Hot Dogs and Hampers

This weekend I watched a movie that took place in the 50’s. The movie left me contemplating how the role of the Lady of the House has changed over the years.  In the 50’s most women did not work outside of the home.  They spent their days caring for their family and their dwelling.  They made careers out of gardening, ironing, and meat loafing.  They were there to make their hard working husbands a high ball after work and help their children with homework.  Then one day- someone had a brilliant idea that women too should be working outside the home- expanding their skills and contributing financially to their families.  Genius! 

But what happened to the ironing? The homework? The meatloaf?  Did the need for such domestics dissolve?  No- the need is still very much there.  The need stares me in the face from the over flowing laundry hamper.  The need wakes me up at 6 am on Sunday’s expecting Cheerios and snuggles.  The need suggests I try a new recipe tonight when I am done watering the plants. 

I take my role as Lady of the House very seriously.  I try daily to do a little something for the better of my family but after 40 hours at the office sometimes the best thing I can muster for my family is to allow them to live another day.  But I am WOMAN- I am strong, I am multi-tasker capable of taking care of the world, and the house and the never ending laundry pile…right?  That is how I should feel and yet most days I just feel tired. 

Am I turning my back on the generations of women who fought so that I too could go to an office everyday and bust my hump and then go home and play June Cleaver- if I throw in the towel?  Am I less of a woman if I feel that I would be fully satisfied as a 1950’s housewife? 

Being the Mom I want to be…the woman I want to be for my man takes a lot of time.  It takes a lot of work and often I don’t have the time or the energy after a 40 hour work week.  The type of mother I want to be does not feed my son hot dogs for dinner three times a week but makes him nutritionally balanced meals from the heart.  The type of mother I want to be does not tell her son that she is too tired to go for a bike ride because she has been dreaming of putting her feet on the coffee table for hours.  The type of partner I want to be, that I know I have in me does not have to send her Hubby to work wearing miss- matched socks but instead would like to send him to work with a packed lunch.  Even typing this I know how I must sound to many women out there?  Seriously? Satisfied with the old, traditional housewife life?  Yes, yes I think I might be. 

To those of you that are thinking that I am underestimating the work entailed and the commitment it takes to be a self proclaimed domestic goddess are wrong.  I am a hard worker- I always have been and I am not looking for an excuse to eat Bon Bons and watch The Young and the Restless.  That is what weekends and DVR are for.  I just feel that I am not a star performer in the role of Lady of the House at the moment.  I am not performing to my fullest potential and that leaves me feeling like I am failing my family-one micro-waved hot dog at a time!  

What are your thoughts on my dreams of domestic conquests?

Lessons in Love from Smug and In Love

I read a quote today- it said ”Every woman deserves a man that makes her forget that her heart was ever broken.”  It was an ironic time to have read the quote as last night a few girlfriends and myself spent much of the evening consoling a friend who was recently broken hearted.  After the girls left, I looked at Mr. Not So New and once again felt an overwhelming love and gratitude for having him in my life.  It wasn’t always so easy.  I was once the one being consoled; the one with the broken heart.  The one who thought true love was not in my deck of cards.  And now, now that I have it-it seems so distant; the hurt, the sleepless nights, the puffy eyes, the feeling of hopelessness. 
At times having been there- in the broken heart-ed’s uncomfortable shoes I know how there is nothing anyone- especially the smug and in love friend can say.  But being the smug and n love friend that once was the broken hearted I have so much to say.  Since I cannot say it in the heat of the somber moment I will say it now.
For the most part relationships should be easy.  Sure there are adjustments to make.  Joining two lives together takes time to get used to.  Division of labor needs to be worked out, finances come into play etc.  But once you figure that out it should be smooth sailing.  I am not saying that you won’t get under each other’s skin but if what annoys you about the person comes even close in comparison to what you love about the person than you are wasting your time with the wrong someone. 
I have been in relationships where I have been loved more than I did love and I have been in relationships where I loved more than I was loved.  In both cases, you know.  Listen to your inner self she may be the only person being honest with you.
Timing is extremely important.  Mr. Not So New is so amazing that I often wonder why anyone before me let him slip away.  Being that we found each other at nearly thirty we both had been through our fair share of relationships.  We both learned a lot about love.  What to do, what not to do.  Who we are, and who we are not.  The Mr. Not So New of this relationship is a different person than relationships of his past. Had we met even a year prior ( we did know each other but not well), we would not be the same people and maybe we would not be as we are today.  I truly believe that timing is a key factor in love.  
Communication is crucial.  I see people all the time talking to their friends, family, and therapists about their unhappy relationships.  Are they talking to the other half if their relationship?  I believe that is the first person that should be hearing of troubles.  Mr. New and I talk about everything that bothers us.  Sometimes we need to talk about it over and over to really make the other person hear that it is important to us.  We may not understand it but once we understand that it is important or bothersome to the other we accept it as that and do what we can to accommodate. 
Another misconception that I too, with a bleeding heart once believed was that there were no good men left, and if there were they certainly were not dwelling in Vermont.  Well ladies, I proved myself wrong on that one and I am sure that I did not snag the last one. 
When Mr. Not So New was still Mr. New, I blogged about wanting to keep the new-ness alive. I wrote about the butterflies and the excitement that encompasses falling in love.  I had a lot of nay-sayers that said it would fade and the butterflies would go away.  Well I am proud to report that just over a year into the relationship, having lived together now since June (yes we moved quickly) my tummy has more butterflies than ever.  They were right about one thing though- it does not feel new.  It feels even better.  

Officer Cry Baby

Recently for my real job- I call it my real job because I have many imaginary ones. For example I am a star of the Real Housewives of Rutland County reality show, I am Tom Brady’s personal masseuse and of course a famous writer. Any way as I began- as an obligation to the job that is not only in existence in my head, I attended a meeting based on hiring the men and women that are returning from active duty in our Armed Forces. Let me preface this piece with my utter humbleness and pride that I hold for such Americans that have a selfless gene that I have not. Secondly, I agreed with each presenter that spoke and full heartedly believe that these returning soldiers deserve the support of the citizens that they put their lives in danger to protect and serve.


Having said that I can go back to being me. In high school partially due to the fact that I have a unisex name, I would constantly be hounded by Army recruiters- by phone, and by mail. To those of you that know me, I am sure that at least a little of the corner of your lip turned up at the thought of me…in the Army. For those of you that don’t know me, I am sure the above sentence about my dream job as a filmed housewife might give you a bit of an inclination as to my pastimes and character, neither of which there is much room for in the Army.

I picture Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin. I cannot handle being yelled at. I cry. In fact, I cry when I am doing laundry and I have run out of dryer sheets, I cry when my favorite girl does not receive a rose at the rose ceremony on an episode of the Bachelor, I cry e-v-e-r-y time I watch The Notebook, The Lion King and the episode of King of Queens when Carrie loses the baby. Can you imagine how I would handle some big man up in my face, spit-screaming at me because I am not much of a morning person or because I simply asked where the Sauvignon Blanc was in the mess hall?

I am pretty fit; I can do yoga in a 100 degree room. I have done fitness boot camps and I am no stranger to the treadmill but Army boot camp seems a bit extreme for me. I have never signed up for an early morning exercise class. I like to get my work outs done right after work so that immediately after I can reward myself with a glass of wine. Also, none of the exercises that I participate in have involved my need for a gas mask and or removal of leaches from my body post work out. Sometimes I even count just putting work out gear on and sitting on the couch as a good enough attempt. Not sure doing the same with my fatigues would be acceptable.

Speaking of fatigues…where do I even begin. Although thanks to the Kardashians the one piece jumpsuits are in this year, I have yet to see any that are head to toe camouflage. I prefer less thick material to show the curves I have worked so hard to get. I have never seen a flattering Army uniform, and what is with the slicked back bun or braid? This is simply a look that cannot be pulled off. Oh, I forgot to mention that I cry when I am feeling unattractive. Waking up every morning to the one piece brown and green canvas jumpsuit and slicked back bun would have me crying a river before sun up daily.

Folks, we haven’t even left boot camp let alone combat. Just the word combat frightens me- it sounds like a poisonous snake. What we have learned here is that the returning troops need our support and need jobs. Overall they make strong candidates for most positions in most fields as they possess leadership, courage, determination, commitment, and perseverance. Many of them are young in age but have life experiences well beyond their years. These men and women fought for us and we need to help fight for them… What we also learned is that the military is not for everyone and I did my part in protecting our country by staying as far from the battle ground as possible!

Drumroll Please

 It is the moment that we have all been waiting for.  The moment in which my dedication and motivation is put to the test.  The moment in which Beth the Deaths coaching and training skills are measured quite literally as is the circumference of my ass.  In the beginning of the week I confessed to BTD that I was not too hopeful for results.  I have been feeling down about my appearance.  I haven't had my roots done in about a month too long, my wardrobe is atrocious and I was tagged on facebook in a pic of myself that oh so clearly displayed my second chin.  You know the feeling. 
But none the less, I had vowed to allow you all to measure my success or lack there of and unlike my vow to reduce the wine intake- this one I will stick to.  But not quite yet.
This week Beth really pushed me.  She had me crawling, kettle-belling, and climbing stairs.  I did notice that with the increase of my water intake I felt more powerful in my work outs.  I hate to us the word easier because BTD is reading this and she will take note, but they really did feel a bit easier when better hydrated.  Not easy by any means, but a bit more doable.  I was only tempted to throw a kettle bell at her flat stomach three times as opposed to a dozen or so usually.  See- I do have will power! 
Anyway, Beth decided to do the measurements after kicking my Kardashian for an hour.  I felt like the contestants on the Biggest Loser- having my last chance workout.  While squatting my way to slim Beth convinced me to join her for a week of Bikram yoga.  If you don't know what that is let me explain.  It is a series of 26 (I think) yoga poses , over a 90 minute session in a room that is kept at a constant 105 degrees.  Now, I have always enjoyed yoga.  Not like weirdly- I don't say Ohhhhhhhmm and I still enjoy a slab of dead animal on my plate every night but I have enjoyed the benefits of yoga in the past.  It feels great, it gives the mind a break- and with the shit that runs through my mind- it needs a break!  I can truly say that I am looking forward to my first Bikram class today at noon.  I won' t lie a huge factor in my looking forward to it is that I am hoping that it jump starts my weight loss goal.  I take Jennifer Anniston as an example.  When Jennifer was on the series Friends she had a body more like mine.  Ample chest, small waist and a but you could rest your coffee cup on.  She looked great-however fifteen years later- she looks even better and attributes her new shape to yoga.  It literally changed her shape.  I have accepted that I am an hour glass shape however if given the choice I would love to be longer and leaner and more like the Jennifer of the romantic comedies than the Jennifer of Friends.  And, if yoga in a man made desert is gonna help get me there- sign me up!
OK, I will stop stalling.  I will get to the point of this rant.  The results...Well they didn't start out as wonderfully as I had hoped.  I only lost one lb.  When I looked at the number on the scale I immediately had visions of myself in a one piece- with a sarong and a snickers..not the vision I was hoping for.  When I texted Beth the results she remained positive- reminded me that muscle weighs more than fat blah, blah, blah.  But low and behold she was right.  I lost a half inch on each bicep, a quarter inch on each thigh.  I lost a half inch around my waist and nothing on my ass which just goes to show that I have been right this whole time! I am the other Kardashian sister. 
So the results were not as thrilling as they are on the Biggest Loser but they are none the less successful results.  I am hoping that with the addition of the sweat lodge and maybe adding a bit more cardio to my routine I am on my way to the goal of 10 lbs that I am hoping for.  And maybe, just maybe my after shot will be in a bikini :-)

Bluntness and Body Image

My friends and I are how you say…blunt. Sometimes the level of our bluntness gets us in trouble…with each other. Recently, my blunt friend- we will call Red approached me about something she had on her mind. She asked me if I was at all concerned that my blog might offend people. She was concerned that there might be overweight people out there reading my blog and cussing me for being a skinny bitch that calls herself fat. I pondered. And then I reminded her that my blog is not mandatory reading, and that if it offends anyone they can simply stop reading.


The truth is I do have body image issues…another point Red felt the need to make. I realize that I am not fat...but I do pick myself apart…a lot. Like when I compare myself to fat Jessica Simpson or my derriere to Kim K’s. I think most women put themselves down, and how can we not with images of perfect women thrown in our faces all the time. I can’t watch a Victoria’s Secret commercial with my boyfriend without thinking that he is thinking that he wishes I looked like that. I cannot picture myself having a good time on a tropical beach with the one that I love unless I have lost 10 pounds prior to the trip. I have always had these negative thoughts about my appearance and I probably always will.

After admitting that it seems like a lie when I say that I also have a pretty good self image…let me explain. There are a lot of things about my appearance that I do like. I can’t walk through the Walmart parking lot without getting a whistle. I think I’m a pretty girl. I have really straight teeth and cute feet. My eyes are an unusual blue green and I have even grown to like my upturned nose. So shoot me if I don’t like my saddlebags or wish my stomach was tighter. I want to be in the best shape that I can be. And as far as offending people, it is never my goal- and never really a concern. I cannot make people feel a certain way- I don’t have that kind of control. What I can do is be open, honest and entertaining. I think a lot of women out there can sympathize with my struggle for perfection. I am not saying that it is a healthy way to view oneself. I am saying that this is how I feel, and I think how a lot of us feel. And if comparing myself to celebrities that are a bit larger than the norm in the celebrity world helps push me to exercise than so be it. Putting oneself down-not healthy, exercising regularly-healthy. So what if I need to do one to do the other. It works for me.

I think after explaining this to Red she understood. She also sent me flowers because she is one blunt and fabulous friend. She is also a skinny bitch that has never had to work out a day in her life and has never been over a size 2. To be blunt- sometimes I want to shoot the bitch.

Updates- Actually modeling for a photo shoot on Saturday to help a friend build his portfolio- I have insisted that he refer to me as Gisele from here on out. I have begun to pretend that I am a supermodel in preparation for the shoot. Can someone please bring me some sparkling water, like yesterday???

Also Beth the Death (BTD) is taking my measurements on Thursday…wish her-I mean me luck!!!

While She was Gone

Beth is back. I didn’t have good news for her when she arrived at my door- kettle bell in hand. I wanted to tell her that I did everything she told me to do- I wanted to tell her that I have given up wine and had fallen in love with exercise. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t eat any Halloween candy and that I said no to pasta…Here is what I did tell her


Ummmm….I didn’t get a chance to exercise. I had a little bit more water than normal and a little less wine…yesterday I had skittles for breakfast. And if you don’t come to my house and force me to work out- it’s not gonna happen.

At least she has job security. She also has a sick obsession with squats. Especially squat thrusts. No, this is not some exciting new sexual position only to be found in Cosmo magazine. This is a mix between a squat, a plank and a backwards jump. Having trouble picturing it? Try doing it! Not only do I look ridiculous in the yard squat thrusting my way to physical perfection, but I choose to be doing this as my boyfriend’s employees are parking the trucks in the driveway for the night. I can only imagine what they must be thinking as I am swearing- ass up in the air with Beth the Death encouraging me by saying “Black Bikini”, and “Bye bye Oprah arms”. What must be running through the minds of these plumbers walking by, trying not to laugh at my awkward position?

I cannot tell you what is running through their minds but I can tell you what is running through mine… This bitch is crazy. If I don’t look like Daisy Duke by January I am going to kill her. Who does this anyway? I feel like I am on Biggest Loser right now! If she goes in my house and opens my fridge and confiscates my wine there will be bloodshed. Wine…do I have any? At my next break I should put it in the freezer because after these squat thrusts I am going to need a refreshingly cold beverage. Is it time to stretch yet?

Here is what I can only imagine is going through Beth’s mind.

If this girl thinks she can joke her way to fit she has another thing coming. She better get serious because I am tracking her progress for my website. Maybe I should confiscate her wine.

Luckily, BTD is giving me until next Thursday to do my measurements and report my progress. As I was working on my arms she did say that she recognized that I had some definition that wasn’t there before. Yeah! And I can say one thing for sure- my exercise routine has out lasted Kim Kardashian’s marriage! That in itself is success in my book!

Walloping Asses and Will Power

Cardio is my nemesis. I hate it. I hate it as much as I hate water, and will power and Tyra Banks. But I know it is necessary. You know why it is necessary? Because as I was jogging around the yard with a resistance band held out in front of me, making me look like some exercise crazed Zombie, my ass was walloping. That is the only word I can think of. It was like it was its own creature and I created a voice for it. My ass’s voice sounds like James Earl Jones on Quaaludes. It says to me “keeeep woooorking at it Blondie!” Beth and I have decided that the smaller my ass gets the higher its voice will get. I won’t be content until my ass sounds like Justin Bieber.... And Beth is happy to make me squat my way to a high pitched ass.


Beth also confronted me about my lack of water intake. Apparently ice in my wine is not enough, especially when working out with Jillian Michaels more feminine twin twice a week. It was a tough sell- first she promised me better agility…blah blah blah, more stamina…who cares. Then, she reminded me that it will help me lose weight faster-enter ass that can sing like the Biebs. Now you’re talking Beth the Death. Now you’re speaking my language.

Next week I am left to my own devices. Next week my will power will be tested- it has never passed a single test in all 30 years that I have been hiding it under my bed. That means I am going to need a lot of support, praise and encouragement from y’all (I sometimes pretend to be southern). I do not see Beth until November 1st and I want to make her proud. I will drink my water- I am actually doing that right now, ugh! And I will work out on my own. Not tomorrow night, tomorrow night is Friday and working out on Friday night is against my morale beliefs. I will however do a Cardio DVD Saturday and try and convince my boyfriend and son to go for a hike on Sunday. I will also wear cute work out gear all weekend and put my hair extensions in and pretend that my Real Housewives of Beverly Hills look is effortless and normal for a weekend around the house. Oh yeah and I will keep y’all informed of my progress, ya hear?

Intimate Moments with Blue Balls

Typing this blog hurts a bit. That is because yesterday Beth the Death put my upper body through one hell of a work out and I am reminded of this every time I move. Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit, I am not uncomfortable but I do feel in desperate need of a massage. Usually if I want a massage I have to first…well never mind.


Some of the moves that Beth had me doing last night, I was convinced she was doing for her own entertainment. You see, Beth is probably 5ft 8in tall. I on the other hand am 5ft 4in tall and that is when I remember to stand up straight. What seems like a mere 4 inch difference is actually a huge difference when traipsing your body over a large exercise ball. You see Beth looks like one should look when doing backwards sit ups on the giant blue (I swear) ball. She looks like she is..well…exercising. I on the other hand look like I am having an intimate moment with said blue ball. After I was done with that particular set I felt like I should buy the giant blue ball dinner, leave it my number and promise that I will be gentler next time if given the chance. If that giant blue ball were an animate object it would take my number, crumple it into a ball and throw it in the trash. It would then call one of its ball friends and together they would laugh at my awkwardness. As I am sure Beth did when she got home.

I must admit to you, as I did to Beth that I have not really been keeping up with my end of the bargain 100%. I haven’t been great about lowering my caloric intake and I am still not a big fan of water. It’s not that I eat unhealthily- just ask my boyfriend who is convinced that I am trying to kill him by feeding him an abundance of veggies and low calorie foods. But my caloric intake is probably over the 1500 calorie a day diet that I vowed to follow in order to look like Daisy Duke by January. Soooo, as Beth said yesterday at my training session- admission is the first step. So here goes…

Hi, My name is Morgan and I am an alcoholic...Shit...That’s not it. Hi my name is Morgan and I am not going to look hot in a string bikini come January if I continue to consume whatever it is (wine) that I have been consuming. I will feel frumpy forever, hide from spaghetti straps and buy stock in Sally Hansen air brush legs in an effort to mask the bumpiness that will forever cover my upper thigh and ample bottom area. I will make excuses and most likely become funnier because that is what I do when I am unhappy with my appearance. This is my truth if I cannot put the wine bottle down or pass on the potatoes.

Here is the pledge that I hope to be saying come January- “Damn! I’m a sexy bitch!”

Tonight is another session with Beth and I plan to give it my all. Vacation is 12 weeks away and if I am going to be in a bikini for 90% of that vacation- I’m gonna rock it!!!

BEFORE SHOT

Workouts, Whining and Wings

I have changed the nick name for Beth. It is no longer Rocking Body Beth, It is Beth the Death as in that skinny little thing is going to be the death of me. After Tuesdays work out I was feeling quite sore. By quite sore I mean that every time I walked down a flight of stairs I seriously contemplated just tucking, rolling and praying for a safe landing. I hovered over the toilet seat like a germ-a-phoebe- not afraid of catching venereal diseases but afraid that I would not be able to get back up.


Wednesday, instead of doing a nice stretching routine or a brisk walk, I did a twenty minute yoga DVD concentrating on hips, thighs and buns. My logic behind this clearly asinine idea was that I was going to Wing night, as I do every Wednesday and I wanted to not feel guilty about the 6 wings and three(maybe four) glasses of wine that accompanied them. Bad idea. I have now decided to skip the toilet all together.

Yesterday, Beth the Death was back at my door. And she took no pity on me when I whined of sore nether regions. Minutes into the work out I was actually feeling better. I was sweating it out and getting a good stretch. The work out itself actually goes by very quickly and Beth knows just the right things to say to me such as “black bikini”, “this is great for your butt” and “almost done.” Another great thing about working out so hard is that it forces me to drink water. When I’m not exercising I often skip water all together. I take that back, I put ice in my white wine so I get a bit of water but not much. I notice that when I am drinking water the weight falls off even faster. Now if I only I can find a way to make water taste like fermented grapes and give me a buzz, life would be grand!

When the work out was done, I was sweaty, shaky and spent, but it was a great feeling. Beth’s workouts really work for me. They are different every time which is great because I have severe ADD. Every few minutes we are doing something else- which makes every set doable. And just when I think I can’t do it any longer I close my eyes and picture Jessica Simpson on stage in mom jeans. That helps…

Wish me luck over the weekend. I wonder if Sexercise counts as one of my work outs???

Feel the Burn

In an effort to get a reduced rate on personal training sessions, I have agreed to be the model client for Killington Bootcamp. This means that I am working out 2x's a week with Beth Roberts and allowing her to track my progress on her website. Little did she know when striking a deal with me that I am an attention whore and would have done so gladly regardless of a discounted rate. Anyway, the first time that I worked out with Beth (I call her Rockin Body Beth behind her back), I seriously contemplated developing an eating disorder. Surely binging and hurling would be far easier than doing the amount of squats that she requires. Then I remembered that the reason that I am doing this is not only for vanity reasons but for my health. I am thirty years old and have a 3 year old and I feel that I need to make exercise a part of my lifestyle before it is too late. Plus, a thirty year old woman with an eating disorder is up there with a thirty year old man with braces in my book. Oh, that and eating disorders are terrible (my attempt at political correctness).




I am a curvy girl. I have big boobs and an ass that rivals that of the middle Kardashian sister. I gain weight quickly and fortunately I lose weight quickly. I frequently fluctuate with in a ten pound range. I am miserable and unhappy with myself when I am on the upside of that range and I am perfectly happy with myself and I won't deny t a bit cocky when I am at the lower half of that range. I feel like Jessica Simpson and at the moment I am the fat Jessica Simpson- you know the one that is marrying an unemployed guy. I want to be the Jessica Simpson of the Dukes of Hazard..you know the one that rocked it in a pink bikini that every man in America has tattooed in their memories?



My super fabulous and wonderful boyfriend and I are taking a tropical vacation in January and there is no room in my suitcase for Spanx. I want to lay on the beach in comfort and then go home and put a million pics of my rock hard bikini body on facebook so that people say-"I can't believe she as a child!" Listen, I'm okay with being vain..I embrace it.



There are a few things that usually stand in my way of being skinny Jessica Simpson. 1. I like food- especially carbs. 2. I like wine- especially when drunk by the bottle. 3. I am lazy. 4. I have no will power. This is where Beth comes in (poor girl). When I have Beth in my life I am more conscious of what goes in my mouth ( That's what she said). I work so hard that I don't want to throw it away over a Margarita and some nachos. Her presence in my living room 2 times a week gives me just enough motivation during the rest of the week to up my activities other than wine drinking. Lets face it, if left to my own devices, I, like current J.S. engaged to unemployed guy will not do squats and planks in my living room. No, I , when left alone will watch reality television with a Magnum of Sauvignon Blanc and enough Thai food for 4.

Please stay tuned, I hope that my fourteen week journey is one that you can relate to. I hope that we can keep each other motivated so please leave comments, and encouragements on my page. If you are not sure what to say I will give you a few examples of acceptable encouragement: Wow Morgan your ass is the size of a grapefruit!; You are the hottest person on the planet!; I know someone in Hollywood that needs to meet you! etc. check back in with me on Friday after my second session! Pic of me as fat Jessica Simpson.

Good Morning Vietnam!

Alright , I know that I have been bragging to you about my happiness- well hold on partners I have a bit of bitching to do. Yes, I am still blissfully happy, but don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually wake to birds chirping, heavens opening and sun shining on my flawless face. I still wake to a toddler standing at the top of the stairs- screeching to rival a hyena’s mating call “Mooooommmmmyyyy!!!” Good Morning to me. My face is far from flawless because after the half a bottle of wine I talked myself into the night before, de-masking seems pointless. There for when jolted into awakeness I look like a member of Kiss. Some mornings do read like a Folgers commercial. This morning was not one of those mornings.


This morning whining was what was on the continental breakfast menu at Chez Slightly Irrational- and no it was not me whining. Little Man was on a mission to make me insane- even more so that most mornings. It began with changing. Whhhyyy? Whyy do I need to take my clothes off and put on new ones? Because. Why do I need to go to school? So that I don’t harm you. Why can I not finish my show? So Mommy doesn’t harm Special Agent Oso. I don’t want a granola bar. Perfect that means I can go another day without grocery shopping now get in the car. Why? So that I can bring you to school and make this whining go away before I harm myself. WHERE DID I LEAVE MY COFFEE?

Minutes later- more minutes than necessary, we are at the car. I pick Little Man up and get him into his car seat. But I wanted to get in all by myself. Too late. You wanted to do nothing other than drive me insane a minute ago and now you are all of a sudden an over achiever?

Whining takes a sudden turn. Whining has stopped and turned into a full speed scream. This scream differs from the screech at the top of the stairs that began this wonderful morning. This Scream has more juice. Little Man has more energy and his scratchy voice has been coated with milk therefore oiling his throat up for intense ear piercing shrills. And I am in a vehicle. I have others lives as well as my own and my sons in my 2 hands that are gripped to the steering wheel. I realize the danger that I am delving into operating a vehicle under such stressful conditions but my options are limited. And so I pull out of the driveway.

Go back! I want a Granola bar! Dear Lord- I know I only talk to you in situations similar to this but please listen to me and answer my prayers. Give me the strength to not drive head on into an oncoming Mac truck. Give me the patience that I have been begging for, for years. Let an alien land its space ship in front of my car and remove the area in my son’s brain responsible for whining, screeching and bratting. I want a granola bar from home!

I want to go home and start this dreadful morning over. I want to wake up in a 5 star hotel. I want there to be no whining on the menu at this hotels continental breakfast. I want there to be Bloody Mary’s instead and I want my angelic three year old who is missing the section of his brain responsible for whininess since his recent alien abduction to bring them to me in bed.

I'm BAAAACKKK

Ok I’m sorry- I know it has been awhile since my last blog and I apologize. It’s funny you know? When I wasn’t sure where I was going, when my love life was as successful as Obama’s attack on the deficit, when I needed a break from life- it was humorous to you…right? I get it- there is a reason why I stayed up last night until 11 watching Tru TV’s Dumbest Partiers. People that can’t get their shit together are hilarious, look at Snookie! But what happens when the storm subsides? Will I fall out of the blogging lime light because my life is less unfortunate, there for hilarious to the general public?


What is the black sheep’s claim to fame once shaved of his telling wool? I suppose I could go another route with my humor. Instead of asking you to join me in celebrating my daily woes I could make fun of others, but really a lawsuit for cyber bullying is not what I am looking for. I could go on and on telling you of my happiness but not only is that not funny, it is pompous and so not my style. After giving it a lot of thought I have decided to take you into my head (scary, I know). You see while content, even ecstatic at times I am not quite comfortable in happiness. I feel like an exchange student from the Middle East who comes to the US and discovers, peace, MTV and pop tarts but cannot truly embrace these wonders because the trip at some point must come to an end.

I find myself looking around my beautiful house, cuddling with my attentive, handsome, hard working partner, tucking my son into his bed and reading him a story, and walking the dog all the while thinking that at any minute I will trip, fall down the stairs, and wake up in my chaotic past. Or, in a mental institute having dreamt the whole happy life thing up in a wine induced slumber. And so I tip toe afraid to fall of the axis. And if you have ever seen my level of gracefulness you will know that the idea of this clumsy gal tiptoeing through day to day has much promise to be funny.

Oh Nuts!!!

Ever since I can remember my father has been at war. No, he is not a soldier in the US military. He had no part in the death of Bin Laden. My father has been in an on-going battle with the squirrels of Proctor Vermont. Each year the battle intensifies and my father’s methods and weapons of choice vary.

One year he bought a bird feeder with a special ring around the bottom. If light weight birds landed on the feeder to dine, nothing would happen. If fat, nut engorged rodents landed on the ring around the feeder- the ring would spin and fling the squirrels fifty feet. My father would sit in his chair patiently waiting with an evil glimmer in his eyes. When a squirrel would brave the flinging feeder my father would rub his hands together and let out a wicked, crackling laugh.

Unfortunately, the flinging squirrel feeder was discontinued. I can only imagine that PETA got involved and banned the cruel device. This would not stop my father. This spring began with a new home made device. My father jury rigged a plate above the feeder in an effort to frustrate the squirrels and make their journey to the feeder a bit of a task. Apparently the squirrels of Proctor are not afraid of a challenge because within hours of the hanging plate- the squirrels were back on the feeder staring at my father on the other side of the glass and flipping him off (this is what he sees).

The plan needed to be evolved. And this time my father was going spend some money on saving the birds. He ordered a contraption that looked much like the mask of Darth Vader. This was hung above the feeder in place of the plate. My father hung the hideous device and took to his post. For an hour he watched the squirrels try and try again. He laughed his evil laugh and poured himself a celebratory cocktail. But the celebration was premature. Before he knew it the squirrels had strategized their way onto the feeder. This time he was sure they were looking at him, mocking him, laughing at his waste of 50 dollars. And this time he was mad.

He reached for the first thing he could find, a weapon that could do some damage regardless of what PETA would say about it. What he grabbed was a pencil. He cranked open the window causing the squirrels to jump off the feeder and nibble on what seeds had been spilled. They looked up at the maniac in the window with a pencil in his hand and according to him they laughed. He threw the pencil in the fashion that one would throw a javelin. It missed the squirrels and even worse than that – they didn’t even flinch. He grasped for more arson, this time coming up with a ruler. Fling went the ruler. And again the squirrels mocked him by not budging. He was desperate and so he reached for a marble ashtray..now this was going to hurt. He threw the ashtray at the leader squirrel- and again he missed. The squirrel moved a bit which is thankful because my father’s pride could not have handled another complete fail.

The squirrels had cleaned up the fallen seed and casually made their way back into their trees. My father, feeling hopelessly defeated went outside to collect what was left of his weapons and then retreated to his post. There he will sit until winter comes and the squirrels retire. There he will sit strategizing and planning his next move convinced that eventually this battle will be over and he will be victorious. But until then, the war goes on.

Royal Wedding My Arse

Every girl dreams of being a princess right? Actually, I know you won't believe this but that was never a dream of mine.  I dreamt of being lost in the woods like the boy in the book Hatchet.  I watched a 60 Minutes episode about a woman that had no arms and had to brush her teeth with her feet- oh how I longed for that talent.  If the Little Mermaid counts I guess I dreamt of being a princess but that was more because I wanted a tail than a crown.   

As we all know- as we have all been bombarded with, as we can not escape-this weekend is the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate (I must give a royal BJ) Middleton.  One good thing about the endless coverage of this event is that we get a break from the Osmond's on Entertainment Tonight- let's face it, they own that show but on the news(like the real one) this morning the upcoming nuptials got more air time than the most devastating tornado to hit the South since the 1940's.  At this point I will give you a moment to grasp the fact that I watched the news this morning. 
You with me? 

Anyway, I guess I understand the Hoopla- to a point.  I see the way my engaged friends are completely engrossed in wedding plans.  I gag my way through facebook statuses that count down days until the big day, and I admit that if wedding photos are posted on facebook I can not, not look.  But this is a little much.  I am not excited about an unseen photo of the future princess buying a sundress.  I do not care that Prince William spent Easter with the Middleton family and didn't help with the dishes- really? Women all over the world can not get their Electrician husbands to help with the dishes and we are supposed to be shocked that the Fricken Prince didn't belly up to the sink?... 

Normally I am really into weddings.  I love the idea of a celebration of love and any excuse to get drunk and watch overweight people do the electric slide is good for me, however the over the top-ness of this wedding loses my interest.  Lets face it when I watch wedding shows where the people are not royalty- I can comment on the dress and compare it to what I may want when and if I ever get the chance.  I can say- Ohhh I love those center pieces- and then save that image in the folder in my brain reserved for my future wedding. 
With the Royal Wedding, it is not like I will be able to glance at the place settings adorned with the Queens Royal china and think- I wonder if she got that at Bed Bath and Beyond?  I won't be suggesting their DJ ( I know that they are not having a DJ and most likely will not be doing the Funky Chicken Dance, I am just proving a point) to any of my engaged friends or making a mental reminder to invite David and Victoria Beckham to my own celebration.   The wedding is just too far from my reality for me to really get into it.  Shedding for the Wedding, Bridezillas and My Big Friggin Wedding however- Bring It On!!!

Honestly

I have taken on a new strategy with dating Mr New that I have never really tried before.  It is called Honesty.  For those of you that have no idea what this concept is about, let me clarify.  From day one of dating Mr. New I have been honest (not lied or mislead) to the point of which I may scare him a bit. 
My theory behind this new and foreign concept to me is that Mr. New will go into the relationship knowing full on what he is signing up for.  For example, I do not sleep in pretty nighties and push up bras like the women in Two and a Half Men sleep in.  Most nights I sleep in yoga pants, socks and a sweatshirt and the chances of this changing are about as high as Charlie Sheen getting sober.  Speaking of sober- I like my wine, I like my wine a lot and have no desire to limit myself when it comes to that vice.
 I also have tendencies to be a bit jealous.  I want to believe that Mr. New has had eyes for no one else since the minute he laid his on me.  I want Mr. new to confirm this belief of mine by repeatedly stating "I have only had eyes for you, since the minute I saw you."  While we are being honest- the M word.  As in Marriage- yeah, I want it.  I also want to order the steak and mashed potatoes and not the salad. 
I don't like South Park or Pink Floyd (almost broke the deal with those two).  I do like flowers and jewelry....and vacations.  And I do like Mr. New.  I like Mr. New alot...and he knows this.  He also knows that I am not a real blond and that this flawless year round tan comes out of the blue and gold bottle that is currently on the sink in his bathroom.

Excuse Me...

Things are still wonderful with Mr New.  I still have butterflies and the plastic smell has yet to wear off.  But there is one thing.  Mr. New is not shy, he is not modest and he is not aware of the fact that I may be.  OK- I know you are thinking..her? modest?  I know I share pretty much every aspect of my life with the world (ha ha- wishful thinking that the whole world is reading Slightly Irrational..I'm picturing women in the Far East being caned for reading my blog..and that makes me smile...I know...disgusting)  but there are a few things that I would like to keep private.  My bathroom habits for example.  I should have picked up on Mr New's no privacy policy when I entered his bathroom for the first time.  Not only is there a urinal- yes a urinal, but the gigantic, beautiful, 6 shower head shower is not only door less- but curtain less as well.  I did not pick up on that immediately.  The first time I stayed the night I should have picked up on the fact that Mr New would enter the bathroom- leave the door open, go about his business all while not pausing the conversation which began before his need to relieve himself.  But Mr. New is a man- and we can even expect this behavior.  What I did not expect was for him to expect the same bold bathroom behaviors from me.  Surely if I entered the bathroom built for a King and shut the door behind me, Mr new would take that as a subtle clue of my need of a few minutes to myself.  Well folks it doesn't take the winner of Celebrity Apprentice to know what is coming next and it is not a knock.  It is an enter.  It is an enter, glance in my vulnerable direction, and then a carrying on.  I sit, stunned..nervous, uncomfortable, and totally embarrassed as Mr New nonchalantly asks me what we are doing later.  How am I to think of what we are doing later while practicing Keigals to hold my pee mid stream?  I can't think of where I would like to dine later while on the throne....and so I wait.  And eventually Mr. New, apparently bored with my bathroom going ons leaves me.  He does not shut the door but at least I am alone.  I am free to release.  I am free to quickly gather myself and exit the Kings Commode relatively unharmed..slightly emotionally scarred.

If I were a Star...

It's no secret that celebrities like Mariah Carey and Jennifer Lopez flaunt their fame by making the most ridiculous of demands when it comes to what must be in their dressing rooms/ tour busses and hotel rooms prior to their grande arrivals.  Mariah Carey has been said to bathe both herself and her dog in nothing but mineral water and needs a new toilet seat installed wherever she desides to sit her fat ass.  Jennifer Lopez requires hotel rooms to be redone from top to bottom to ensure that everything is white.  Apparently she wants herself and her husband to be the only things of color in the room.
 This makes me wonder- if I were living a life as fabulously lavish as theirs..what would I demand?  I get excited stealing little bottles of shampoo and shower caps that I will never use.  But..if I could demand anything...
I would start with Red bull.  I want 5 Redbulls.  They must be ice cold.  They also must be the non sugar free kind however, they must be in the Sugar Free can to make me believe that I am drinking something that has no calories yet does not taste like horse piss.  I would also like a TV on the ceiling, the left of the bed and the right of the bed all turned on to Jersey Shore so that I dont have to be even a little uncomfortable while watching the tornado that is Snookie.  Speaking of the bed- I would like a pillow- directly in the middle of the bed that is embroidered with "The Princess Sleeps Here".  The embroidery must be pink and it must be made by a small child in a foreign country.  I will absolutely need a sushi chef on hand at all times.  I would like him to be Japanese and okay with me calling him Dan.  In the bathroom I would like the towels to remain at 100 degrees farenheit without question.  I will also need the water running at all times in case I need to shower- as I dont want to have to touch the handle to turn it on.  The toilet seat shall be heated and adorned with a cashmere cover.  There must be rose petals floating in the water- because when I am a celebrity I know that my shit will smell like roses.  I would like a butler to follow me around at all times- reminding me of my celebrity status and hot ass.  I don't want just any butler I want it to be Gerard Butler.  Now for the fun stuff- I will need 6 bottles of Sauvignon Blanc- I would give you a name brand but I dont know of any that are more than $12.  I need 6 bottles of Prosecco and 3 bottles of Pinot Noir.  I want the bathroom faucet to dispense Cosmo's and for there to be an advil dispenser next to the soap.  It must be possible for all light to be blocked when need be.  One more thing- if I could just ensure that Charlie Sheen and his porn family are in the suite next to mine- I will be all set!

Mr. New and His Newness

I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have not been in a coma for the last month and a half…I have been relishing in the happiness that a new relationship can bring. I apologize for abandoning you but my mind has been quite occupied. I have been busy with butterflies, perma- grins, and dinner dates. It has been about a month and a half now and I am beginning to wonder- how long can the Newness last? And when the plastic smell begins to fade will the perma-grins and butterflies cease to exist? Will the real world ruin this wonderful feeling that I am thoroughly enjoying?

Will the cute little snore that Mr. New wakes me with become a reason for me to sleep in the guest room? Will the reassuring hand holding become a thing of the past? Will the sexercise that has caused me to lose 7 pounds be replaced with headaches and fake sleeping? Will cuddling on the couch transform in to “my chair” and “his chair.” And, is there anything that we can do to ensure that the newness lingers?

I cannot control what Mr. New does, but I can try my best to keep the newness alive. I have learned from previous relationships that daily stresses can really take their toll. I don’t want the newness of Mr. New to go away but more importantly, I don’t want Mr. New to go away.

It’s funny. In the beginning of a relationship- one that has promise and feels so good, I think about the future. I would not pursue a relationship if I didn’t feel that there were possibilities of it being the real thing. And yet as I look into the future the back of my mind is telling me to slow down and enjoy the beginning. The beginning is amazing. It is unlike anything else- including the middle and the end. The success of the beginning is also detrimental to the outcome of the middle and the determination of whether there will be an end. And again, I digress.

I will do my best to fight my internal over thoughts. I will do my best to think about the here and now. Because in all honesty, the here and now…right here…right now…is blissful.

Bad Press

Apparently I have an Un Fan- below is a comment received on my last post:

you're fucking bonkers. please buy a journal...and see a therapist who specializes in personality disorders... your sniveling is more than obnoxious, it's revolting. and yet you seem amused by yourself. a true narcissist. pathetic. do your poor child a favor and get help fast.

Being the narccissist that I have been acused of being here is how I am going to take the negativitity thrown at me.  When I see a commercial for Victoria's Secret- ones where the models are 6ft tall weigh 100 lbs and have DD bra sizes and softball size asses I say " She isn't even pretty".  When I watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and see women with 8 houses, no jobs and 4 nannies I say "I wouldn't even want all that money".  When someone tells me that their child has slept through the night since birth, was potty trained at 18 months and has never said a bad word- I immediatly assume that the parent is a delusional psycopath and that the child will end up in juvie by their 16th b-day.  I am not proud of these thoughts.  I know that I make them because it makes me feel better to think that no one can be perfectly beautiful, happily rich, or have done everything right in the parenting department.  My "hater" has a hard time with my honesty.  My "hater" apparently can't stand my writing, my humor or my ability to poke fun at myself.  My "hater" should stop reading my blog because I am not a narcissist, nor am I pathetic and my child loves his Mamma.  What I am is honestly just a funny bitch with a talent for writing :-) If I do say so myself!