Yosemite Sam

Actual conversation between myself and Pretty Much Hubby:

Me: What are you looking at?
PMH: nothing…
Me: You’re looking at my lip, do I have a mustache?
PMH: Yeah, actually, you kinda do.
Me: Shut up! Really? Is is it black or blonde?
PMH:blonde
Me: Should I wax it?
PMH: Yes
Me: Don’t tell me that!
PMH: What? I’m just looking out for you.

Great. I have a mustache that rivals Sam Elliot’s. I mine as well go as Sasquach for Halloween. No wonder he won’t marry me!
I mean I have noticed my upper lip peach fuzz, but I just assumed that I was the only one noticing it. Oh my god, do you know how many times I have asked myself “Doesn’t that (fill in the name of an oblivious, hairy person) realize that if she can see it, so can everyone?”
I am that girl.
I am that one that thinks she has eyes unlike anyone else’s. Eyes that see upper lip peach fuzz (It’s called a mustache) that is invisible to everyone else. Please, tell me if I have a spare tire, a unibrow, a club foot…anything that I might be unaware (or in denial) of. But please, let me down easy, I am in a hairy, fragile state.

Pet Peeves

If you haven’t already figured this out, not only m I slightly irrational, but I also am easily annoyed. But, how can I expect the world to follow my rules, if I never tell the world what those rules are. Here are the ridiculous things that people say or do that make me want to push them down stairs (I don’t think she is stable) .
1. Unless you are six years old –in which case it is kind of cute, Birfday is not a word. Really, does it even sound right to you?
2. Webster’s dictionary describes the word berry as : a pulpy and usually edible fruit (as a strawberry, raspberry, or checkerberry) (what the F is a checkerberry) of small size irrespective of its structure b : a simple fruit (as a grape, blueberry, tomato, or cucumber) with a pulpy or fleshy pericarp c : the dry seed of some plants (as wheat).
There is no such thing as a Liberry. There is however, a library- which is no where near a pulpy and edible fruit.
3. The following grammar errors can be grouped as one, and they may only be conducive to Vermont : idear and heighth. As in “I have no idear what the heighth of that maple tree is." You are getting frustrated (some say fusterated AGHHH!!!) with me now aren’t you?
4. When I lay down at night I put my head on a pillow, for those of you that rest your heads on pellows I want to suffocate you with said pillow/pellow.
5. Loud talkers/ close talkers, over talkers and all the Look Who’s Talking movies. These need no explanations.
6. Double negatives- especially when out of the mouths of educated people. "She don’t have a clue." No! You don’t have a clue how Jerry Springer you sound when you talk like a degenerate!
Okay, I actually have more, but I am literally pissed off right now. I worked my self up so badly that I have begun to sweat the sugar free Rockstar that is supposed to be getting me through Monday morning mayhem. I need to go out side and take a breath (not a breaf) and try and calm myself down.

Excuses, Excuses

I have an excuse for everything.  Take right now for example, my excuse for sitting here listening tojazz and blogging instead of cleaning out the smelly fridge is that my feet are cold.  The kitchen floor is cold and so are my feet, so i should blog. 
My excuse for not cleaning out my car today...it is raining, which would be a valid excuse if it weren't for the fact that my excuse last weekend for not cleaning out the car was that it was too nice out..you see the issue?
My excuse for leaving work an hour early yesterday was that I had finished all my work and i was bored.  Again, valid unless you were to peek at the corner of  my desk, spot the ever groing pile and ask me why I don't do something about that.  I would reply, its Friday..I don't want to do work.
I have always had excuses, excuses for being late, excuses for not doing my homework, for having a messy room, for bouncing a check etc.
The ironic part of this blog (which is an excuse to not be doing chores), is that i hate it when other people make excuses, even valid.  For example when Pretty Much Hubby has not had time to work on our house because he is working 7 days a week to pay for supplies for said house because my paycheck is next to nil and I cant help out, I tell him to stop making excuses.  When people at work are using personal problems as excuses for their as of late slackerness I tell them to suck it up (actually i tell other people that excuse maker needs to suck it up).  I even get frusterated when people complain about their weight and do nothing about it! She complains about her weight all the time...and I have never seen her step foot in a gym..Shut up, I have bad knees!
Whats my excuse for my hypocritical attitude you ask? For this, I have no excuse.

Me? A Model?

So, a few unrelated yet related things have happened to me this week having to do with models/modeling. The first was that at a party (where was her child?) I was told that I looked like Tyra Banks. For those of you that know me, go get a tissue clean up whatever just came flying out of your nose. For those of you that don't know me,
a) I am a white girl.
b)I am a white girl that looks more like tired mother of toddler than anything
c)did I mention that I am a white girl?
I decided right then and there that I might, just might have to lay off the self tanner...just a bit.
Okay, on to the second thing. I was judging a talent show recently for a fund raiser and I was asked to pose for an ad for said fundraising organization. The ad will run in the Newspaper through November. OMG...I have been discovered!
The modeling world will never be the same. Move over Gisele because 5 ft 4in and slightly out of shape with hair extentions and a fake tan is the new IT.
So maybe it is the Local Paper and not Vogue, and maybe I was wearing my own clothes and there was no makeup girl in sight. But, I will have you know that in my head, I was Tyra at that moment. I was striking a pose like it was going to get me a reality show, a talk show, and a Swimsuit Edition cover. And you know what, being Tyra is a blast!

Reitteration of It Isn't Easy Being Me

Today I
1. Woke up late after planning on waking a half hour early.
2. Started a load of laundry, had the washing machine die on me and had to rinse clothes in sink.
3. Guilt tripped friends into babysitting because I had a mandatory training tonight that I had not planned for (I helped organize it)
4. Ran out of cat food- no money until tomorrow night so Banana will be eating tuna fish tomorrow.
5. Learned that my SUV will go 24.5 miles on E....and that
6. The gas station down the road will take my check with a little cleavage persuasion.
7. Got Pretty Much Hubbies friends to leave in less than 5 minutes after my return home by..
8. Bitching at Pretty Much hubby from the minute I walked in the door which..
9. Pissed off PMH which made me..
10. Cry a little and then..
11. Realized that this is an average day in my crazy world and crying aint gonna fix it, so then I ..
12. Blogged which made me...
13. Feel much better.

It Isn't Easy Being Me

When I am finally able to rest my head at the end of the day, I often think "Okay,I survived another day". It's not that I have a death defying job, although I do put my makeup on while driving myself to the office. I don't have dangerous hobbies, but I have been known to stumble down stairs after par taking in my favorite hobbie..wine drinking.
What I am getting at is, it isn't easy being me. I am unorganized, messy, a procrastinator and I have no will power. This makes for long days, full of running around from unfinished task to unfinished task, stubbing half polished toes along the way.
I am the mommy who forgets to bring extra clothes for water play. I am the employee that can't get to work ontime to save my life and the pretty much wife that has everything to make her pretty much hubby lasagna except, well lasagna noodles.
I am constantly making extra trips to the store, to daycare and out to my car for forgottens. I look at people that get up early because they like to, put things in the same spot everytime and have clean cars with envy and disbeleif. What happened to me to make me this way? What vitamin was my mother lacking during her pregnancy with me?
At the end of the week I am tired. I cancel plans with people or forget that I even ever made them. Then I am also, the bad friend that stood you up, and I am too unorganised to buy you a nice card to make up for my oops.
Sigh...Life is difficult for the flighty minded.

Cosmo The Cure All

I have a date tonight. I am so excited! His name is Cosmo Politan and he is the perfect date. He never lets me down. He immediately puts me at ease and he doesn’t care what condition my hair, clothes or ass is in. I feel like a school girl when I am with Cosmo, I giggle and blush, like a pre-teen on a first date. Sometimes I even get clammy hands when he is around.

The best part about him is that he knows that I am not single, and it doesn’t bother him at all. He knows that any young woman with a Pretty Much Hubby needs to have an occasional fling, and Cosmo is just the right guy. I deserve him.

In a sense, Cosmo is my cure all. He makes me feel sexy even when my pants are snug. He makes me forget my problems, and shrug off my stresses and I love him for that.
I only have one complaint about Cosmo, when he is around, I can’t stop myself from wanting more and more of him. Oh yeah, and for some reason the morning after an especially great evening with Cosmo Politan I have a headache and there isn’t enough water in Lake Champlain to quench my thirst. Other than that, if you don’t have a Cosmo in your life, I strongly recommend you find one (he has friends too Bud Weiser, and Jack Daniels to name a few, ladies….take your pick.)

What Id Rather Be Doing

I have been cranky lately. I think that sleeping with an ever growing almost two year old is a large part of the reason. This morning, my favorite morning radio show posed the question, "What do you daydream about?"
I have been sitting at my desk this morning doing just that, daydreaming...

I'm in my beautiful gourmet kitchen that is warm from the stove being on. The smell of basil, oregano and garlic fills the air from the pot of sauce simmering. I have an apron on and am having a great hair day. My family is all there and their loud stories are competing with Frank Sinatra's "You're No Body Til Somebody Loves You'. There is an endless supply of red wine as we laugh, and sip and snack.

But a dream is all that that is. I am in fact, sitting in my office, about to dive once again into the stack of billing that I have ignored for long enough. My kitchen is far from gourmet and my family is even further. So instead, I am cranky.

I Can't make This Shit Up

When I was about 9 years old, I discovered the joy of prank phone calls. There was no one with in my area code that was safe. I was ruthless, impish, if you may. I called married couples, and informed the wife that her husbands Playboy subscription was running out. I called the poor gentleman name Harry Butts on a daily basis, to prove to friends and neighborhood kids that there was in fact, a man named Harry Butts, and I was no stranger to the old "Is your refrigerator running" prank.
The reason that I am telling you this is not to reiterate my last blog post about having naughty tendencies. It is not to prove to you that at nine I had bigger Kahunas than Aaron Carter (did anyone see him cry on Dancing With the Stars?). No, the reason that I am tattling on myself about my prankster history is because I believe that it may be the reason that I have a phone curse on me now.
In the last year, as in 12 months, 365 days, I have lost 2 phones and surrendered one to the Toilet Gods. That's right, I dropped a phone in the toilet.
Because of one phone mishap after another, I have paid for phone services for at least three months in which I was completely phone-less. So, about a month ago, I came to the conclusion that I was not destined to have a cell phone. On days of extreme self pity i even convinced myself that I didn't deserve one. I did however, need to have a connection to the outside world beyond Facebook (teenage girls reading this are bouncing their heads from shoulder to shoulder right now, saying HUH?).
I made up my mind. I was going to step back in time and have a land line installed (older generations it is your turn to have a duh moment. What does she mean by land line?).

How could she go wrong with a land line?, you are asking yourself.

Silly blog reader, have you no knowledge of my capabilities to F something up? Have you learned nothing about me through these pointless rants and raves that I post? If there is a phone out there, be it touch tone, rotary, cordless, cell or i, I will find it. And then, I will F it up.

I am getting to the point. Last night was like any other random week night. I came home, changed into lounge wear (that destroys fantasies), poured myself a glass of wine and began tending to Little Man's feeding time needs. Much like many nights, Honey called to explain why he was not home yet. Putting glass of vino down, to give getting fed up with excuses my full attention, I completely ignored the fact that wine glass was on the edge of the table, dangerously close to motem, in which land line is plugged in. Long story short, or less long than it could be, wine and motems do not go together like peanut butter and jelly. More like, they ruin each other, much like Whitney and Bobby.

I had not even had my home phone for an entire month. The spilled wine destroyed the motem, which left me both phone-less and Internet-less, and that is not a pretty world. I was forced to live like the Pioneers and do nothing but watch high definition television on my flat screen. It is a sad fate that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

The moral of the story is not what you think it is. It is not 'don't prank call people whose parents are jerks enough to name them Harry Butts'. It is not even 'make sure you buy insurance on your phone'. No. The moral of this story is 'Do not underestimate my keen ability to F up the Un- F- up-able.