Stumbling & Bumbling

Reliving My Youth. Failing Miserably.

I hope everyone had a great Labor Day weekend here in the US. I can certainly say that I had a lot of fun this weekend, especially seeing as how I am living a sort of never ending weekend at the moment. 

My weekend started on Friday when, true to form, Mike and I ditched the kids at the babysitters and went to go try to relive our childhoods by riding every damned roller coaster in Six Flags Great Adventure. We got there early in the morning, and as we walked across the parking lot we congratulated ourselves on getting a head start on the Labor Day crowds. Then we turned a corner and confronted 9,654,685,905,784,589 other people congratulating each other on their head starts and it turns out that we had to wait 45 minutes just to buy a damned ticket to get into the damned park. Adding to these early morning festivities was the fact that we were standing in front of a couple who were seemingly out on their first or second date . They were in that horrible stage when they asked each other the most inane and ridiculous questions imaginable. Questions like:

"OHMIGOD" Girl: "O-Kay, if you could get a Tattoo where would you get it?"

REALLY LOUD AND BOISTEROUS GUY: (LOUDLY AND BOISTEROUSLY): "I wouldn't. I can't imagine writing something on my body that I want to see when I am 90. I mean, if I was meant to have a tattoo, GOD would have let me be born with one already!"

"OHMIGOD" GIRL: "OHMIGOD, you're so right! But you have good forearms, you could get one there."

REALLY LOUD AND BOISTEROUS GUY: (LOUDLY AND BOISTEROUSLY): "You think?"

Mike and I almost passed out from trying not to laugh out loud.

Finally, finally after 40 more minutes of inane chatter from the Wonder-couple we got into the park. We immediately headed to the Great American Scream Machine and got on. After a ride that lasted approximately 90 seconds we wobbled off to Superman where we were subjected to inane 12 year old chatter from a gaggle of little girls in short shorts and heavy make up. We got on the coaster and rode that for another 90 seconds. When we wobbled of that ride I realized something. I am old. Really, really old. I remember jumping on and off those coasters just a few years and 2 c-sections ago with no problem. Now? Now I was lucky if I could walk in a straight goddamned line after getting off the coaster. Mike was similarly afflicted with weird old people vertigo and so we took a break and got something to eat. The rest of the day was easier and lots of fun and we were trying to convince each other to go on this monstrosity: 

Yes, you see that big assed iron penis? That's a 40 Story High Iron Penis! Still not convinced that it is bad ass? Click here, watch the video and tell me you wouldn't pee your Depends if you rode that motherfucker.

Then we rode El Toro (or as I like to call it now "The Senior Killer") the biggest wooden roller coaster ever and let me tell you that son of a bitch fucked me up. FUCKED ME UP people. How much so? This much so: 

Goodbye, my youth.

:::

Saturday, still reeling from the feeling of our lost youth and suffering from swollen, arthritic knees and lower backs, we decided to dress up like we did back in the late 80's. Nah, it was actually for a friends birthday party and let me tell you, we totally rocked the casbah.  Behold my old school 80's "Desperately Seeking Susan" hairstyle and Mikes awesome "SOUL-GLO" jerry curl:

 
(that's a CANDY Cigarette!)

Who says you can't be young again?

Supermom?

I startle awake and look around myself, bleary eyed and disoriented. I wonder what has pulled me out of sleep and reach over the bed to Mike, only to discover rumpled sheets and a still warm pillow. Ah, today is his early day on the ambulance and he is already gone. My turn to get the kids ready all by myself. I listen for a second and can hear the high pitched babbled conversation that signifies two very awake toddlers. I squint at the time display on the clock and realize that I am late, late, so very late.

Crap.

What to do first? Get the children up and ready or get myself ready? Realizing that they are happily content in their room, speaking in their indecipherable toddler-ese, I decide to take a quick shower. I know that if I were to get them ready first, my shower would be interrupted at least 5 bazillion times;  the shower door will be thrust aside and a small head poked in inquiring "What are you doing, mami?" "Can you get me juice/cereal con leche/candy/bread/my toy?" So, I jump in and take a super fast deluxe shower. In 5 minutes I am toweled off, and half dressed. Why half dressed? Because I have no pants. None. The only pants I have that are clean and pressed are sitting in the dry cleaners. Ok a skirt! Skirt, skirt, skirt WHERE ARE MY SKIRTS???? Ah ok here we go....sheeeeeeeeiiiiit it needs to be ironed. Ok well that can wait, as I hear the babbling ratcheted up to near hysteria levels coming from the kids room.

I run into their room, dressed in a shirt and my underwear, hair still wet and scraped into a barely manageable pony tail-like contortion.

"MAMI!!!!!!!" "HI MAMI!!!!" - I am greeted by two happy bouncing boys. Literally bouncing on their beds, hard enough to make me wonder how strong those beds really are and if the mattresses had a voice, would they be pleading to "make it stop, PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY!!!???"

I send Nicky off to the potty while I wrestle Seba out of his Dinosaur Pj's, which immediately starts the howls and cries of "NOOOOOO I want it" because if he could, he would wear that pajama shirt with the dinosaur skeleton emblazoned across the chest on a trip to the freaking VATICAN, if I let him. Because that is his absolute favorite Pajama. For this week, anyway. Further wrestling ensues and a minute later and I have one fully dressed toddler, now consoled by the fact that he is wearing his favorite cookie monster shirt and shorts set.

I turn to look for Nicky only to find that he has not returned from his potty excursion. I go into the bathroom and encounter toothpaste. Everywhere. Attempting to squeeze the toothpaste onto his Wall-E toothbrush has turned into a fiasco. There is toothpaste on the floor, his hair, the toilet, and oh look, on my shirt. Super mom kicks into gear and I clean up the mess, strip off my shirt, give Nick a quick shower while simultaneously brushing both sets of teeth AND my own, get him back to the room, dress him and then we all run out to the living room. Ok, we are good on time. The babysitter is picking them up in 5 minutes. I throw the diaper bag together, I get their lunch (leftovers from last night) and snacks (cheese, apples a banana and granola bars) milk and sippy cups all ready. I congratulate myself as she rings the doorbell and I run downstairs to let her in. I am triumphant! I got everything ready on time!! I am SUPERMOM!

Why is she looking at me like that through the glass on the door? Is she...is she laughing? I reach up and smooth my hair as I unlock the door. As the cool breeze from the street wafts in I realize why she is laughing at me.

I am standing in my doorway wearing only my underwear. Sigh. Another day. I wave at my neighbor.

fin

Searched

I am a freak. I can't believe I didn't know this already, and perhaps you did, seeing as how you are reading my blog and have probably read it before. Why didn't you tell me that I was a freak that is writing not an innocent "mom-blog" but rather a blog that is full of EROTICA? How did this escape my attention? Now I am running through my past entries and seeing them in a new light, specifically I am seeing them through an EROTICA-infused light. Ohmigod didn't I entitle on post "Adult Themed"? The clues have always been there, haven't they? I am staggered. 

What brought this realization that I am an author of erotica was a wonderful little gadget called SiteMeter. If you scroll down a bit, you will see a little button for Sitemeter on the right hand side of the page. What does Sitemeter do? Here I will explain: Sitemeter provides tracking and and counter services so I can see how many hits I have gotten, and from which part of the world people are currently logged onto and reading one of my formerly thought to be inane and now known to be EROTIC posts. Its nifty and good for my ego when I see that I have gotten a couple of thousand hits from all over the U.S and from far flung places like Japan, India and even a hit from Antarctica. I wonder how in the heck these people have found my blog and sitemeter tells me. Often, I get hits when I comment on other peoples blogs and enter my web address; that is pretty much the standard way anyone gets traffic. I also have my tried and true followers who check in everyday for a new post and who don't hesitate to berate me (lovingly) when I have been slacking and haven't posted anything in weeks with comments like "WTF Gina, get on the ball and write something funny already! Make me laugh bitch!!! (cracking whip)

Other than being directed to my blog from my comments on other sites, Sitemeter also lets me know when I have been found via a search engine - even going so far as to tell me exactly what string was used. Many times its something completely innocent like "mom, blog, poop, babies, toddlers, books, World of Warcraft..." etc. Lately though, a darker theme to the redirects has emerged. Instead of babies and toddlers I see that people have found my blog through some sexually charged search strings.

Witness:

1. Visitor 1,195 found my blog through a Google search string that consisted of "bathtime for big boys humiliation story" Oh. My. God. I mean I know that I have used all those words in my posts but never did I think that I was subliminally writing about "bathtime for big boys [and their] humiliation stories". I am glad that the big boys referred to are clean but am sad that they felt humiliated. Forgive me! I knew not what I was writing!

2. Visitor 1,895 also used Google (doesn't everybody?) and found this here blog by typing in "Testicle Stomping". Now I know that I am writing not only erotica, but VIOLENT erotica. Its been a real eye opener. I wonder if Anne Rice, writing as  Anne Roquelaure (her erotica- writing alter ego), often pops into Google and types in "Testicle Stomping" to read my blog for new tips for her latest erotica-based series. I mean will she write something like the erotic Cinderella story she wrote before only this time it will feature a mom blogger that has a secret erotic life? Will I get royalties? Oh wait, Anne Rice has found God or something and is no longer much fun. Poop.

3. Visitor 2,004 found my blog using google blogsearch - proving to me that that person was indeed looking for erotic blogs - by typing in "embarrassing skirt story". Ok, not so bad right? I did indeed post about an embarrassing skit story just a few days ago. Sadly, the searcher didn't stop there because that same user (I can tell from the ISP) also found my blog by typing in "humiliation spanking bad girl skirt moan". People, am I writing about moaning? Who exactly was moaning in any of my posts? Do I have secret posts that I have forgotten about or that I have secreted away in the endless posts that highlight my complaints of poop, early morning wake ups, fevers and strange conversations? 

Maybe this is my true calling and I should start writing erotica. I seem to have a gift for it. Now I am wondering exactly what kind of traffic I will get because of the use of the words "Erotica", "VIOLENT erotica"and "moaning" featured in this entry. Uh-oh.

Easily Freaked Out: Baby Commercial Edition

You know what completely freaks me out? Commercials with babies. Well, ok, not all commercials that feature babies, just the ones where they superimpose a baby head on someone else's body or those freaky-assed commercials where the babies speak like adults...those I really, really hate.

So imagine my horror struck look when I came across the new Evian Rollerskating Babies commercial. Call me a monster but if I saw a park full of unbelievably well coordinated infants on roller skates I would run away screaming my fool head off.

So now you know yet another weird fact about me. Why don't you reply to this post and tell me something that totally freaks YOU out? Huh? Huh?

P.S. The scene where the babies roller skate toward the chain link fence and then proceed to launch themselves at said fence and hang there like a pack of demented-demon-possessed-baby-monkeys makes me break out in goosebumps. Seriously.

P.P.S.- We are finally closing on our house and are in the middle of moving so please accept my abject apologies that I have been MIA these last few weeks. I will be back soon with many tales of how much I FUCKING HATE PACKING. GAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.

P.P.P.S -**I have just learned that the one and only Asian baby in the commercial is frequent commenter KC's  son who we will call "B". So, um let me amend my comments to say "Those damned babies freak me out with the exception of the adorable "B" who at a mere few months of life can skate circles around my old ass. He is in no way a 'demented-demon-possessed-baby-monkey'. I love you KC!**

Observations

1- Riding the subway can be annoying at times, but it can be made exponentially worse when someone sits next (snap!) to you and (Snap! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!!) SNAPStheir damned (snap!) gum for the (Snap snap!!!) entire 30 (snap!) Minute (SNAP!!!!) trip. (snap snap snap snap snap snapsnapsnapsnap!)

2- No matter how little a child has eaten, the incredible size of their poop never fails to amaze a parent - even a battle hardened one.

3-Little kids fall, a lot. Its pretty damned funny.

4-Little kids don't like to be laughed at, but will hoot with laughter while they watch you tumble down a flight of steps.

5-Cooking shows are depressing because you will never, ever be able to have a kitchen like that.

6-The Twilight series is incredibly addictive, and most of the women that read it will find themselves wishing a vampire would love them at some point in their lives.

7-Men will always be fixated on the size of their penis.  They start very early, as in a few weeks old type early- trying to lengthen it by pulling on the damned thing like a ripcord for a lawnmower. They never stop.

8-One of the most wonderful things about being an adult is the ability to rationalize having a Dove chocolate bar for breakfast with the following logic: "Because I am a grownup and I CAN. NO ONE CAN STOP ME."

What are your observations?

Just For Fun

Here's a meme that's been going around the blog-o-sphere that I know will fascinate you. Utterly. Ahem:

What are your middle names?

Mine is (omg I can't believe I am admitting this ON THE INTERNETS) Enid (thanks for that , dad!), Mike doesn't have one.

How long have you been together?

Um, 5 years? There is a question mark there because my memory is terrible and I am not one to remember any special dates at all, except for my kids birthdays, and I called Mike- who scathingly replied- "Damn, babe, you don't know? Yeesh!" and who further went on to say "How old is Nick?" so that he and I could do the math (Nicky=3 years old, so add mumble mumble months of togetherness and a dash of salt and come up with our answer).

How long did you know each other before you started dating?

We met at a mutual friends house party about a year before we ended up going to Boston one weekend with a gaggle of friends where we really started to get to know each other. Again, I have a vague memory of that first meeting, I remember exchanging a few pleasantries with him. What does Mike remember? MY ASS.  That's it.

Who asked whom out?

Mike say's it was me and I think he's right. I have a vague memory of asking him what he was up to on Thanksgiving Eve, which is a huge club night here in NYC. Fast-forward to that particular night, I remember being pissed drunk in some club and making out copiously with him in the middle of the dance floor.

How old are each of you?

Mike is 30, and I am 33. Insert cradle robbing joke here.

Whose siblings do you see the most?

My brother. His two boys are ages 5 and 3.5 and we get together quite a lot so that the kids can go all feral and run amok. Mikes brother and sister are older than him by over a decade and aren't as close to each other as my brother and I are.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?

Well that would be the raising and nurturing of two small kidlets and then finding the time for ourselves as a couple. While not impossible, it's tricky. It's hard to share a few moments of affection when the kids are awake with their little beady eagle eyes on us at all times and with the quick reflexes that make them scream out "STOP HUGGING/KISSING MY MOMMY/DADDY WIGHT NOW! THAT"S MY MOMMY/DADDY!" as soon as Mike and I dare to hug/kiss each other.

Did you go to the same school?

I graduated from Queens College; Mike went there for a semester but ended up graduating from Queensborough.

Are you from the same home town?

Both Queens, NYC kids here.

Who is smarter?

I'd say we are equally smart. I am book smart and hold my own better with certain topics and Mike does the same.

Who is the most sensitive?

Him, definitely. I am "like a man" - a description most of my friends have for me. My brother likes to point out that many men are intimidated by me because "Your balls are bigger than their's." Heh.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?


What is this "eat out" you speak of?

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?

Puerto Rico. We came back with a souvenir. He is now 3 years old.

Who has the craziest exes?

MIKE. Oh yes. When one of his exes found out I was pregnant with Sebastian, crazy#1 called me AT WORK to claim many crazy things I could easily prove were not true. Poor crazy girl. He also has an ex who never did anything to me personally, but was jealous of him in a very weird way. She once was upset that his mom's Yorkshire terrier liked to sit on his lap because she was a FEMALE dog. See? Crazy!

Who has the worst temper?

I would say me, although Mike is just all around cranky most of the time. I tend to blow my stack easier though.

Who does the cooking?

We both do. Thank God.

Who is the neat-freak?

Mike used to be more of a neat freak- and he still is when it comes to his closet, but living with me- an admitted slob- and dealing with two little kids has mellowed him out. A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT.

Who is more stubborn?

Both of us are donkey-stubborn. There aren't enough words in the thesaurus to describe our levels of combined stubbornness.  What an inheritance to pass on to our boys.

Who hogs the bed?

Mike is one of those (in my opinion) weird and freaky people who want to cuddle in bed and fall asleep tangled in my arms. Freak. I don't want any contact at all when I am sleeping. I just cannot understand how people can sleep face to face or back to back, or whatever. How can you sleep face to face? How? I feel like Mike is breathing in all the oxygen in the room and blowing out all hiscarbon dioxide on me and I will die, DIE from lack of oxygen. And then! How can you sleep with someone's arm encircling you? I mean, when the other person falls asleep and their arm goes all dead-weight on you, don't you feel like you are being slowly crushed? Is it really just me? Doesn't your neck hurt after a while when you rest it on the other persons shoulder? COME ON PEOPLE!

Ahem, moving on:

Who wakes up earlier?

Me. I need no alarm clock, but lately Sebastian has become the family alarm clock, with his shrill 'DADA! MA-MMMMIIIII" shrieks reverberating around the house at precisely 7 A.M. EVERYDAY.

Where was your first date?


He took me to a nice italian Restaraunt in Long Island. I, because I am a douche, felt the need to inform him that I had already been there. Sorry, babe.

Who is more jealous?

Meh, neither of us really, although he came home the other day after reading this very blog and my confession of having a crush on mover Rich from Imagination Movers, and now I can feel him watching me to note my lovelorn reaction to mover Rich whenever the show is on. Then I get "I don't know how you ended up with me, since I am not your type at all- not like mover Rich!" Sigh.

How long did it take to get serious?


Let's see, Nicky is 3 years old and mumble mumble mumble, um NOT LONG.

Who eats more?


We eat about the same in the course of a day. I snack alot and Mike can consume inhuman quantities of rice at any given sitting.

Who does the laundry?

We both do and again, THANK GOD. When the piles of clothes get too overwhelming and we are drowning in seas of dirty little kid socks, we throw everything into our two huge laundry bags and drop it off at the laundromat. I love you, laundry lady who folds all our clothes so precisely!

Who’s better with the computer?


That would be me. I often refer to myself as the family/friend "Personal help desk".

Who drives when you are together?

Seeing as how I am a lazy, horrible person and a true NY kid that DOESN'T HAVE HER LICENSE, Mike does all the chauffeuring.

Your turn!

CONFESSIONS REVISITED

I've been baaaad, I have been ignoring you all lately and for that I am sorry. Don't leave me! I thrive on your comments- damn you writer's block!! Since I have no funny witty things to say and I don't really want to write a long post about the octuplet mom (live and let live, live and let live....oooohhhhmmmmmmm)(yeah RIGHT!) I have decided that it is time for me to spill more dark secrets! Guess what?!!! ITS TIME TO SPILL FOR YOU TOO, LOYAL READER! Muahahahahahahaaaaaa!

There were some awesome responses to the first confessions post, I hope to see more of the same this time....

So, here we go again:

1) I totally admire Angelina Jolie. I think she's pretty awesome, I really like that she is out there supporting some very noble causes, getting her hands dirty, in the middle of Africa, or wherever- actually physically helping so many refugees. I admire that. A lot.

2) Ever since I had Seb, I have had this one long, nasty big assed hair that grows out of my chin. Gross.

3) I dance in the shower.

4) I totally have a crush on Rich from Imagination Movers. Mom's: Which is your favorite mover?

5) I sniff my socks after I take them off. Double gross. I cant help it!

6) I really really really want to quit my job and be a SAHM.

7) I wish my house was decorated half as nicely as Whoorl's.

8) I cry like a baby when I think about either of my parents dying. I want them to live forever.

9) I can't watch previews or commercials for horror movies. My cowardice is also noted here.

10) What this man does for his son never fails to amaze me.

11) I still cant go near the site where the Twin Towers stood.

12) I look at good looking young guys in the street- not to admire them, but to wonder if my boys will look like them when they grow up. The guys think I am checking them out. Heh.

Ok your turn my friends. Reply in the comments section with your confessions!

Venturing Forth Into The Unknown....

Fancy title huh? It makes it seem like I am embarking on a new financial endeavor that involves purchasing floundering companies and re-selling them (a-la Richard Gere in Pretty Woman) for a sizable profit that will have me swimming in Moet filled hot tubs and lazing on my yacht (named "Lucky Stars- what? I've thought this through!!!).

In reality the only undertaking I've, um, undertaken (sheesh- note to self: Buy thesaurus) is teaching myself how to knit.

 Stop laughing. No, seriously. Stop. laughing.

Why knitting? Well I read this fantastic book about a knitting club, and it seemed fun. I've always admired those Martha Stewart types that I see on the train, busily knitting away, needles clacking together producing scarves or baby sweaters etc, etc. I figured that in these tough economic times, I could learn how to knit sweaters and cardigans for my whole family. I was envisioning producing all these fabulous garments and accessories, and having some random stranger ask me "Wherever did you get that gorgeous/scarf/hat/cardigan?" and casually replying "Oh that? I made it!" to the strangers astonishment and envy. See? It's all an ego trip for me.

I mentioned this to a friend and she came in on Monday and handed me a brand new pair of knitting needles and two skeins of yarn, as well as a book of patterns. Sweet! The written descriptions of how  to begin were written in a language that looked like English and sounded like English, but clearly was not English. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Being the smart cookie that I am (ego!) I immediately logged into Youtube (aka: God's gift of instructional video's) and typed in 'Beginners knitting'. Up popped a vast array of how-to videos and I quickly graduated from tying a slip knot to casting on.

"Pffffft! I am an EXPERT! I must have some sort of inherent gift for this" I sat humbly thinking to myself (ego!). Congratulating myself of a job well done of casting on I clicked on the next step.

45 minutes later I was a frazzled mess that could not, simply could not get the godamned knit stitch down. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING DEVIL WOMAN?" I screamed at the instructor in the video, "YOU ARE MOCKING ME!" Knitting needles flew across the room, followed by various and sundry items from my desk. This all happened yesterday during my lunch break. Guess what I am doing today during my lunch break (uh other than writing this)? Nothing. Knitting be dammed. I'll buy my scarves and tell people I made them, all the while stealthily covering the manufactures tags.

(In truth I am not giving up, but I will try again. Pray for me)

(Also, pray for my children who will be the dorky kids in class that wear really ugly, fucked-up looking cardigans that their motherknit for them and forces them to wear, triggering every bullies radar in a 10 mile vicinity.)

Codeine and Cough Syrup Make Bumbling Something, Something

Oh Hello again! How are you? Good, good- glad to hear it. Me? Oh I have a touch of...

Cough hack wheeze snort splut gag cough cough cough cough hack hack gasp

...the plague. Yes, again.

I...

Cough hack wheeze snort splut gag cough cough cough cough hack hack gasp

...am feeling quite crap-tastic yes, that is a word, I assure you. It rhymes with ass-tastic which is another description of my current state of being. Send help. Also, pudding.

:::

I went to see the doctor my company has here in the office so that, you know, the bosses can make sure that you are really and truly sick and dying before deigning to maybe let you go home oh 30 minutes before the end of the day, purely out of charity that resides in their golden hearts. So  yeah - I went to medical and the lady that treated me was very nice and very giving. In fact she was so giving that she prescribed and handed me a big huge bottle of cough medicine laced with codeine. Or as I now like to call it- a:

"Get you happy-sleepy-and-somehow-energized-chamomile-prozac-the-stuff-in-turkey-that-makes-you-sleepy, crack heroin coke shake". 

"Two Teaspoons at bedtime!" she cheerfully squeaked at me as I sat glumly in her office trying to breathe through my 1 millimeter of un-stuffed nostril; my throat on fire, my eyes watery and strangely hot in my skull. She threw some more stuff at me, Mucinex, lozenges, extra strength Tylenol and told me to go back to my office. I did, and that's when I made the mistake of thinking "Bedtime? Please." and took the prescribed two teaspoons of cough medicine with crack codeine right there, surrounded by mounds of paperwork and with my computer emitting a series of dings and chimes, letting me know that another 789584 emails had just come in.

5 minutes later:

Me: "Codeine, shmodine, this stuff is for pussies." Cough hack wheeze snort splut gag cough cough cough hack wheeze snort splut gag cough cough cough cough hack hack gasp...

Me: "Maybe I should take another lil bit." (Gulp)

10 Minutes later:

Me: Whuzzat? Huh? Whodafugisringin'abell? Huh? F&%$%!-ing CRAP!

I've been woken up by loud insistent ringing, ripping me out of the codeine induced slumber that resulted in me sleeping facedown with my mouth open on my desk, spreading a really large and wonderfully sticky pool of saliva all over my budget report for my boss. Classy.

Me: (Picking up the phone): WHOIZZIT? WHADDAYA WANT?

Person calling:(who is most likely bewildered that an drunk person picked up the obviously incorrectly dialed phone) : (Click)

Me: "GAH" I throw the phone down, and once again rest my head.

Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump...

My heart is beating a jillion times faster than usual. Bewildered, I once again lift my head and stare around my office with bleary eyes, all the while feeling like my heart is trying to jackhammer itself out of my chest. I somehow managed to call my coworker, and she walked in, looked at me and immediatley went to get the jefe.

Jefe: (whistling): "Wow you look like...,um, maybe you should go home".

I leave making my zig-zaggy way to the subway. On the way there, the cool air snaps me out of my crack addled haze and all the sudden Ifeel GOOD. Like, REALLY! GREAT! I can breathe through my nose, I'm not coughing anymore and my heart is just jittering and jiving. I start making plans to begin training for next years NYC marathon, clean out the attic/garage/basement in the house, paint the kitchen, mop the floors, plant a garden, walk the dog, assist my neighbors, rake the backyard...

 "Choo-choo" I say to myself, practically hopping up and down on the subway platform as the train pulls into the station. I get on the train, sit down and...

..wake up. Its dark out, my cellphone is ringing like crazy and I am sweating like a pig. Its 3 hours later and I am on the still on the train, still in the city having slept through its back and forth run from Manhattan to my stop.

When I finally got home I threw the "medicine" in the garbage. Never again.
Cough hack wheeze snort splut gag cough cough cough cough hack hack gasp

Halloween Horror

Oh damn, sorry all who attempted to read this post and were confronted with random words and snippets of sentences. I think a demented squirrel hacked into my account and decided to shake things up a bit. (Shakes fist at imaginary squirrel) Seriously- let's pretend it never happened, shall we? READ ON! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the mother of two boys I know what's in store for me in terms of Halloweens to come. Monsters, fake blood, vampire's, aliens, dinosaurs, possibly some (shudder) Power Rangers costumes etc etc. No big deal, says I, I ain't no wilting violet! I can roll with the best of them! This coming from a person who cannot watch a mildly scary movie- in fact! IN FACT!- I can't watch a scary MOVIE TRAILER or a freaking commercial for a scary movie with out having nightmares. Check my bookshelves though, and you will find everything that Stephen King ever wrote as well as many Dean Koontz novels and my favorites- The Zombie Books. What? In the scary images vs. scary IMAGINED images the scary images win. I am a complicated person.  Shut-up.

Ok, getting back to the original point of this entry; I know that having boys will entail various creepy gory skeletons, disembodied hands, zombies, Frankensteins, and loose eyeball filled Halloweens for many years to come. I am cool with that. However, since my two boys are still too small to pick out their own costumes I have the power to dress them in any cutsey costume I want. The whole point is to get to pictures of them in said cutesy costumes so in a few years when they have their best friends or girlfriends over I can whip out the pictures and embarrass the hell out of my sons. It's why I had kids. The entertainment factor alone makes it worth while. Besides, I have to get them back for covering me in their bodily fluids so many times now that I have a) lost count and b) am not grossed out by picking human feces from underneath my nails. Therefore I picked out some really adorable outfits for them last Halloween and have done so again this Halloween. Last year they were bears, Seba was a koala and Nicky was a brown bear. Behold:

This year I continued with the animal theme and Sebby will be an adorable elephant and Nicky will be a 'Cuddly Lion' (Pics below are not of my kids but were taken from the internet catalog I ordered the costumes from):

   

Seriously people, how freaking cute are these costumes? I was so excited when I found them on sale (thank you, thank you, thank you, sale Gods) that I promptly ordered them. The box came last Friday and I eagerly opened it up. And then I was confronted with this:

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(taking a deep breath)

 

If there is something that I can't stand its clowns. I hate clowns. Detest clowns. Abhor clowns. And a scary clown? Freaks. Me. Out.

Seriously, who at the costume warehouse confused "Cuddly Lion Toddler Costume" with "Give Your Mother a Goddamn Stroke Born Out Of a Ridiculous Fear Of Scary Assed Clowns" costume (in size 'T' for teenagers)????!!!!!???????

 

I am happy to report that I received some of the best customer service ever when I called about the mix up. They were so nice, in fact, that they let me keep the scary assed clown costume and immediately had the missing Cuddly Lion costume shipped out to me. I am happy for all of that but what exactly am I going to do with the clown costume? Dudes and dudettes, I can't even look at the thing. Anybody want it?  Please???? TAKE IT!