…snurp,” he said, mumbling like the toddler in my 5 year-old’s book “Knuffle Bunny."

As I climbed the stairs, shoes, clothes and jewelry in hand - (oh so what, old habits die hard...the kids were asleep, the sitter had peeled out of the driveway and my husband was talking like Bob Dylan on acid to a small cactus in our kitchen…and it WAS really, really hot in our house, I was free to get as nekkid and esoteric as I pleased) – two things came to my mind, first a quote about drinking by Ernest Hemmingway, “Always do sober what you say you’ll do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut;” and the mantra “sober people don’t do that!” The latter was a silly battle cry a college freshman year roommate and I would say to help us make the long walk from the bus stop to our dorms after a night of drinking scorpion bowls, $1 drafts or contraband kegs of Harpoon at off campus parties with “older guys”….Saying it repetitively and at the top of our lungs, made us think that we were sober….even if it only confirmed to everyone else that we were not. Looking back, my college education taught me, often the hard way, that there are many things that sober people do and don’t do.

"Top Ten Things Sober People Don't Do".

10) Wake up in the middle of the night and pee in other people’s closets

9) Kiss a butt ugly, no REALLY fugly guy just because he’s on the football team

8) Race large beatles under bottle caps for money

7) Stuff Munchkins into mailboxes as a present for the mail carrier the next morning

6) Buy into the whole "Fourth meal" thing and eat low grade meat by products from Taco Bell, roast beef of any kind, chicken wings or any other spicey food sold out of a cart.

5) Organize a group of people to write birthday wishes to a friend in Sharpie marker on their collective backsides (there is photographic evidence of this, it does not involve me, but I will pay handsomely for a copy)

4) Harass your future wife for a $2.00 cover charge (hey it was the early 90s!) at a party wearing a “Just Do Me!” t-shirt

3) Hook up with your future husband because he "looked cute" in the "Just Do Me!" shirt...or maybe you just mistook him for another fugly football player...

2) Scream obscenities out the window at clergy (not proud of that one)

1) Partially disrobe in front of your future sister in-law (the first time you meet her) because it was too hot out.....in March.....on an outdoor basketball court.....

Editor's Note: Over time, I have come to justify the last point as a subliminal fashion intervention....it was 1992, I still had remnants of late '80s hair and was wearing a bright red (Ronald McDonald red) wool blazer with a black rayon blouse with obnoxiously large white polka dots, jeans with some kind of faded wash and black cowboy boots....I'm sure there was a cableknit twin set in the back of my closet screaming to be worn.

Doing the recap on the latest installment of Friday "soccer parents night out", it was hard to find the one drink or one defining moment when we transformed from sober to silly. To our friends in the bar, we both seemed the very model of collected and coherent. I’m sure there was in depth discussion about stimulus packages, when Obama will wear a Snuggie, cures for malaria, the layoffs on Sesame Street and other major problems afoot in the world. Then, all of a sudden, it was time to go. The clock was ticking and the babysitter was about to turn into a very sour pumpkin if we stayed out any later. We had to be responsible...we had the kids to think about...the eight year old had the dreaded 8:30am soccer game. The crowded, dimly lit bar was like Oz – no flying monkeys or Tin Men, but slightly smokey, technicolor and surreal. Nothing seemed to touch us: not the wine, the beer or the lack of solid food in our stomachs. But after saying “goodbye” and crossing the threshold into the cold night air, it was like we clicked our heels. We were suddenly in black and white Kansas…but where was the damn Yellow Brick road to get us home? Next thing I know, I am at our door, rehearsing my questions for the sitter.

After his final goodnights to"Arthur the Cactus" in the kitchen, my husband slowly worked his way up the stairs, mumbling several obscenities about the early soccer game in the morning. Although I can't be absolutely certain, I am pretty sure we got busy that night, as I was lying naked and incoherent on the bed and have been known to barter sex to get out of taking the kids to the early soccer game...(plus for my husband, seeing me lying there drunk and without clothes on must have been like being at Disney with no line at Space Mountain....it's too good to pass up the ride even if it's gonna make you puke!). Just before I passed out, I remembered to make note of another thing sober people don't do: accidentally slip the babysitter an extra $100 instead of an extra $20 as an added tip....

I Told Him to Wax His Back Before He Tried This....

....but my know-it-all husband just couldn't listen, could he?  You leave them alone for one night to go out with the ladies, and this is what you get....

That bastard owes me a new black Danskin leotard too. I don't recall giving him permission to wear that!

I Counted the Days Until He Returned!

My husband was away on a West Coast business trip for most of this past week. OMG, I have to admit I was a complete mess until he returned.

You know, it wasn’t THAT bad just being me and the three kids this week. I am used to dealing with the homework, the periodic fights over the remote, the skid marks in the 5 year old’s underwear, and the daily complaints from my 9 year old daughter that the school clothes I pick out for her purposefully make her look like a freak. No, I’m actually cool with all of that. It was the longing for his companionship and his touch that really made this week unbearable.

Since the stay at the Holiday Inn Express came so close to his trip, I’ve really felt the void. All week I really had to try hard to hide this extreme feeling of guilt that I didn’t rise to the occasion and give him the pre-business trip sex that I know he enjoys and so greatly deserved. I know it would have meant a lot to him, and could have been such a special send off for the guy I deeply love and appreciate. He works so hard to “bring home the bacon”, the least I could have done was Crisco his pan if you catch my drift…..

I can’t tell you how much I missed making his favorite dinner, Fiesta Meatloaf, this week (and the good natured comparison to his Mom’s recipe that always accompanies it). I missed the cute way he leaves the empty toilet paper roll for me on the floor in the bathroom. And in a funny way, I actually missed having him remind me to get his dry cleaning – once by email and once by voice mail – like he does every Tuesday. I know he does all of this because he loves me, and it is his way of letting me know how special I am to him.

So when he reminded me on his way out the door that he was extending the trip until Sunday so he could visit “his grandparents in Scottsdale”, I was all for it. It is a true testament to the kind of person my husband is that he would sacrifice a weekend of togetherness with us to be with his 90 year old grandparents during the 2 hours of awake time they have a day. I feel horrible that I didn’t remember to put his golf clubs in his car before he left, because I understand they live on one of the nicest public courses down there. Too bad he probably didn’t get in a couple of rounds, because that guy definitely deserves a break from everything!

But now, he is home…..and I am complete again. I worked extra hard to get the laundry folded and put away, the kids to clean their rooms, and yes, I made him his Fiesta Meatloaf. We’ll have a nice family dinner, and I’ll clean the kitchen and quickly put the kids to bed early tonight so I can give him the “proper” welcome home. Maybe I’ll actually follow through this time and “go for round two” instead of just saying it in the heat of passion – god knows my man deserves it! ;)

Editor’s note – In case you were wondering, I did not write this crap. Somehow my husband figured out my password and submitted this post behind my back. That well tanned, well rested bastard is smoking crack if he thinks he’s getting any nookie now…