Spinning in Circles

A couple of weeks ago I was at an audition to teach spin at a new gym and take on my FIFTH part-time job and I met a really frickin' crazy woman.

I realized after typing that last sentence that it's looking like (in a hushed tone), I am the crazy person of whom I speak. 

Despite evidence to the contrary, I'm not as crazy as I may sound, I swear. 

Let me explain- See, I go to the gym every Thursday morning anyway, so why not get paid for it, right? I mean, the whole reason I decided to become a spin instructor was basically so I did not have to arrive 30 minutes before the beginning of a spin class in order to reserve my bike. I could just show up, moments before class started and I'd get to pick the music for the whole class instead of listening to Van Halen or techno music for an entire hour. 

So really, it makes perfect sense to become a spin instructor if you are a control freak with superior taste in music that is prone to tardiness, as I am.

Crap.That actually makes me sound even crazier.

This was not what I was planning to write. This has taken a surprising turn, indeed.

So, anywhooooo....

A few weeks ago I drove an hour across town to the gym where auditions were taking place, one of the worst neighborhoods in town. I scanned the parking lot and ran serpentine through the parking lot wondering if I had chosen the wrong colored bandanna for that neighborhood to mop up my sweat. 

I sat down and completed in the smallest, weirdest application I'd ever seen. It was just for their, "records" since they already had my resume via the on-line application process so, whatever. It basically asked me to spell my name and give a phone number and emergency contact in case I died during class. I figured there was an excellent chance of getting nailed in a drive-by shooting in the parking lot because of my blue bandanna so I used my best handwriting on that part.

I'm guessing most of you are not spin instructors because 1) most people are not 2) if you were, you would too narcissistic to read a blog that was not about yourself, and so I'm also guessing you've never been to a spin instructor audition so allow me to tell you what usually happens:

• You arrive at the assigned time for your audition and then stand around for about 40 minutes while the girl behind the desk tries to locate gym manager
• You meet the other 19 instructors that you are competing against for the one job you all applied for on Craigslist
• You act nice to your competition but secretly you hope they all suck, have seizures or pull a hamstring during their audition
• You try to guess the ages and the number of cosmetic procedures performed on the other instructor-wannabe's. You tell yourself you look waaaay better than at least one of them (it will not matter to you that she is in her 70's and has a lazy eye)
• You are eventually lead to the cycle room where each applicant has about 3 minutes to instruct a workout. The group consists of the gym manager and the other applicants that you just spent 40 minutes sizing up, through a song of your choice
• You leave having no idea if you got the job or why you thought a French braid and camouflage bandanna was a good choice for your "look"

So after handing my abbreviated application back to the girl at the desk, she lead me to the workout room that looked like any other cycle room except for two things:

There was not a room full of others waiting to audition. 
There was not even a room full of bikes. 

It was just two ladies, dressed in business suits and sitting at a small table that was set directly in front of one spin bike. Uh-oh.

Linda was in her mid-forties and used to be a spin instructor. Bev was in her mid-fifties but she didn't say what her previous experience was. I had a feeling Bev was the boss as she did most of the talking. I also got the feeling that the last time Bev saw a gym was as she walked passed it on her way to Chico's clothing boutique.

Both ladies were all smiles to me as they did their best to make me feel comfortable. They asked me all sorts of questions about my past life experience, my husband and my kids. They did not ask me about my workout routine or my instructor experience. They told me that they were only in town for the auditions-  Linda was from a neighboring state, while Bev came from across the country. I realized that they were Big Wigs as they told me how the national chain of gyms they worked for had plans to build 18 more warehouse-sized gyms in the city where I live. Gulp.

And then they asked me to "teach" a class.

Now, a lot of instructing is sort of like acting, in that you have to act like one or more of the following:
1) you are not working as hard as you actually are because you can't look like you're out of shape 

2) you are working harder than you actually are because you're super tired or on your period or you already worked out that day and (or) you just feel like phoning-it-in that day

3) you have NOT heard that song by Pink a bazillion times already this week

...however, I'd never had to act like I was talking to a room full of people before this. But what the hell- I'm crazy, right? I figured they'd either think I was a nut and rip up my resume or they'd realize I could fake my way through anything and hire me. So I demonstrated how to set up a bike in front of a room full of new-to-spin gym members and then "taught" an entire four minute routine to these same, imaginary people. I threw out phrases like, "You got it!", "Don't slow down!" and "Just give me 10 more seconds!" as if I had a twenty, sweaty ladies in front of me working their asses off.

The ladies cheered for me and held direct eye contact with me as they sat at their little cafe table a few feet from me. It was a strange and surreal experience. I felt naked and wondered if this is how it would feel to go pro as a stripper for the first time. And they cheered for me as I dismounted the bike.

Bev began by congratulating me on my attitude, my enthusiasm and my choice of music and then she said she wanted to give me a little piece of advice...At this point, I think I knew she was going to say something off- but it still sort of threw me.

She said, "When you're up there- on the bike. Try to give more. I mean, you're attitude is wonderful, and you're very motivating...just try to give..."

I stood there and waited as she completed the sentence.

"More..."

Um. Ok.
More what?

Bev continued and this time she gestured with her hands, palms turned upward as if she was kneading imaginary bread in mid-air, "I mean, you're up there. And you have the attention of the entire class. And they're watching you. And you're showing them how to do it. Just give them...more...." she said as she looked beyond my shoulder.

More what?
Who's on first?

So, I get it. I'm naturally very dry and monotone. I can fix that.
"So, I need to be more enthusiastic?"

"Oh no! Your enthusiasm is great!", she said with a smile, "I just want...mooore...", she trailed off.

More what?!??!?

 "Do you know what I mean?" she asked, looking me straight in the eye. Finally, an opportunity for some clarity on what, exactly, she wanted more of.

"Yes. I know exactly what you mean", I said, acting once again.

And I smiled.
And Bev smiled.

And she offered me the job that day.

They're Just Like A-Holes

It's been a while since I've done this.

First off, I am, by nature, a flake.
Second off, fuck off, I've got shit to do!

Alright.

Let's start again.

I'll start the next paragraph saying something that I've said way too many times lately.
I'm sorry if I was rude to you. I'm a bit crabby today. I've been full of excuses lately, it seems.

Let's just say I've been busy. Too busy to write. Or do anything besides go to the gym and then (maybe) do laundry* and  take nap after lunch. So yes, I'm sleeping instead of blogging while my kids are napping and/or coming out of their rooms every 17 minutes to ask, "Is naptime over yet??"

I work 2-3 days a week as a high school teacher and I teach spin class at two different gyms, 2-4 times a week. I also moonlight as veterinary technician, assisting a veterinarian in exotic animal surgeries (think rabbit rumenectomy** or an iguana inguinal hernia repair) on weekends occasionally. There's also the odd, freelance (paying!!) writing gig for a veterinary technician magazine. And then there's the other veterinarian that I work for every now and again when someone calls in sick or gets married.

But enough about me, let's talk about crazy people. Not sadly crazy, like off-their-meds-and-he's-running-around-London-thinking-he's-Captain-Cooke kind of crazy (yes, I really know someone that did that). Not dangerous crazy either. 

Just harmless, Wow-I-can't-believe-that-someone-like-you-exists-in-real-life crazy.

How 'bout you sit and think on that one, tell me about your 'Enkounter with Krazy' story and I'll tell you about mine from a couple weeks ago?

Cool.

(*psst...laundry has never actually gotten done after lunch time)

(**psst...there's really no such thing as a rabbit rumenectomy but if there was, I would totally assist in that surgery because it would be awesome!)

"No Thank You" Notes

If you don't have kids, I'm certain that you have heard about them.

Unless you are like my sister-in-law who claims she has never seen a realty show. Not once. Not ever. She only begrudgingly admits that she knows of their existence at all.

But you are not her and you will admit that you have listened countless times as your Friends Up-bringing Kids With Inexplicable Tenacity (or FUK-WITS, as I prefer to call us), tell you over and over, "nobody ever told me about.......", before becoming a parent.

For example, the most famous one, of course, is that the expectant mother will poop in the delivery room when she is in labor. "They" say that you just don't care about pooping on the floor at that point because either, "You're just too happy because you are now a mother!"  (barf) or more realistically,  you really don't care because you just want that thing OUT by that point. 

At any rate, yes, I'm a parent and there are things that nobody told us before we had kids because they wanted to have a good laugh at our expense, once we became FUK-WITS, they wanted their kids to have at least a few friends of a similar age with cool parents or more likely, they just forgot because they are tired.

Really.
Fuckin.
Tired*.

All of the time.

So after doing this parent thing for five years now, a few weeks ago I discovered something new and nearly as awful as pooping in front of a room full of strangers.

Kid's birthday parties.

I won't go into great detail because (see * above) but I will summarize by sharing with you the Thank You notes I will NOT be sending out this year, a few weeks after The Not-So-Little One's fifth birthday party.

"Dear XXX,
Thank you sooo much for asking if it was "OK" to bring the rest of your kids and husband to my five-year old's birthday party! 
Although I put your daughter's name only on the invitation, you were unable to take the not-so-subtle hint that this was a party for FIVE YEAR OLDS. 

Far be it from me to exclude your two teenagers, your one year old baby and your husband who has never spoken a word to me! Please let us pay for all of them to eat pizza, cake and have game tokens in exchange for a $9 gift that my kid will likely break or forget about by the end of the weekend.
We're so glad you could ALL make it- oh wait- that's right, you did not make the party after all. 

At least you were kind enough to RSVP via text message telling me (three days before the party) that all SIX of you may or may not make it to the party.

Hope you can (or cannot) make it (or not) again next year!
Love, Sue"


"Dear Grandma,
Thank you for showing up a half hour late and half drunk. We are all very grateful that you live close enough to see your grandkids  often and that you are still in reasonably good health- I mean, successfully navigating a Chuckee Cheese parking lot while half-tanked just proves how good your fine motor skills still are!

Again, we are lucky to have you here and even luckier that your grandchild still thinks that gifts purchased from Walgreens are the shit! 
Funny, me and the Tall Guy think they are shit! Ha, ha!
Love, Your Daughter Sue"


"Dear Old Friend from High School that Has No Kids But Thinks She Knows Everything About Them Anyway,
Thank you for getting my kid that whore-y looking doll that is totally inappropriate for a girl her age.
No, wait, inappropriate for any girl of any age.
Her little arched back, her pouty lips, her sky-high legs and micro-mini skirt all scream, "Five Year Old Girl Toy", I know, but do you really think a teeny, pink, plastic flask is appropriate for a little girl that is genetically predispositioned to have substance abuse and thrill-seeking issues in her future? 
Looking forward to the Hello Kitty Thong you'll undoubtedly bring next year!
Love, Sue"


"Dear Old Friend That I Used To Work With That Is No Longer a Part of 'The Gang' Because
Your Husband Was Fired By One of My Kid's Friend's Mom, Who Is Also At The Party,

You did not receive an invitation to attend my kid's fifth birthday party.
You're welcome.

Love, Sue"

Is That Soo Wrong?

More often than I'd like to admit, I find my internal monologue asking myself, "Is that so wrong?"

Actually, no, that's not entirely accurate. 

Truth be told, it's with more frequency lately my little voice asks, "Is that soo wrong?!?", in an almost incredulous, how-dare-you-ask-that-of-me (but secretly knows I'm guilty of something) kind of voice.

Here's a list of what still has me wondering, is that soo wrong?
(Do your best not to judge, please)

• Considering not letting my soon-to-be-five-year-old (the Bigger Kid of my two) to go to the birthday party of a classmate the day before her own party because the other kid's party sounds waaaay cooler than the one we have planned for our kid
• In response to a text message sent by my 70 year old mom to tell me she cannot talk due to a case of laryngitis, I promptly reply, "It's as if all of my dreams have finally come true!" And no, I did not include an emoticon happy face at the end of my message :(
• Using the cheap pre-grated cheddar cheese for my kids while saving the expensive, imported stuff for me and the Tall Guy
• Pretending I'm asleep when one or more children enter my room before seven am on the weekend and letting Tall Guy get up with them
• Not wanting to invite my daycare provider's nice kid to Bigger Kid's birthday party because it might mean SIX extra mouths to stuff pizza, cake and ice cream into if she decides to bring her husband and all FOUR of her kids
• Not wanting to invite certain adult friends to BBQs at our house because I'm afraid their eight year old son may torture my dog or light the house on fire if left unattended 
• For years, deliberately withholding information about Facebook (specifically, that Facebook exists)  from my mother because I don't want to be "friends" with her on it.                                          Even though I'm "friends" with all six of her brothers and sisters 
• Jokingly asking the Bigger Kid if she would like peanut-butter on toast for breakfast every morning even though she is highly allergic and would likely need emergency medical treatment if even one bite was taken*
• Feeling guilty when Tall Guy offers to let me go overseas for a friend's wedding without him (because we cannot afford airfare for all four of us) but accepting his offer anyway
• Eventually getting mom on Facebook but only after explaining that no, I will not be her "friend" because of the Slippery Slope it would create for me and the possibility of having to "friend" my mother in law**

This is not a complete list and it's probably not the worst of things I've said, done or thought today, much less this week. 

This may have to be a regular thing, though, I think it may be somewhat therapeutic, for me.

What have you done lately that has made you ask yourself, is that sooo wrong?

*The Bigger Kid always laughs and says, no to the peanut butter on toast

**The Facebook thing about my mother-in-law is true. It really is a slippery slope

Naked Christmas Party

I feel like there's a common theme developing on Shit I Don't Tell Most People.
Beyond the obvious theme -that this really is shit I don't tell in polite company (polite 'company' excludes most of my friends, of course), there is another theme that keeps popping up.

And I think that theme is nudity. Or better yet, nakedness. Yes, that's it.

Nudity is very clinical. Something you need to wear while at your annual girl-parts exam or half of what you forced to be during childbirth. 

Nakedness, on the other hand, is dirty. Skeevy. 
Often it's sexy.

Often it is not.

And these are the times I seem to like to talk about the most. I cannot begin to imagine why.

But anyway, this all brings me to the story of: How Our Annual Christmas Party Became a Naked Christmas Party. 

(*I would now like the reader to imagine the voice of the Burl Ive's pedophilic-looking snowman from the old, stop-motion-animated, Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer television special)

The Founder of FKC

It began like any other Christmas party, many, many years ago....

Waay too much cake, candy, home-made hummus that tastes like watered-down cardboard and a "fun" gift exchange (the kind where you all take numbers then have the choice of opening a gift or stealing a gift that has already been opened by someone else) that went on for hours. 

No joke. Hours. Because the thing was, it was not a White Elephant gift exchange- for some reason, most of us at the party actually prided ourselves on bringing a cool gift. Everyone there actually wanted to have that gift that nobody could live without. The gift that kept getting stolen again and again.

But even though most of us scored cool gifts, the constant gift-swiping made the gift exchange go on too long and ultimately kill everyone's buzz.

So new rules were in order. One year the Tall Guy and I hosted the party and we made a list of rules that included that any coveted gift could only be stolen a total of three times. This helped tremendously but still, by this time, we'd been getting together with the same group of friends for  maybe five years, and the party was getting a bit stale. 

It was around 2001 and most of the couples in my group of friends had small kids as well as most of their irrational lifestyle choices, behaviors and drug use were well behind them. My theory is that within the boundaries of the hum-drum life of raising kids and paying mortgages, getting to bed early and taking our vitamins.

We all were well and truly bored with our happy, drama-free lives and so that's when things took an unexpected turn.

The annual Xmas Party became the XXX-Mas Party when new rules were created in order to prevent the gift exchange from going on too long. If someone tried to steal your gift, you could effectively "block" that steal by removing an article of clothing. And if the person that tried to steal the gift to begin with, still wanted the gift in question, he or she could take off a piece of their clothing in order to 'block' the initial 'block'.

And thus, the 'Strip-Off' was born.

The first person naked would get to keep the gift.

The Tall Guy and I missed the first time the nakedness happened because we happened to be living overseas at the time. However, soon after the new year we were blessed with blurred photographic evidence that arrived in a package at our apartment in South Korea. We had sent a gift package to be given away at the party with various Korean nicknaks, including a small, purple poloroid camera. Some of the 1 inch x 1 1/2 inch photos taken that night were included in the package (that also contained some other stuff that I've completely forgotten about). 

Several pictures showed one of numerous different (male) party-goers, each about to collapse in laughter, while wearing a sock.

One sock.
Not on his foot.

So it began twelve years ago as a few guys stripping down to one sock or in later years, proudly showing off a 'Man-gina' and has since evolved (de-volved??) to either gender stripping down to nothing at all. No more socks for the guys or standing coyly behind a towel used as a shield for some of the women. The "NO PHOTOS!!!" rule has turned into a "NO POSTING YOUR PHOTOS ON FACEBOOK" rule that everybody follows. 

It now known as The Naked Christmas party. Or the XXXmas Party, take your pick. 

Although I'm pretty modest, I think the premise and each and every Strip-Off is absolutely hilarious. I have tried to explain this to my non-Naked friends but they don't get it. And they usually look at me kinda funny. And when I think about it- I don't really get it either.

I'd like to say it's because it's a super-sexy turn-on, but it's not. Much of the time it's a hairy, forty-year old dude that is dropping trou'. And if you were unlucky enough to be sitting next to him before the Strip-Off began, there's an excellent chance you will have the worst seat in the house when that hairy guy bends down, pushing his boxers to his ankles. Please use your imagination to picture your view...

And even the Strip-Off's that may begin as sexy, usually wind up being silly- like the time a couple guys both got naked at the exact same moment. The 'Judge' (the party hostess, who has never taken off even a scarf) decided that a foot race in sub-freezing temperatures would be needed to determine the true winner.

A naked foot race.
Around to the end of the block and back.

Or the year that one of the ladies had just gotten fake boobs installed and was eager to show them off. The men at the party were more than happy to enjoy, if not totally promote each and every possible Strip-Off opportunity by stealing gifts that they didn't even want (like a fondue set or nice serving dishes). It wasn't long before New Boobs was naked and then decided to goofily demonstrate a Shake Weight while topless. It is a vision that is now burned into my memory as it was probably more funny than sexy.

And now that Christmas is done and The Naked Christmas Party is over for another year, I am relieved once again.

Now I have eleven months to find a strip-worthy gift and worry a little bit less about cellulite or having matching bra and panties clean and folded in my dresser. I will not deny or confirm whether or not I've ever won a strip off, but I will say that I do own a very nice, over-sized matching tea cup set.

Shit Mouth

Some random and surprising shit that has wound up in my mouth since becoming a parent.


Humble Pie- For all the times I vowed that I wouldn't let parenthood change me. Though some things (that perhaps should have) have not changed. 

I still call people (including my children), "Dude" more often than anyone my age should. 

I still make inappropriate jokes whenever possible and laugh at them myself.

I still think Doc Martens and Levi's are cool- even if they're not (please don't tell me if they're not). 

I can now stand to be around children and not be driven totally crazy. 

And the biggest change- I have begun to like the color pink and I don't become enraged when I think about princesses.

Shit- Or lack there of, actually...Since becoming a parent and leaving my job at the city zoo, I have not once gotten the poop or pee of undomesticated animals in my mouth. Poop and pee from my undomesticated children on me? Oh yeah, all the time. 

Neither have I been bitten by a lemur, jumped on by a teenage squirrel monkey, scratched by a toucan or farted on by a Watusi cow. Bitten, jumped, scratched and farted on by the two-legged undomesticated ones in my house? All. The. Time.

Ass of Dog- The Overloving Staffy, Matilda needs to be a part of every magical parenting moment that occurs in the house. Everyday the dog is with me or Tall Guy while reading the kids stories at bed time, putting kids in time-out or just playing with the tow-legged undomesticated ones. Once while laying on the floor on my back, my two-year old Cave Girl was riding up and down on my legs. It was at this point that the dog decided she needed to be involved and that she must sit on my face. Yes, I ate dog ass.

400 Bags of Potato Chips- I'd like to blame this on hormones but it's probably much more complicated than that. I have become obsessed with the salty goodness of cheap potato chips and could easily put away an entire bag every night (though I always force myself to stop at a half bag). Now you know why I (must) go to the gym 5 times a week.

Countless gallons of Costco brand vodka- Many of us go through a 'drinking phase' after turning 21. Unlike most non-alcoholics, I have gone through countless 'drinking phases'. 

When the Tall Guy and I moved to Asia to teach English when we were in our late 20s we both went through another drinking phase that lasted nearly a year. Upon return to the U.S. I found that late-night drinking got in the way of my early morning runs so it was an easy choice to quit (running. Ha! Kidding! I totally didn't drink for a few years there).

Now in my forties with little opportunity or energy or money to go out on the town, I'm going through my third drinking phase. At least I'm hoping it's just a phase...Since discovering that I am basically immune to hang-overs as long as I stick to a medium quality, clear booze, I am still able to run, swim or bike without issue the next day. In fact, in the process of starting a Runing Mom's Drinking Club right now. 

We're calling it Run-DMC- they're still cool, right? 

Don't tell me if they're not.

Currently accepting applications to participate in Run-DMC. Send a note listing of your favorite drink, best mile time and the worst thing you've ever had in your mouth. Tape this list on a 1.75 liter bottle of Costco brand vodka and leave it on my doorstep and I will get in touch with you as soon as possible.


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This post has been brought to you by the letters T and T. They stand for Theme Thursday. Click on the button thingy and check out what a small group of wacky women like to have in their mouths....

Shit I've Lied to My Four Year About Old This Week

Regarding songs we listen to while driving to Christ is Our Lord Preschool:

"Locked Out of Heaven" by Bruno Mars

Firstborn: Mom, what is he saying?
Me: Uh, he's saying he feels really sad when the girl is not there anymore. Like if I locked you out of your toy room.
Firstborn: Yeah, but what's he saaying? (song playing at the part where Bruno Mars sings, "'Cause your sex takes me to paradise.."
Me: ??
Firstborn: Mooom??
Me: Um, he's saying that her text takes him to paradise because she sends him really nice text messages.
Firstborn: (now singing) 'Cause your text takes me to paradise, 'cause your text takes me to paradise!
Me: Hey, Firstborn? Uh, let's not sing this song at school, ok? Or at Grandma's house.


"Dear God" by XTC

Firstborn: Mom? What's this song about?
Me: Uh, this guy is talking to God. Like praying.
Firstborn: Why is he talking to God? 
Me: Well, some people do that
Firstborn: Why does he say he doesn't believe in God?
Me: Um, well, see, some people don't believe in God, see. In fact, some people believe in all different kinds of Gods. Or no God at all.
Firstborn: (laughing) That's silly. 
Me: Well...(staring to sweat a little) not to some people...
Firstborn: Yes there is. I knoow there's such thing as God. You believe in God, right?
Me: Um....Well, to be honest, I'm not totally convinced.
Firstborn: Yes there is.
Me: Yeah, I'm not totally sure.
Firstborn: Well, I believe in Him.
Me: That's fine, honey. Everybody has a different way of thinking about a lot of different things in this world and that's ok.
Firstborn: (not really interested in conversation at this point) Yeah, ok.
Me: Hey, Firstborn? Uh, let's not talk about this at preschool, ok? Or at Grandma's house, either.

"Whistle" by Flo Rida

Firstborn: Mom? What's this song about?
Me: Um, it's about a guy and his whistle, I think.
Firstborn: What's he saying?
Me: I guess he is, uh, telling his friend how to, uh, use it, I guess.
Firstborn: Oh.
Me: Hey, Firstborn? This is one of those songs that we don't sing at school, ok? Or at Grandma's house. And maybe let's not tell Dad about it either, ok?

Everybody's Smiling, Sunshine Day!

So, um, wow.
Thank you Ms. Clever and Ms. Monkey, as of yesterday morning I was awarded the Sunshine Award  by TWO awesome bloggers, at Something Clever 2.0 and Three Monkeys and a Martini.

The Sunshine Award is passed down from blogger to blogger like a chain letter or pyramid scheme except nobody dies if it doesn't get passed (Yaaay!) or makes a shitload of money if it does (Booo!). Recipients of this prestigious award all posses that "drop of golden sun"-like attitude towards life. Clearly, I have received the nominations in error. 

However, I am still honored because,two cool bloggers think I'm cute. And yet, really- Me? Sunshine? Clearly you both must still be buzzed from whatever you drank/popped last night. Or conversely, both Clever and Monkey have gone off their meds. Maybe a combination of all three.

Anyhow, as usual, along with great honor comes great responsibility. And as honored recipient, I am required to answer some questions before I pass the award along to some other worthy bloggers. 

Follow along, as I am now tasked with answering some not-so-sunshiney questions that I found somewhat disturbing. As usual, reader discretion is advised.

Name  A Girl Named Sue

Day Telephone 867-530 niiiiiiiiyyyne

Age at first menstruation About 27 years earlier than it should have been

What treatment do you use for cramps? I complain more than usual while Tall Guy feigns sympathy and pretends he has not heard it every 28 days for the past 15 years

Any PMS symptoms?  If so, describe: Yes. My moods become very erratic and I lose my patience easily with kids, dog and husband. I've been told it's difficult to recognize the difference between this particular time of the month and other time of the month with me

Ever Pregnant? With emotion? All the time, when I am knocked up. Or watching Knocked Up while being knocked up

Any breast problems? Definitely. The problem is they are a little floopier than I'd like

Do you examine your breasts regularly? Yes, once I put on a jog bra because then they are super sweet

Have you had sex with (Check all that apply) Men Women There are men and women applying to have sex with me? Is this a part of the award too?? I am loving this award!

If you use contraception, what form(s) do you use? I find that not having sex works great at keeping my uterus free of babies

Do you wish to continue with this method? No. I like having sex. In fact I love having sex- especially with my husband- Do you have a pill that will clean my house, take care of my kids and make me well rested? I think they call it a Spanish Fly or something. Please get back to me on that. Stat!

Are you taking any medications? No. And yes, the medical community is still scratching their heads in wonderment about this

Do you smoke? After a few drinks I think I am smoking hot. Does that count? I also think I am 27

How much alcohol do you drink each week? I will take the fifth on that. A fifth of Costco brand vodka, thank you very much. Oh, weekly? About a case of that, actually

Have you taken “recreational” drugs? Define "recreational". No, I did not go camping while on drugs. I did go to Disneyland on LSD in college once, does that count?

If yes, which ones? How 'bout we make this easier and I just tell you what I haven't used


Oh shit, you guys-

Turns out the questions above are from the form I have to fill out before my OB-GYN exam next month. My bad.

Well, this makes sense now, here's a complete list of the real questions I was supposed to answer but am now way too tired to do so:

1. What is your favorite Christmas/festive movie?

2. What is your favorite flower?

3. What is your favorite non-alcoholic beverage?

4. What is your passion?

5. What is your favorite time of year?

6. What is your favorite time of day?

7. What is your favorite physical activity?

8. What is your favorite vacation?

And although I totally screwed up the question thing, I will not eff-up handing off The Sunshine Award to five other awesome bloggers. 

Here are the funny-as-shit blogs that are the latest recipients of this prestigious flower-sticker- Sunshine Award! 

You made me (and lots of other lost souls) smile today!

Jackie-Ohhhh
The Artist Formerly Known as Lanna Cottrell
Potentially Crap Blog
Go Merrily!
Life on the SONny Side

Remember, bloggers, if you chose to accept the award, just pass it along to five other bloggers and don't forget to post your complete gynecological history on an upcoming blog.

OR you can answer the real questions listed above just like a normal person, not in need of prescription drugs. Or you can pretend, like the French knights in reference to the holy grail sought by King Arthur (in Monty Python's Holy Grail) that you "already have one" and totally ignore this.

Either way, have a Sunshine(y) Day !

Dear Kids, There's Something Important You Need to Know

There is one thing I would like my beautiful kids to know is that no matter what happens in this world, at the end of the day, my couch is really, really important to me.

The first few couches I lived with after moving out of my Dad's house after college were hand-me-downs or purchased second hand. Please understand that this new, stain-free couch has a special, stain-free place in my heart. I don't expect you to understand this but I expect that you try to help me keep my sanity by adhering to these simple guidelines in regards to my couch and it's blanket-y, pillow-y and ottoman-y accessories.


1) Do not jump on The Couch. Your feet, socks and butt are very stinky and I don't want The Couch to smell like any of them. Plus, the sand collected at the playground flies out of you underpants and socks like a lacerated pinata and into the cushions. Oh, and you might hurt yourself

2) Do not, eat or drink on The Couch. Although we had the forethought to purchase a couch in the darkest shade of brown possible in order to hide the inevitable spills that would occur, I would love it if The Couch NEVER resembles the back seat of my car

3) Do not poo or pee on The Couch. Although a biological spill can be cleaned, it can never be forgotten. And that's part of why I insisted on getting The Couch so soon after having you, my Firstborn. Most people would know better than to get a new couch right after having a baby. Most people didn't have a tripple-accident while using a double-breast pump on their old couch. Use your imagination for an explanation of that one

4) Do not use Couch Blankets to dress up the dog like Lawrence of Arabia. The dog likes to roll in the dirt and eat tortoise poop in the backyard. I would prefer that The Couch does not wind up smelling as gross as the dog often does

"Is there a kid-free family that would like to adopt me?"

5) Do cuddle up with Mom or Dad on The Couch if you're not feeling well and need to sit up all night long because you are too sick to sleep in bed. Also know that Couch Rules 1-3 are null and void during these times. Eating, drinking, pooping, peeing and dressing up the dog with blankets are all perfectly acceptable if you don't feel so good. At these times we'll let you do whatever makes you feel better. 

Except jump on the couch. Standing firm on that one.

                                                                           *********

Don't forget to check out the other posts about what some other bloggers think is important stuff to teach their kids. Click on the Theme Thursday button or go check out http://cloudywithachanceofwine.com/1397-2/ if you want to learn more about us a-holes!

41 is the New 14

Day 1: How My Girls's Weekend Away turned me into a 14 year old boy

• I giggled at and provided sex, fart and poop jokes during a six hour drive across the desert
• My Road Trip Bestie giggled at and provided sex, fart and poop jokes
• No vegetables were eaten
• I ate fast food exclusively and wiped my mouth with my sleeve
• Thought it was funny when a drunk buddy of mine placed his scrotum onto the the phone of a second drunken buddy when the phone was left unattended
• Made a pact with Bestie that some secrets are best kept between friends

Day 2: How Day Two turned me into a 22 year old man

Together, Bestie and I:

• Drank more Skyy vodka and Captain Morgan's than water
• Ate only potato chips and pizza
• Stayed up until 4 am
• Laughed and lauged with old friends about nothing very funny at all
• Don't remember stumbling to bed or passing out on couch
• Did not suffer from a hang over next morning

Day 3: How I know for certain that I still really am, a 41 year old mom

• Never forgot to take multi-vitamin, Calcium and Glucosamine supplements daily
• Only recreational drugs used were from a totally legal Valium prescription 
• Did not  take off clothing or have sex with or in front of friends or strangers
• Brushed and flossed teeth before passing out face-first and fully clothed on couch
• Felt zero shame speaking and making kissing noises on the phone to the two year old while standing in line to see panda bears at San Diego Zoo
• Felt some shame while visiting a zoo without kids
• Bought two over-priced pink souvenir T-shirts for the kids to throw them off the scent
• Waited until 2 pm for a 'hair of the dog'
• Marvelled that Road Trip Bestie had hers at 9 am

Sex, Zoos and Churros

It has come to my attention that since having kids, the sex the Tall Guy and I have is not like the sex I had when I was younger. 

I realized this when neither of us could remember when the last time we had sex was. In our lame-ass defense, the weeks without were due in large part to Tall Guy's business/travel schedule and my a-hem, biological schedule, if you know what I mean, ladies.

And to make matters worse a close friend needed some dating advice which reminded me how much has changed in the past four years. My friend was planning a date that included a picnic and a little hanky-panky in the great outdoors. Naturally, she immediately thought to call me for my expert opinion on the best way to plan sex in a place that is public, illegal and/or morally objectionable.

So I mentally tallied up the weirdest places I had sex before having children and provided it below for your perusal.

(*This may or may not be a totally complete list)
(**If you know me and know about another place I had sex, please feel free to mention it in the comments section below)
(***If I had sex with you, thank you, I'm sure I had a good time, please refer to above guidelines)

Weirdest Places I Had Sex Before Having Kids

Floor of a hairdresser's work station 
It was July, it was the only place my boyfriend and I could find that had a lock and no parents (it was his mom's business) and it had no air conditioner. It was so humid it was like having sex in a rain forest. A rain forest covered in hair. A hairy rain forest. 
When we were done we looked like Churros but covered in the hair of strangers, not delicious cinnamon sugar.

A Churro Threesome would be delicious
A hairy two-some, not so much

A Graveyard 
On Halloween night. Don't make me tell the underage-sex-in-a-graveyard story again. 

Oooooooooohhhh.....scaaaaarrry!
Or just plain creepy, anyway

I mean, who hasn't done this, right?

On top of a toolbox
My boyfriend was a mechanic and it was one of those big, Craftsman/Tim the Tool Man type red things on wheels. 

It looks much bigger in person...
 Yep, heard that one before, pal

Can't say why this happened or if it was fun. I can tell you that I got my TruCoat for no additional cost.

Thanks, Mr. Lundegaard!

On top of my 89 Jeep Wrangler while working for Fish and Wildlife
Right after college, the Tall Guy and I each worked as field biologists chasing big or slimey animals up mountains or through streams. We lived in the field, me in a cabin, he in a tent, hundreds of miles apart for weeks at a time. 
One weekend Tall Guy volunteered at my job and helped us capture bears in order to put satellite collars on them. The day he was leaving to go back to his job we realized (after having not seen each other for several weeks already) that our paths would not cross again for another six weeks. 
We made a hasty decision and worked quickly with belts and hiking boots and our Leathermans to get things done before my co-workers showed up at the trail head in their own vehicle. 

If only this multi-purpose tool could talk...

We made ample use of the roll bar.
Use your imagination.

Tuzigoot National Monument
Once again between field jobs, the Tall Guy and I made good use of a rendezvous in the middle of the desert.

I'd like to say that we did it in one of the hundred or so rooms in these amazing ruins but the museum was closed and so we were stuck utilizing the Jeep once again. The hood of it was delightfully frigid as the temperature dropped into the 40s. 

This multi-room pueblo was built by the Sinagua people. It is Spanish for, "without water"
 It was not built  for white people "without sex" but Jeeps most certainly were

Who knew the desert could get so cold at dusk? My ass, that's who knew. It may have been the quickest sex of my life.

In Front of an Exotic Bird Exhibit at a Zoo
Don't ask what zoo because I won't tell you.
I will tell you this, however, since I used to work at a zoo...I know things....
Lots of people have sex at the zoo.

"No" means "No", Smokey! No means No!

And I mean not just the drunk and horny zookeepers.

Upstairs from a Veterinary Office Somewhere in London
A disturbing trend has been discovered. 
Apparently I seek out sex in closed places of business where I am likely to become covered in hair or grease.
Luckily for me (and you, the nauseated reader) it all ended here. Or shall we say, it began?
Fast forward exactly 280 days from this day in London....

On the Eve of My First Born's Due Date
We threw a, "We're Having a Kid Tomorrow So Please Trash Our House for the Last Time for a Long Time Party". I'd like to say that I had been drinking something besides water that night but of course, I hadn't been. I don't remember if the Tall Guy had been but I imagine he needed to be wasted to have sex with me by that point in the pregnancy.

The next morning after I showered I woke the Guy up and we drove to the hospital.
And nothing's been the same since :)


Weirdest Places I Had Sex Since Having Kids

On Top
This was my go-to gig before I was busting-at-the-seams pregnant. I'd kinda forgotten about the fabled, On Top oft spoken about by ladies with fewer years and labial folds until recently. 

So I've been busting this one out a bit lately and the reviews are good. 
It's not just Two Thumb's up I'm getting, if you know what I mean...

Still not in the mood after having kids but hubby's nagging you?
Show him this image immediately
You're welcome.

Now go on- go have sex in a weird place or better yet...

Where is the weirdest place you've had sex (and don't say, the City of Mesa)???

                                                                         *****

Don't forget about Theme Thursday!
Check out the link below to see what other blogger's have to say about Sex since Kids....
 http://cloudywithachanceofwine.com/1397-2/)

Sex and Two Vaginas and the City

Sometimes on special nights the Tall Guy and I let our daughters have what we call, with much enthusiasm  "Picnic Dinner!". 

For the kids, Picnic Dinner! means a complete dinner made up of food that are both palatable and easy to eat for little hands (think fish sticks, chicken strips, green beans, knuckle bones, etc). They get to have their Picnic Dinner! while sitting on a blanket in front of the tv watching a movie of their choice.

For the adults, Picnic Dinner! means dinner with few interruptions. In other words, we get to relax in silence (this is where people who do not have children would normally converse).

Tonight I was particularly grumpy due to a hunger-induced migraine and painful knees and was bitching and moaning about how much I hate Winnie the Pooh. 

Born in the 1920s, Pooh may have been the first
to wear a Baby Doll Tee  

I hate his voice, his stupidity, his friends and especially his stupid, too-small shirt. 

It should come as no surprise that Scotty J.,
 both the intellectual and physical equal of Pooh,
was a fan of  ill-fitting  shirts

I usually ignore what little tv my kid's watch because I find it unbelievably annoying 

(see previous post about that nitwit, Franklin) but as we sat and ate dinner I could not ignore the 250 inch television in the living room. And then it suddenly hit me- 

Winnie the Pooh is a children's version of Sex and the City!

Not nearly as glamorous or artfully filmed, Hundred Acre Wood is like a co-star to Winnie the Pooh just as NYC is to Sarah Jessica Parker. And instead of being obsessed with boozing it up, Pooh and his friends are typically gathered at the end of each show around a gigantic vat of honey instead of Appletini's or Cosmo's or gay male friends.

Still not convinced that Darren Star and Alan Milne were kindred spirits?
Read on...

Pooh vs. Carrie
Ok, both are obviously the protagonist and in need of help of some kind. Neither are complete without the rest of their weird gang of friends. Both are obsessed with their midriffs. 

Apparently even outside of the Hundred Acre Wood it
is difficult to find shirts that will cover the 'rumbly in your tumbly'

Eeyore vs. Miranda
Both tend to be the stick in the mud (or honey) and neither knows how to accessorize  That bow on Eeyore's ass does not count.

Don't like empowered women like Miranda Hobbes??
Well, FORK YOU!

And neither do those earrings.

Piglet vs. Charlotte
Always cheerful and upbeat, both these feminine and perky people prefer pink.

"I just want to be a wife and a Mother", said  Charlotte

"I just want to be a husband and somebody's 'other' Dad", said Piglet 

The Kangaroo (Kanga) vs. Samantha
Kangaroo's have a bicornuate uterus which is practically like having two vaginas. 
Enough said.

What do you mean, she gets TWO vaginas?? 

.*Spoiler alert*
We won't be forced to get to see another Sex and the City movie sequel until Kim Cattrall finagles a second vagina written into her contract.

Rats!