It's the Happy Bloggyversary Giveaway Post!

Happy Bloggyversary, Wifers!

It all started a year ago on September 1...A Day in the Wife was born on Blogger! 

My first post was the beginning of my Blogger life, so I decided to commemorate the great poet of our time, the one in spangly tops and tight lycra pants, the one who told the tale of immigrants on the boats and on the planes, comin' to America...the one, the only, Neil Diamond.    Neil was with me when no one was...from 0 followers, when no one Brought Me Flowers, up to 202 one year later, when you turned on your Heart Light.  Hello again, Hello, Wifers.  Because do I have a deal for you!

Introducing the Happy Bloggyversary Giveaway!

"Oooh, oooh, what can I win Julie?"

Well let me tell you what will be included 

in this ADITW commemorative prize package:

1. A copy of "Good Enough to Eat" 

by Stacey Ballis (have you pre-ordered your own copy yet?  

Only five days left...)  One of the best prizes, really.

2. A copy of "Bitter is the New Black" 

by Jen Lancaster so you can start 

your own stalking adventure!

Also an excellent prize.

3. "What happens tonight goes on Facebook tomorrow" napkins, 

regifted from a friend.  I think they are so funny 

that I can't bear to break them open, so they must be shared.

4. One pound of Starbucks coffee, from one junkie to another.  

 I personally recommend Komodo Dragon, but to each her own.

5. A "French Toast" bread press, 

cousin to the Holy Toast press featured on this blog

6. A framed photo of George the Superpet, 

complete with a creepy lock of fur.

7. A framed companion photo of Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein.

8. A custom-made evil mural by Youngest Daughter.  She will cut you.

9.  A "mix-tape" (on CD) of songs featured on the blog, 

including songs by Ok Go, band of my 

adolescent music crush Damian Kulash.

10.  Inclusion on my 2010 Christmas card list, 

where I list our failures and disappointments for the year.

(Above is 2004 Christmas card pic)

11.  Anne Taintor postcard magnet.

12.  Assorted other items I may be trying to get rid of
 

13.  Things I might have stolen

"Julie the Wife, how do I get involved in this 

ridiculously bad giveaway?"  I'm glad you asked!

Here is how it works:

One grand prize winner will receive all of the above items.  One second place winner will also receive copies of the Stacey Ballis and Jen Lancaster books.  Both winners will be featured in a phony blog written about their cross-country adventure taken last summer in their convertible 2008 VW bug, or their slumber party with Alice and Rosalie and Bella, or their Christmas with Chuck Norris, or an equivalent story.  The contest is open from this very second until midnight on September 15, 2010 CST.  Prizes will be sent by September 30.

How do you play?

Every comment posted between now and September 15 on either the A Day In The Wife blog or on the ADITW Facebook page gives you one entry.  Get a new follower of ADITW on Facebook or the blog and have them comment that you sent them, and you will get three entries.  I will record the drawing of the names and post the video on You Tube, embedded on the blog, so you can see my surprise and joy at the names drawn.  My attorney will be present at the drawing so it seems legal and aboveboard, but we might be enjoying a glass of wine, which negates the legitimacy but creates a sense of occasion.  Only one comment per day will count toward the contest, but I always love to hear from you.

Beyond the contests and all of that sort of hullaballoo, let me take a moment to thank you all, dear readers, for this bloggy adventure.  It has been fun seeing your names pop up on the comments and gathering the flock.  You have weathered the best of posts and the worst of posts.  You have stumbled drunk with me to see Jen Lancaster and watched my daughter puke on my feet.  You have endured FORTY Whoreticulture Fridays.  It is these things and more that, in the immortal words of James Taylor, make me want to STOP.  And thank you, baby.  Happy Bloggyversary!  Thanks for reading!

Smooches and inappropriate innuendo to you all,

My True Gap Rewards

On Saturday morning, I packed up Youngest Daughter and we took off on a five-hour car trip to Omaha, Nebraska.  I grew up outside of Omaha, but once my sister and I started having children, my parents decided to move 24 hours away to the Southernmost tip of Texas.  After 13 summers of 110 degree temps coupled with 100% humidity, my parents decided to buy a house on the Elkhorn River near Omaha so they could summer up north.  And who doesn't dream about a summer home in Nebraska?

One of the few benefits to this very long, very drawn out car ride is the Gap Outlet located about 90 minutes to my west.  I am a total Gap Girl - my uniform is khaki pants, capris or shorts, coupled with various colored t-shirts and cardigans.  Armed with my $10 Rewards coupon and my Gap Visa, I pulled into the outlet center.  Fifteen minutes later, I was checking out with around $100 worth of stuff, when I see other shoppers pulling out a computer printout with their Friends and Family coupons on them for an additional 30% off.  DOH!  I forgot about that!  And mine is sitting in my computer inbox, all lonesome.  No worries, the guy at the register tells me I can get a price adjustment within 7 days of purchase.  I'll just swing back in on my way home, and voila!  Let the savings commence!

We drove to my parents' place, saw my sister and her daughter, and had a lovely time.  There is nothing like falling asleep in a second floor room surrounded with open windows, hearing the cottonwood leaves rustling in the cool nighttime breeze.  Perfect sleeping weather.  Add that to the fact that YD spent the night at her cousin's house and I had a full bed to myself, and I give the night an A++.  I woke to Mom brewing coffee and the birds singing....it's too much bliss!

I was lucky enough to see two of my high school friends (the ones who removed my skin tag) and I have pictures, but I can't post them because my laptop is still virused out and I don't know how to upload pics on our main computer...or I am too lazy to figure it out.  Anyway, my friend printed a Gap 30% Friends and Family coupon on her computer.  After a couple of hours at the pool with them, I took off with just enough time to make it into the door of The Gap to do my biznez with them.  I start driving and just outside of Omaha, YD falls asleep.  Could it be going any more smoothly?

About 30 minutes away from The Gap, YD wakes up and starts whimpering.  Her stomach hurts.  When are we going to stop?  I tell her we are stopping in 30 minutes and she can make it, because YD frequently invokes the Hurting Stomach privilege in the car to force us to pull over and eventually get her a snack and drink.  Soon, YD is actually crying.  "You know all of those times when I lie about my stomach hurting?  This is NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES!"  I tell her we will pull over in 10 minutes, and I start scouting the road for prospective pull over sites.  I have nothing.  I'm in Eastern Iowa on Interstate 80 with about five billion truckers driving 18-wheelers 20 miles over the speed limit with a narrow shoulder.  It's getting worse.  I'm thinking to myself, "Stay calm.  She is not really that sick, it's just car sickness, and when she gets out of the car she will be fine."  

I look at the clock.  The Gap closes in 15 minutes, and I can only do this transaction at this particular Gap Outlet, which is 90 minutes west of my house.  YD is whimpering.  The exit appears.  Thank you, Jesus!  We pull into the parking lot with 10 minutes to spare.  I get YD out of the car and ask her how she is doing.  She says she's okay, but her tummy still hurts.


ME:  "Do you need to go to the bathroom?  Will that help?"
YD:  "No.  It just hurts."
ME:  "Does it hurt like a stabby pain or a dull pain?"
YD:  "It just hurts."
ME:  "Is there anything that sounds good, like a water?"
YD:  "No.  Nothing sounds good.  It just hurts."
ME:  "Can you make it into the Gap?  Mommy will NOT SHOP.  I am only returning these pants.  Can you do it?"
YD:  "Let's go before they close."
Atta girl!


We go in, and I go to the young clerk.  I say to her, "I want to return these khakis, and then I want to use this coupon to get my 30% off adjustment on the balance."  I know this is what I said.  She took the khakis, returned them, and then rang them up again at 30% off and handed them back to me.  "There, you saved $6!"  Thanks for playing, but that's not what I said.  This turned into 5 minutes of me explaining what I wanted.  The manager had to come over.  She said, "Who told you to come back?" and I said, "I don't know who it was.  It was the guy who had a Gap nametag and was on that side of the counter."  The woman smiled at me in pity and said, "Well next time, just ask if we have an extra coupon, because he could've just rung it up for you with the discount the first time."


Oh.  Thanks.  Because I left Nebraska early just so I could drive four hours to make it here on time with my carsick kid.  No worries.  NEXT TIME I will know what to do.  And I will start doing that in every store I visit.  We finally got the transaction done, and YD and I walked out of the door into the parking lot, where she stopped in her tracks and power vomited all over the Gap Outlet parking lot.


YD looked up at me, her eyes bugged out a bit, vomit in her hair, on her legs, on her shoes, on my shoes, and she said, "I thought that lady would NEVER stop talking."


And that, my friends, is my true Gap Reward.  Because the mom who drags her carsick child into the Gap to save an extra $25 in the middle of a long car trip perhaps deserves to be vomited on.  So sorry YD, and from now on, I will believe every stomach ache is a real one.

 

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 40

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or bosses. Really, I wrote this at home. I save trolling the Internet for porn for the workplace.

Today's topic: Auto Erotic Crime

Oh holy crap.  I've really done it this time.  It's midnight, officially Friday.  Here is what I needed to do before the clock struck 12, in no particular order:

• e-mail my sister
• shower
• finish a freelance job for a corporate client
• blog
• finish "The Girl Who Played With Fire"
• get lunches and coffee ready for tomorrow morning
• pay bills

Since I've always had lifelong issues with prioritizing, here is what I've been doing for the last three hours:

• finishing "The Girl Who Played With Fire"

Damn you, Steig Larsson.  (Since he has died, I will rescind that comment.)  I keep telling myself that all of the sadistic sex in the books turns me away from them, and then I keep coming back, like a mom to soccer practice.  It is midnight.  I've finished the book, and nothing else.  What shall I do next on the list?  Blog, of course.

The problem is that I have to finish all of the other things on my list because I'm driving five hours to Nebraska (hold your snarky comments, I am a native, Go Big Red) on Saturday morning to visit my parents and sister and friends for about 20 hours before I have to drive five hours back home in time to go back to work.  Ugh. I really hate weekends like that, and while I used to road trip with the best of them (14 hours to visit future CH at school?  No problem!  This is why God made Mountain Dew and the song Radar Love!), I can no longer tolerate driving more than about 2 hours before my granny hips start to hurt and I get tired and ready for my meds and pureed peaches and sponge bath from the nice nurses.

With my eyes to the road trip, it was interesting that my friend Heather e-mailed this story to me tonight:
WOMAN NABBED FOR AUTO EROTIC SEX CRIME


Go ahead.   Take a moment to read the story.  You won't regret it.  


Are you done?  Good.  Can you believe this story?  WHO SPENDS THE MONEY TO GET THE WINDOWS TINTED ON A PONTIAC?  What is wrong with her?  That is a crime against the auto industry.  The Pontiac was perfect exactly the way it was when it rolled off the assembly line in 2008, there was no need to desecrate this fine vehicle in this manner.


I can relate to everything else she did.  Who among us hasn't unbuttoned their pants on a long car trip?  I don't know about you, but as soon as that Quarter Pounder Value Meal hits that stomach acid, I start to blow up like Mama Cass.  It's time to release the hounds.  And hey, as long as your pants are unbuttoned and you are driving across a boring stretch of road, say I-80 between Des Moines and Omaha, what better time to kill some clock and take out your vibrator?  If you have to make the drive, you might as well enjoy the ride - am I right or am I right?  Because if you are watching porn, it's almost IMPERATIVE that you use your vibrator.  Really people, this is elementary.  If I wasn't meant to watch porn while I'm driving, then why did the car makers start INSTALLING DVD players IN the cars?  And if I'm not meant to watch porn off of the laptop of my companion, then why did they make passenger seats in the front by the driver?  Everyone knows the co-pilot does nothing but distract a driver, whether by changing the station to Sean Hannity or falling asleep and drooling on themselves or turning on a XXX movie on their laptop.  Porn, of course, is what I almost always want to watch after taking a hit off of my crack pipe.  I mean Christ, have YOU ever driven across Western Iowa and Eastern Nebraska?  Sometimes all the Fountain Mountain Dew in the world just ain't gonna cut it.  And what makes me want to hit the crack?


You guessed it.  Tinted windows.  Because when your car is that dark and private, it just doesn't make sense NOT to smoke some crack, eat a Quarter Pounder (they ARE crackalicious), unbutton my pants, and use my vibrator while watching porn on the lap of my passenger.  While driving.  Because I am a MOTHER, dammit, and we are MULTI-TASKERS.  I bet she signed her kids' planners and returned some library books and applied mascara in that 15 minutes too, but the police didn't write those things up because they are not technically "illegal".  


So three cheers for Colly Crackberry.  Way to keep it real.  We at Whoreticulture Friday honor you.

A quick shout-out to Current Husband - today was our 15th anniversary!

 How many wives blog about their privacy-loving husbands?

 You lucky son of a bitch.

 

Hooked on Acid

Some people are hooked on the classics.

Some kids are hooked on phonics.

Today, I became addicted to acid.

No, silly, I'm not talking about the drugs!  I'm talking about paying someone to purposefully rub acid all over your face to peel off dead skin!  Doesn't that sound better?  (Let me preface this post by saying that OF COURSE I am going to Parent Teacher Conferences, don't beat me up.)

Let's get in the not-so-way-back machine.  My attorney, who is a fantastic friend even when she isn't bearing gifts, gave me a lovely gift card to my favorite spa (well, okay, my ONLY spa, really, and usually I just get my hair cut) Five Star Salon & Spa, which I highly recommend if you are winging through the Quad Cities area.  My attorney intended for me to get a pedicure, but when she discovered I had never experienced the facials at Five Star, she steered me on the proper path to Frank Costanza's Serenity Now.

I called and booked my appointment, and found that the special of the month was a free upgrade to a facial peel, and would I like one?  You had me at Free.  I was feeling the bliss already, and then I took a moment to look at my calendar.  I thought I had bucked the system...in addition to the new full-time job, Monday is cello, dance and football, Tuesday is football and maybe another cello session, Wednesday is piano and dance, Thursday is football, and Friday is usually full of one of their social obligations.  I know, you're saying "Well that's your own damn fault, your kids are overbooked".  As much as I would love to agree with you, we let them pick two activities outside of school, and one has to be music and one has to be exercise-related.  Two activities times three kids equals pain in the ass at night.  It is my fault and I acknowledge that fact, but it makes it hard to book anything during the week, plus there is always homework, dinner, and that ever-elusive family time.  I booked the appointment, happy that most of our activities start NEXT week and I had dodged THAT bullet, and 48 hours later discovered I had booked my appointment on my kids' elementary school curriculum night.

Crapola.

I called the spa the next day, so sorry, the only day I had open in the next two weeks was already booked solid. Hmmm.  Facial vs. Curriculum Night.  Curriculum Night vs. Facial.

"Is there ANY chance I can get in next Tuesday?  It's Curriculum Night at my kids' school."  I asked.

"I'm so sorry, we really are booked that night."  She smiled apologetically and looked at me for an answer.  Should I give it up?  I could always try again in September.  Oh.  Nope. September is booked with things I will go into later.  But October has possibilities....

"Damn.  This would be the first Curriculum Night I've missed."

"I'm curious...what do they DO at Curriculum Night?" the girl asked.

"Well, you meet the teacher, they talk for 30 minutes about what your child will be learning, and then you look around the school."

"Have you met your kids' teachers?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Have you looked around the school?"

"Um...yeah."

"Have you had other kids in these grades?"  

"yes," I said meekly.  "I'll keep the appointment."  I am so going to Mommy hell.  The girl smiled broadly and patted my hand.  "You won't regret it."

And she was wrong.  I did regret it.  Terribly.  I was being eaten up with guilt.  First I run out and get a full-time job.  Then I make OD watch her younger sibs for the last two weeks of summer.  Then I sort of stopped cooking.  Now I'm bailing on the first parent night of the year.  To get a facial.  June Cleaver stood next to me, her gloved hands crossed, tsking and shaking her head.

I also started worrying about the acid on my face for the facial.  Every time I get my lip waxed, I sport this pink Hitler mustache for a few hours afterward.  I told my co-worker I was getting a peel, and she said, "That sounds like it's going to hurt".  Yes.  Yes it did.  As I left work today I told her that if I showed up for work in a burqua tomorrow, something had gone terribly wrong.

I know.  Just like Samantha.

I walked into Five Star tonight still feeling bad about missing the school event.  "I should be at the school," I thought.  They called me upstairs, and A met me as I was finishing my water.  "Hi!" she said.  "Hi.  This is what I want to look like when this is over."  I held up this month's Elle magazine, which was sitting on the waiting room table:

 "You wouldn't believe how many people say that," she said.

So now I'm a bad mother AND unoriginal.  

 The facial began, and I stared at the ceiling and thought about my kids.  And then I thought about how great the cleanser smelled.  And then I thought about how nice the steam was on my face.  And then I thought about how lovely it is to have one's face massaged.  And then she put on the acid, and I thought, "That isn't so bad," and she said, "How is it?" and I said, "I can feel it tingling" and she said "Great, I'll let that work for a few minutes" and about 30 seconds later it morphed from tingling to a slight burn to a bigger burn to a rather burny burn and I thought "My God, this is what Bella felt like when Edward injected the venom in her heart, where is she?  Make it stop!" but I sat like a good, rigid, uptight girl who wants to look like Julia Roberts and won't look a gift card in the mouth.

In what was probably two minutes but felt like twenty, Firestarter came back and wiped all of the liquid propane off of me.  She then put a fabulously hot washcloth around my face, and some cool pads on my eyes, and she massaged my neck, shoulders and arms, and I thought about how much I love my attorney friend, but in a purely platonic way.  As quickly as it started, it was over.  Over?!?  NOOOO!!!!!

I looked in the mirror, and didn't see any open wounds or even red burns.  I actually saw glowy looking smooth skin.  Even my one throwback-to-thirteen zit I was sporting by my nose looked pretty and decorative.  I wasn't Julia Roberts, but I was a pretty damn good version of Julie The Wife.  I turned and asked Firestarter the one thing I needed to know:


"What are you doing during Parent - Teacher conferences?"

Because if I'm going down, I'm going down in flames.

I'm like Roger Ebert, but with a uterus.

This week, I saw a bunch of movies.  For me, anyway.

Most people with kids go through a drought where they don't see anything that isn't G-Rated for about five to eight years, depending on how many kids they have and what meds said kids are taking.  I've come out on the other side, and now I am a bit of a movie connoisseur, if I may say so myself.  This weekend's selections will show my range.

Mmm.  Gelato.

I really enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love.  Of course, I would have enjoyed it if the projector had broken and I had to sit for two hours because I was with a large bag of peanut M&Ms, a huge Diet Coke, and my attorney.  We could have a two hour conversation, uninterrupted by any of our five collective children, and I'd put that in the Win column.  However, the movie did come on, and I did feel a slight depression at seeing how Julia is two years older than I, and yet can pack away plate after plate of spaghetti and look svelte and utterly luminous.  I know, I know, filthy rich, personal trainer, yadda yadda, but STILL, she is just lovely, really.

I liked the book by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I loved Italy, got a little restless in India, and started skimming in Indonesia.  I hate to say it, but I thought Liz got a little bit whiny, and maybe we all have our moments of crying on the bathroom floor (not me, mine is a little dirty for that - I prefer to cry next to the wine rack) but it gets a bit awkward to read about it.  The movie somehow manages to take away some of the whine, or maybe Julia Roberts just makes sleeping on the floor or complaining about not eating good lunches appealing.  Maybe I just want to hang out with Julia Roberts and this has nothing to do with Eat, Pray, Love being a good movie.  I would like to be besties with Julia and borrow all of her clothes and jewelry and eat gelato with her in Italy.  Jen Lancaster and Stacey Ballis are welcome to come as well.  Fletch can drive us and carry our luggage and scout good bars for us.  Sorry CH, someone has to get the kids to school.  Oh, you're all still here?  Sorry.

  Oh yes, I've stooped this low

I think I've mentioned that I have a Twilight problem, in that I ain't quittin' them books.  I do love them.  Stephenie Meyer, you earned every dollar of the $40 million you pulled down this year without even publishing a book.  I see other writers criticize her writing and her style, etc etc., but with sales of over 100 million books for the Twilight series I think she may be onto something.  

ANYHOO, I took Oldest Daughter and The Son to Vampires Suck today with a friend and her OD and Her Son and we watched a fairly funny parody of Twilight.  How hard is it to make fun of Twilight?  SPOILER ALERT - Skip this italicized dialogue of my favorite part if you are going to see the movie:

Becca Crane and Edward Sullen have left Sporks High School and are standing in the woods. She is confronting him about what kind of monster he is.

BECCA:  "You have pale skin.  You dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex.  I know what you are."

EDWARD:  "Say it.  Out loud.  Say it."
BECCA:  "Jonas Brother."

I thought that was about the funniest damn thing ever.  Plus, I had a big box of Dots and a huge Diet Coke, so again, terrific movie.  I'll grant you that many of the jokes were lame, but overall it was a pretty good rip on the Twilight franchise.

 Party time!  Excellent!

The third movie I watched this weekend was Wayne's World.  I was in the car with OD and The Son and Bohemian Rhapsody came on, so we all sang full throttle.  I mentioned to them the part in Wayne's World where the guys all headbang to Bohemian Rhapsody, and the kids wanted to watch it.  I got all excited - this is where I can introduce my children to pop culture!  How exciting!  It will bring us all closer!  

We do Netflix or Redbox, but I figured this was a Blockbuster stop if I wanted it immediately.  I was reminded rather quickly why we do Netflix - I had to show my membership card, my driver's license, pay with my debit card, and then remember to bring it back in 48 hours or I would be charged $1 a day.  Netflix has spoiled me.  The Good Shepherd has been sitting in its Netflix envelope for two weeks, and you know what?  THAT'S OKAY.  This is Wayne's World people, not Inception.  They should lend it out for $1 and shrug if you don't bring it back.

We start the movie.  The kids are excited.  About 30 minutes into it, they start looking at me, confused.  Another 20 minutes later and they're both like, "This is lame".  OD left the room to text someone, and The Son started sighing alot, but stuck around.  I had no Dots or large soda, so this was kind of a bust.

The next day,  The Son and I make a trip to Target.  We pick up a few things, and when we are pulling out of the parking lot, I see a college-aged girl in a khaki skirt and t-shirt.  I say, "She's really pretty" and The Son, without missing a beat, says, "Schwing!"  I step on the brakes and look at him, incredulous.  "Did you just say that?"  He is blushing beet red, but laughing hysterically, and says, "Yes!" and then, "You made me watch that movie!"  I start driving again, and say, "Would you say the same thing about Giada?" and he says, seriously this time, "Absolutely".  I found out some time ago that my children were staying up late and watching Food Network, and The Son has a huge crush on Giada de Laurentis.  For an 11-year-old, he has excellent taste.

My future daughter-in-law.  

Hello, Thanksgiving dinner! Schwing!

Have you seen a good (or bad) movie lately?  Share with the Wifers what's what in the theater right now.  Happy Monday!

Oh, one more thing...George the Superpet is a finalist in the top 20 of W. Bruce Cameron's dog contest on A Dog's Purpose...click below to vote for George to win it all!  He may not have his balls anymore, but he does still have his pride:

Vote for George the Superpet!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 39

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or bosses.  Really, I wrote this at home.  I save trolling the Internet for porn for the workplace.

Today's topic: Me (because that's so different from other days.)

Conversation with Current Husband at 9:38 p.m. tonight

ME:  "I'm so tired.  I still feel groggy from my Tylenol PM last night."

CH:  "Go to bed."

ME:  "I shouldn't have used, but I was too wired from the Diet Coke and Dots in the movie."

CH:  "Go to bed."

ME:  "It's Thursday night.  I have to do Whoreticulture Friday yet."

CH:  "Uh, the world won't stop if you don't blog."

ME:  "Mom and her two co-workers will be disappointed."

CH:  "Your mom retired last week."

ME:  "Well then I'm down to one reader and she's bored, so I can't risk it."

CH:  "I'm going to bed."

ME:  "Bastard."

And then I got on the computer, intending to write, but I had to quickly get on Twitter and send messages to The Bloggess (whose adorable pug, Barnaby Jones, died a few hours ago, so send her some love) and to Fletch, because stalkers who slack miss out on vital information.  Then I sent mass e-mails so I get more entries in the Stennifer Lunch contest (Good Enough To Eat - pre-order your copy now!) because going through Stacey's garbage alone isn't going to get me a seat at that lunch table.  Or that amazing necklace she wears on her website.  (She won't give it up, I've already asked.)  Talked to a couple of friends on Facebook, and badda bom badda bing, it's 11 p.m. and I haven't written one whorish word.

crickets....crickets....crickets...

I've NEVER had a problem with topics for Whoreticulture Friday, and then I realized the problem...it's ME!  Because I don't want the people at work to realize that I am not the pristine, well-presented girl I want them to *think* I am.  Inside of those Banana Republic pants and Gap shirts is a mother of three with the mouth of a trucker.  I keep my 'Ms. Jackson If You're Nasty' personae under wraps, away from my kids, co-workers, and some neighbors.  But Fridays I can usually let it all hang out.  Until this one.

Without going into great detail, let me say that I also blame Mike from American Pickers (Watch it Mondays at 8 CST on History Channel!)  He and his ladyfriend told my new boss about my blog, which I had sort of neglected to mention in my interview.  I knew it would probably come out eventually, but not less than a week into the job!  So she asked for the address this week, and now I sit, thinking something along the lines of this....

"Well.  You can't do the blog about how you and CH like nooners, because every time you come back from lunch she will think you were out having sex and now you'll never be able to have nooners again because she can see the archives where I talk about nooners, so between that and the kids being home the rest of the time you can't have sex for another 11 years.  You can't do the one about how you had the owner of a very nice restaurant over for Hamburger Helper and proceeded to tell him about The Shocker (it's hardcore, you may not want to go there) until he squealed like a girl and put his hands over his ears and said NO MORE I CAN'T HEAR ANY MORE but then went to work the next day and asked everyone about it and as he left our house he said CH and I are like Jr. High kids who are legal to drink.  (we were flattered) You can't do the one about the friend who knows a housewife who trolls the Internet to meet strangers in cities around the country to have sex.  You can't do the one about the friend who accidentally left a tampon in and had to have a doctor remove it a week later.  You can't do the one about the dogs getting stuck together.  Queefs.  Taints.  NOTHING.  Because your boss might read it.  And she's cool and probably wouldn't care, but STILL.  I do possess some small measure of public humility.

It's one thing to write about vibrators and Brazilians and such and go on your happy anonymous way.  It's quite another to write about CH saying "You look like you want me to bend you over" and then saying, "So how was your weekend?" to someone who knows about the bending.

So now l have a dilemma.  Will I be c***blocked forever, or can I work through it to everyone's ultimate satisfaction?  (Oh how I adore innuendo.)  Will we be able to adopt a "don't ask about the blog/don't tell about the blog" policy at work?  

My other dilemma?  It's 11:40 p.m. and I am really dead.  Stay tuned to see if there is an Issue 40 of WTF....oh, and welcome to my boss!  See you tomorrow!  Let's pretend this never happened, okay?

 

The Sound of Silence

"Hello darkness my old friend...

I've come to talk with you again..."

I wish I could play that song on my blog, but alas, those day have come to an end.  I've read over and over how people hate it when your blog starts with the auto-play on music.  I once had another blogger visit A Day in the Wife and proceed to send me an e-mail outlining everything that was wrong with my blog:

• hate the music, and so do your followers
• don't like word verification on comments
• too hard to find my e-mail address
• I was too "small time"

...and then she ended it by saying, "You're killing me, Smalls".  All I did to open myself up to this was leave a comment on her blog that one of her posts was funny.  Her blog has over 600 followers, so I think she thought she was doing me a big favor, but I thought to myself, "That's IT, I am auto-playing music FOREVER!"  Because you know why I write this blog?  It's not to win an award.  It's not to get more followers than anyone else.  It's not to impress people (CLEARLY!!!)  It's because I like to write, and I think everyday life is funny.  And nothing I say is terribly original to me, it's only sometimes funny because this is stuff that happens to everyone in some way, shape or form.  I also happen to like my followers.  You're funny people.

But do you notice how this Smalls Talk happened about four months ago, and it's still on my mind?  At least I'm not bitter, right!?

Anyhoo...the other day, Stacey Ballis posted something on Twitter that was funny, and since I am now stalking her, I was going to respond with a Vanilla Ice comment.  Since I like to be accurate when I quote Vanilla Ice, I went to playlist.com and searched for the song "Ice Ice Baby".   When I hit Play, my computer went "All right, Stop!" and promptly downloaded a virus and literally stopped.  This is the fourth time I've picked up a virus on my laptop, which only started happening when I started getting music for the blog from playlist, and so, I bid playlist.com a fair adieu.  It's sad, really, because I love music and it's been such a fun tongue-in-cheek thing to put a matching song with a blog post, but Saturday was the day the music died.  My laptop is still not working, so I have to use Current Husband's computer at night.

The other person affected by my dying laptop is Youngest Daughter.  She is a big gaming junkie, and loves to play Club Penguin, Nick Jr., Disney, Webkinz, and Class Brain, all of whom can be suspected of sending viruses, or at least loads of spyware, to my computer.  Every day, YD asks if she can play my computer, and every day I have to tell her no.  She gets very sad and then walks away to read Captain Underpants books, which I suppose is the lesser of two evils.

Last night, YD and I made a Sam's Club run.  School has started, so I needed bread, lunchmeat, chips, fruit, carrots, juice boxes, cereal, waffles, after school snacks, and caffeine in various forms.  We spent about $250, a full cart night, and on the way home we were listening to the radio when the ad came on for Double My Speed Dot Com.  The people were giving their testimonials about how they went to Double My Speed Dot Com and their computers are now miraculously like new - the cynic in me says that all of their passwords and account numbers have been downloaded as well.  Pretty soon, a small voice pipes up from the carseat in the back:

"Oh great, NOW you tell us, after we've wasted all of this money on food!"

There she is, the Child of 2010, who would rather play Club Penguin than eat.  Super.  I've made my child into an Internet junkie.  "And the people bowed and prayed...to the neon God they made...."  Do you think I'll get Mother of the Year?  There it is again...The Sound of Silence.

Happy Hump Day!  (Ooh, I want to play "Humpty Dance" now...do the Humpty Hump...)

I Sort of Love Mondays

Hello Wifers and Happy Monday to you!

Oh yes, I'm annoyingly cheerful this morning because it is the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!
(It is actually Sunday night at 9:20 p.m., but I can see into the future, and YES!  Yes, I am happily walking away from the school after dropping my highly adorable children there to be someone else's problem for six hours.  Thank you, Public School System.

Since I am 100 pages from the end of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I am jonesing to go to bed and finish that bad boy.  It's pretty good - I cringed in a spot of sexual abuse, it never fails to annoy me when I'm reading a good thriller and they have to throw some sadistic sex in, but I worked through it and now I can't put the damn book down.

A quick recap of the weekend:  

• Got home from work Friday and Current Husband had ordered pizza.  I don't care if he cooks the meal, as long as the meal has been arranged.  Points for you, CH.  You have been a trouper with the job thing.  (Is it "trouper" or "trooper"?  I don't know.)
• Woke up early on Saturday morning, loaded two younger children in van, picked up friend and her two kids and drove to Chicago to see Shrek the Musical at the Cadillac Theater.  We ate heavenly sandwiches and lemon bars at Corner Bakery.  We took the kids to slide down the elephant sculpture downtown.  We saw a most excellent show.  We got out of downtown without getting lost and missing the exit to I-290.  The sky was blue, the weather was perfect, it was a slice of heaven.  We saw an actual cloud with a silver lining, and when the Low Fuel light came on and a child said "I need to go to the bathroom" simultaneously, the sign appeared that said DEKALB OASIS - 1 MILE.  The clouds parted, the angels wept, and I got a skinny vanilla latte.  Thank you, Jesus.
• Today, I slept in.  I read some of my book.  I had coffee made by CH.  I took the girls to get Back to School pedicures (YD just got her nails painted with flowers, my shade was I'm Not A Waitress) and Taco Bell. Got home and CH said "Let's just the two of us go out for margaritas and chips and queso dip".  And so we did.  And then we got home and had a little din with the kiddos and I went for a walk with The Son and YD and George the Superpet, and I didn't even care when he took a colossal crap in someone's yard and I had to carry it around the neighborhood in a bag, because Mr. Bluebird was on my shoulder.
• Tonight, kids in bed ON TIME, pre-made tomorrow morning's coffee, everyone's outfits are laid out, I am pre-showered.  

So now I'm waiting.  Because obviously the IRS is going to call with an audit or our fridge will break or I will get a yeast infection, because really, I'm not used to things going this smoothly.  And maybe, just maybe, I thrive on a little bit of drama.  That's as close as I'm going to get to admitting I am a drama queen.

I'm taking my Waitress/Hooker nails to bed to finish Dragon Tattoo.  Have a terrific day and an excellent week, and I'm sure by Wednesday's blog some kind of hell will have broken loose.  Until then!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 38

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or DAUGHTERS OF FRIENDS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! GO BACK TO FACEBOOK! NOW! I MEAN IT! Or so help me God I will tell your mother.

Today's topic: Classified Adultery

Okay, I decided to write about something a little less naughty this week since I lost FIVE followers after the MILF post last week, which quite frankly, I didn't think was as bad as some of the other Fridays. I'm not necessarily a slave to followers, I write what I like to write, but it stings a little when there is a mass exodus. Let's talk about something less shocking, like songs from the 1970's.

The other day I was transported back to my '70s childhood when I found a radio station playing the soundtrack of my youth.  You remember the '70s, right?  Here are the songs I remember and love:

• Up, Up and Away (In My Beautiful Balloon)
• Lay Lady Lay
• What is Life?
• Love the One You're With
• Escape (The Pina Colada Song)

Do you realize most of these songs are about swinging?  And it's the last one that I heard on the radio the other day.  And it really pissed me off.  It starts off with the groovy beat, and then kicks off with "I was tired of my lady...."  Well buddy, you weren't such a catch yourself, because GUESS WHAT?  She was advertising to replace YOUR ass FIRST.  Stay down!  Eat sand!

 Yes Rupert, this is EXACTLY how I pictured you.  

I'd be taking out an ad too.

If I was his 'lovely lady' who walked into the bar at the end and said "Oh it's you", I think instead I would have conveniently forgotten that I placed the ad first and instead said, "What the hell are you doing placing an ad to meet women?!  And why are you ruining my date?"  I think what this song really proves is that Craig's List was around WAY before computers. 

I'm sorry, Rupert, but if you're that sick of someone, go to counseling, break up or get a divorce.  Don't waste their time.  While you're out writing your personal ad to hook up with someone else, did you stop to think for a second that maybe they're not that into you either?    I know about half of you out there cheat, I get it, I see how it can be really tempting or the forbidden sex can be really hot.  But isn't that what high school and college are for?  To get it out of your system?

In honor of the 31st birthday of this song next month, I am going to rewrite it.  

Escape (The Margarita Song), rewritten by Julie The Wife.

I was tired from my children- they hadn't slept in so long
They make me listen to Rihanna, instead of my favorite songs
While the old man lay sleeping, I tucked the kids in bed
I logged on to Craig's List, here's what I said:


"If you will mix margaritas, ignore the weight that I gain,
If you pay for my yoga, and get out Kool Aid stains
If you can make love in under 10 minutes
And you know how to bake
Send proof that you're sterile, and send coffee cake."


I posted it as joke - I don't have time for another man
I'm still lovin' my husband, and he's my biggest fan
But then I heard from Craig's List, someone responded to my ad
And I was sort of tempted - he didn't sound half bad


"Yes I can mix margaritas, and I'll get out those stains
I won't make you be on top- it's okay to be vain.
I will take out the garbage, and will hang your new drapes
Meet me at your local Starbucks, I will bring coffee cake."


I was kind of curious, so I went the next day
But I could tell in an instant, that he was totally gay.
But I needed a new best friend, and he said "Love your shoes"
And we laughed for a moment, and he said, "I'll go with you..."


"And I will mix margaritas, and serve up cold champagne
We will talk about our fave books, and exchange mix tapes
Let's paint your living room Midnight, and get armchairs done in Grape
You can text me anytime, that you need to escape."

This is what I need - Sassy Gay Friend!  

"What are you doing?  What, what, what are you doing?"

Happy Whoreticulture Friday! Have a great weekend! I hope you all get an escape....

Another Hairy Moment with My Teen

Ahh.  Do you hear that?  It's the sound of school buses being washed, new shoes being purchased, and pencils being sharpened.  That's the sound of Back to School, coming on Monday for us.  Wait...what's that other sound I hear?  It's the sound of champagne corks popping as the first Back to School Mimosas are being poured and mothers across the country rejoice as their children go back to school.

 Ding Dong, the school bell said

My kids are gone

Going back to bed

Ding dong, My house is like Club Med!

Oh I know.  Some of you are saying, "Oh, I'm sad, I LOVE having my kids around 24/7 all summer long!  I can't believe you are happy they are going back!"  To you I say, "Put down you mimosa and get the hell out of my house."  Just kidding.  Just stop talking and making me feel guilty.  Because I am ready.  

Now that The Wife is working, things are getting done ahead of schedule around here.  Not out of a sudden talent for organization, but rather from complete terror that I will forget something.  I've done the Back to School shopping, I've put money in the lunch accounts, I've made a calendar of activities.  The Son has tried on his football cleats, I've signed the daughters up for dance class, piano lessons have been tentatively set.  

In the middle of all of this activity, Oldest Daughter decided to audition for the Youth Ensemble of our area Symphony Orchestra.  I completely downplayed it, because I thought if I looked enthusiastic, her Teen Alarm would trip and she would instantly resist doing it.  I nonchalantly mentioned that I set an appointment for her audition.  Whatever.  I asked if she had her music, but no big deal.  I mentioned that she might want to select her outfit so she was ready, but if you want to wear your Daisy Dukes, go ahead!  The day before the audition, she had her music ready, her outfit selected, a shower taken, her hair straightened, and she asked if I would please do something for her....would I shape her eyebrows.


One needs to understand something about my people - we are hairy Germans.  Wir sind sehr haarig.  I have the unibrow, and I know how to use it, so back the eff off.  If I don't pluck my eyebrows every six hours or so, I can pull them back to make a lovely hat for myself.

My great great grandfather, 

Berthold Yoder

Again, happy that Oldest Daughter wanted me to do something to help her, and that it was something in the grooming department, I signed up and grabbed the tweezers.  This is when she froze a little bit.  I'm not sure what she thought I was going to do, but I don't think she imagined tools when she pictured us together.

As I've mentioned before, 
I have two ways of dealing with complicated situations.

1. I completely lose my shit and start yelling and swearing, or
2. I make inappropriate jokes in an effort to dispel the stress level.

So I make her sit on the edge of the tub, and I start plucking.  This would be a good time to mention that this was no small job.  She is starting to wince.  I can see that it hurts.  But I might never have this chance again.  I try to distract her - "Tell me about your favorite lines from Hot Rod!" or "What is your favorite SNL skit?" or "Tell me your favorite line from the Sassy Gay Friend!"  

We are laughing and she is quoting up a storm.  I've removed roughly 47 eyebrow hairs from her.  There are small, faint dots of blood appearing in some spots.  The left brow is done, and it looks fantastic.  I have great hopes for the right one, but she is starting to fade, and the pain is getting worse.  I get ahold of one particularly tricky spot, and I pull.  The skin actually pulls away from her face, but I can't stop now.  The hairs come out, and OD slaps her hand against her forehead, protecting her browline from my attack, and says, 

"You're a dirty bitch and I hate you!"

I say, "What show is that from?" and she says, "NONE!" I stop, and we look at each other and both completely bust out laughing.  Because I AM a dirty bitch.  I shouldn't have pulled those hairs.  I know it hurt, and I went there anyway.  But let me tell you something - those brows look fabulous.

My teen crossed over that day.  She went from a mild-mannered middle schooler to being MY daughter.  A girl who can use her swear words appropriately and in a funny context.  She knows she can't get away with that often, she saw her opportunity, and she took it.

Well played, Oldest Daughter.  And the student becomes the Master.

Enjoy Back to School, Moms of America.  I raise my mimosa to you.  Oh damn.  I work full time now, and while mimosas are frowned upon, I will raise my celebratory skinny vanilla latte.  Namaste.