The boy and the beast

My husband I took our sweet two year old boy to get a haircut this evening. Prior to entering the salon, he ate his favorite meal, walked out of shoe store proudly clutching a bag holding his new pair of sneakers and was the happiest little guy in the world.

Upon entering the salon he was immediately drawn to the hair tonic area. Euphoria was not obtained until all the neatly aligned bottles of product were sprawled out on the floor. He was clapping and laughing with devilish delight every time one of those $20.00 bottle of elixirs toppled over. I should have run while I had the chance. Before I could grab his tiny hand a women (who seemed slightly intimidated) called his name. He gingerly walked to the chair and seemed content to sit in the booster seat. Then it happened. His face turned purple, eyes bulged out of his head, face contorted, arms and legs started flailing about, and the monster inside reared its ugly head. As if this display was not enough, he had to vocalize his objections. A guttural scream immersed and then a high pitched shrill. This shrieking was sound enough to break glass. The hairdressers ears started dribbling blood, her calm demeanor instantly changed. She had a look of terror in her eyes. To her credit, she expertly cut and buzzed the beasts fur.

When the strange women with the scissors (our hero, Xena of the cuttery) finally slaughtered the wilder beast; it retreated. In his place was a smiling happy little boy. He looked up at the hair dresser with his beautiful, liquid blue eyes, gave her a heart melting smile and said “thank you!”

aging

I believe I have come up with a mathematical improbability, and impossibility. I am no mathematician but the equation I have been pondering seems to have no answer. My brain is spinning as I type this, maybe one of my faithful few will have the answer.

Pay attention, take notes and grab your calculators!

How is it my circle of friends have reached the age spectrum of 35-45? They are complaining about grey hairs, and extra 10 lbs, not having the energy they used to and (gasp) spider veins. This is where your math skills come into play; ready…I have not aged since my 25th birthday. I know, some of you say phooey, impossible, but I only speak the truth.

There is more to this perplexing puzzle, others do not see me as the sexy 25 year old I know I am. The cashier at the market had the audacity to call me “ma’am. “Hello, perky breasted 22 y/o, get an eye exam!” The asshole bartender who was obviously having a bad day, hence leading to the negligence in his duty, did not ask me for my i.d – WHAT are you kidding me??!!. I whipped out my newly minted ID rudely and stated “read this you stupid lard ass, I barely look 21, there is no way you could ever guess I am of drinking age! I think the alcohol police better look into the business you are running!”

The worst offender was my friends’ teen age son. He informed he is attending 80’s theme party, and the little dickens must have thought he was funny when he asked for my advice on what to wear. As if I would have any clue!

To all my friends, you are all beautiful and growing old with class and grace. I hope when I reach your age I can look half as good as you. Love you all!

infinate wisdom

Ok my faithful few. By now you know that I am a virtual endless machine of knowledge. I decided to share some of my wisdom and knowledge with you. I hope this improves your quality of life. So here goes nothing…

Bad perms DO happen to good people
You will not marry the first boy you kiss
Parents know more than we do
Your car is not going to make it another 3 miles when you run out of gas
Not matter how fun it may seem, never and I do mean NEVER stand up in a canoe
Mohair sweaters are itchy
If you can smell your feet, others can too
No one will think you are more beautiful than your parents do
Take the microphone away from your drunk friend BEFORE they sing karaoke
Fish are shitty pets


I have plenty more to share, but I don’t want to waste it all in one blog. I hope you take all of this to heart. No need for others to suffer the same fate as I.. Learn from my mistakes, I implore you!!!

Poor me

A tragedy has hit my life – I mean it my faithful few, a gross travesty! I have nothing to lament over. I truly miss saying poor pitiful me. I do not know if these feelings are “normal” but they are mine. Fore some odd reason I enjoy making those around me miserable with my poor attitude.

First, I would walk scuffling my feet thinking I am in my early thirties and not married (little did I know at the time that was NOTHING to be sad about). Check that one off my list for the pity party.

Then it was I have been married for 5 years, poor me, guess I will be childless, how truly upsetting. Well, we all know that is no longer the case. Chalk it up for one less poor me moment.

After the baby, I would walk around thinking, I am smart and talented, why won’t anyone hire me? There must be something very wrong with me. I must suck. Why can’t I even get a call back on my resume? Surely I am a horrible resume writer, oh boy pathetic ol’ me. I got a great job that I love, hmm, guess I am not so pathetic.

So here I sit, trying to find something to bitch about. Attempting to locate what it may be that I can spring upon my husband to inform him of the misery that is my life. I am at a complete loss, so not like me.

I could afford to lose a few pounds. I think I will drop that bomb on my husband. I will let him know that I am completely upset and heartsick regarding the fact I have put on a few pounds. I will be sure to bitch and mope about this for the next 3 months. He will be blasted with it at least three times a day. What fun is it to be miserable without taking someone down with you?!

TV

I fear it! I fear for my child, your children and all the innocently children across the world. What could bring such intimidation to me you ask? I will share. It is a very innocent looking thin box; it is about 52” long and hangs unassumingly on the wall above the fireplace. It is the TV!!! I am shaking as I type those two simple letters.

I will explain. What my child sees on the box is frightening. He watches a show with singing “things” They appear to me to be condoms. They are oval, rubbery and one them even has ribbing. I do not lie – this is true. Along with these dancing creatures is a man with a large head, orange hair and Buddy Holly glasses that pops up o the screen yelling. He is the epitome of the boogeyman. I fear the day (very far into the future) that mine son has to go to the local pharmacy to buy profolatex. He will innocently open the box, and have flashbacks to when he was just a toddler of two. He will curse me under his breath, he will think “I cannot believe my mother let me watch a show with singing and dancing condoms on it”. It could scar him emotionally for life

Also emitting from that box is a little dude name Noddy. This elflike person drives around the town in his fancy sports car handing out wrapped gifts to all. He also has a plane that he lands in the middle of the town square. Prior to his arrival the town folks are walking along as if they are waiting for the methadone clinic to open. Once he arrives the town junkies light up and they have vim and vigor in their step. He does not have a job, (how can afford such a luxury vehicle and plane)? His biggest clients and best friends are the local policemen. What is in those boxes? I believe it is drugs! There are evil gnomes that attempt to intercept these packages and take them for their own use. I am the most horrible parent on the planet, I allow my innocent boy to watch these corruptive shows. What am I letting him learn? Is he too young to learn that selling drugs gets you the girls and the nice car?

The absolute worst of these shows is Cailou. This 4 year old sissy whines more than I do with a few drinks in me while PMSing. His voice goes through me, he makes me want to take a .45 caliber to my temple. He is never happy; his parents need to place him on Prozac immediately! NO child of that age should be so miserable!

With that being said, my child is looking at the big box, yelling for me to turn it on. With any luck I will be able to locate an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba, Noddy or Cailou for him to watch.

Knock offs

I hope not to offend anyone with this blog, but I must speak of a horrible atrocity. There are few fashion faux paus bigger than the one I dare speak!. So here it goes. Ladies (and if the shoe fits, gentlemen) I implore you, do not carry knock off handbags. It is a sight that utterly disgusts me!

You may be fooled into thinking no one will ever be able to tell. You are WRONG! I can spot the off color of cheap leather and the horrible cutting and stitching from a mile away. They look cheap and you appear to be a phony wana be while wearing the offending culprit across your shoulder.

Ladies, ladies, ladies, there are very nice bags available at the local chain stores. They are a much better choice than buying a purse at a party or the flea market that has backwards “C’s” on it, or LV’s that look nothing like the true monogram.

When I see you carrying your fake Prada, Spade, Coach, Luis, Doone etc, I want to begin an intervention immediately. I want to carry your tail to the local chain store and show you other options, open your mind. Please!!!!!

The lure of the knock-off is easy to be taken in by to be taken by. They are being hawked at every corner. You will see a bag and think to yourself “This is great, I can get me a $600.00 bag for $12.9.9” Get those thoughts out of you head, and run as fast as you can . Trust me you are hurting no one but yourself (and possibly me and the fashion police)

Only you can help to prevent this unnatural injustice and fashion genocide.

I have mentioned before, I am not judgmental, and it is your right to carry a trashy, cheap handbag. However, I do feel it is my place to help you. I am available 24/7 . If you feel the need to reach into your pocket and pull out hard earned cash for a terribly made knock-off, please contact me immediately, I will talk you down. It may take time and patience, but I am her for you!

One last thought….
As my friend D.A. so eloquently stated “ I have friends north of rt 24 that can sniff these fakes out and they will laugh you all of the way home!”

It is your choice

Alright my faithful few. I may be going mad, but I am going to try a social experiment.

I will allow you all to choose an activity for me to do one day next weekend. It can be anything, i.e. make a bundt cake, wash the car, feed the homeless, watch a particular movie, the ideas are endless. I will choose one job from your input. I will attempt the deed and post pics to prove I gave it the old college try.

There are a few rules:
It cannot be costly

1. It cannot be death defying

2. I must be able to complete the task in no more than four hours

3. I will pick a task from the list of ideas compiled on Thursday.

Let’s get this thing started, post your ideas under the comments icon below.

Wish me luck!!!!

Good advice???

I have had some strange advice thrown my way, by no means did I always heed it. I decided this would be a perfect forum to share some of the humorous tidbits During my life that have been doled out to me in short 25 years of life (ok, ok, so it has been a BIT more than 25 years!)

A real doozey was given to me in the past year or so, my mother who is never a t a loss for her insightful comments informed me “do not place the outdoor fireplace in the screen house”. Geez, mom, glad you could help, I would hate to meet my demise in an inferno caused by nylon and a fire – lucky, I listened.

Very early in our relationship my husband and I went for a walk around a local park. There was a stone wall that stood about 15 feet above the ground below. He warned me “don’t fall off that wall” Oh honey, if only I knew then what I knew now. I would have taken the dive.

Growing up I lived in very close proximity to the Hockomock swamp. Fortunately for me my father one day told me “Don’t let the squirrels and chipmunks in the house” Sorry vermin I will have to cancel Saturdays tea party. To this day I do not invite squirrels and chipmunks over for a visit.

While pregnant, a good friend of mine warned how important it is not to push to hard while having a BM. She looked at me solemn faced and said “Stacey, be careful when using the bathroom, you do not want to push to hard and deliver the baby in the toilet.” Billy was not born in a toilet bow,l thanks to Mo’s great advice.

After a night of drinking the cheapest and most disgusting rum mixed with a dash of coke, I woke up feeling like death and looking like I was hit buy a truck. A dear friend of mine though it was necessary to tell me “Never buy rum made in Somerset, Ma.” Ya think!? However, that advice should have been given 12 hours earlier.

While heading out the door in a rain storm my husband (who obviously thinks he married a MENSA member) yelled from the other room, “better turn your windshield wipers on today.” Boy am I ever thankful he reminded me, I may have forgotten to do so otherwise.

While driving my Aunt to the grocery store she felt compelled to remind me (25 times) to stop at the stop sign. How lucky we both are that I didn’t forget. Couldn’t have stopped without you Aunty, it may have slipped my mind.

Perhaps the most prudent advice ever received came from my grandmother. It was four simple words “Don’t drop that baby”. You will be happy to know gram, I followed that advice to a tee.

I must emit an aura of complete incompetence. If you ever gave me advice and I didn’t hare it here please feel free to comment and share. Do other people get such odd and random advice from those closest to them? I would love to hear your stories of unsolicited advice. If you have some post them here.

Drogging – the act of drinking while blogging
I just made the word up – but feel free to use it


This is a dangerous affliction that is taking over the country. No one is immune to it (accept for those in a twelve step program who may be friends with Bill W.)

You are guilty of this if you take to your facebook, twitter, mypace or personal blog accts after two drinks. What is the harm you ask – let me share!!! I have some personal experience in this and I am more than happy to share my vast wealth of knowledge on the subject and be the voice of reason.

You must avoid the following to save yourself the morning after WHOA IS ME and sober reality moment.

Quips you believe are witty: Believe me, they are not funny or anectodile to anyone else. All of your social networking friends awake to see a comment you left at 3:15 am and think to themselves – dang time for another intervention.

Do not grow your friends list: Very dangerous!! Staying up all night with a cold one in your hand randomly searching for people you haven’t seen since first grade is a bad thing – Nothing good can come from this.

IMing anyone in the open chat window. This is much worse than drunk dialing. Bear in mind the individual on the other end of the monitor has the ability to cut and paste your drunken dribble and use it as blackmail leverage in the future (yes I have done this to a person or two, I have paid my mortgage ten times over with this handy little trick)

Imagine this scenario the next time you take to the keyboard with an adult beverage in your mitts. There is an apprehension when you wake fuzzy headed in the morning. You hit redial on both cell and home phones, you breath a sigh of relief when redial comes back clean, WHEW dodged a bullet, at least I didn’t call my long lost bestie. Then, POW it hits you, a wave of nausea takes over your body – SHIT the computer! You wearily wobble to the computer shakily holding your coffee mug; compose yourself enough to log onto the computer. With trepidation you log onto your social networking acct, then unknown and fear grip you as you are face to face with your worse nightmare, a 15 inch computer monitor. BAM – there it is, your worse nightmare staring back at you. All you see are 15 new posts you do not remember sending, littered with typos and nonsensical ranting. It is there folks, your friends have already read it, the carnal damage is done.

If I have helped just one person avoid this tragedy, my work here is done.

One last thing….Don’t hate on me (ooopss, I mean THEM) when you read a drog, remember, it may be the only chance have in a wek to veg out and relax after a long day give everyone the benefit of the doubt

Big Brother

I always thought “Big Brother” was an Urban Legend, like Bigfoot. I was wrong. This person does exist, he is not a figment in my nightmares. I know this to be true because I met him. I am very frightened of him. I have a great deal of fear for myself and all of you!

He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.

I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” creature was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.

This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?

I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I hope enjoyed all my friends posts.

I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.

I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have me befuddled.

One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – Big Brother with his horn and beady eyes is ready to pounce on you – BE CAREFUL!!!

I always thought “Big Brother” was an Urban Legend, like Bigfoot. I was wrong. This person does exist, he is not a figment in my nightmares. I know this to be true because I met him. I am very frightened of him. I have a great deal of fear for myself and all of you!

He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.

I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” dude was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.

This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?

I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I all my friends posts.

I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.

I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have be befuddled.

One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – be careful!!!

At a red light the other day, I look to my right, I see a woman in a nice Lexus with a cute toddler safely strapped into its car seat. What I saw next made me want to run out and slap the mother. She cracks the passenger side window about one inch and lights up a cigarette. Mind you I am the last one to get on my soapbox and preach about smoking, but NEVER do I smoke in the car with my child or anywhere around him.

I find it is difficult for people to keep their traps shut about the way others raise their children, but we must all learn to do it.

If a child is well fed, clean, healthy and not being beat, we all as a society need to learn self control. The worlds children do not belong to us.

Since having a child of my own the realization that everyone else on the planet is an expert on child rearing has become apparently clear (from the checkout girl to the bank teller). It is obvious I am the only one in the universe that has not mastered the art.

I do not need my actions on how to raise my child justified by the general public. Trust me, I see your evil looks, I am more than aware of your mouth moving and no words emitting from it. I see you nudge your friend and point, but all I have to say to you is shut the f&%ck up!

So, all you backseat moms, please… keep your opinions on safety, discipline, nutrition and vaccinations to yourself. It is my call as to whether or not I want to remove my child from target during a screamfest. I will decide if it is ok for him to run and splash through the puddles. If he does not want to share his new truck with Johnny, then so flippin be it!

A “friend” called me up the other day after my husband had done some electrical work for her. The phone rings, I check the caller ID and answer with a jaunty “hello”. I thought for sure she would be telling me to thank Mike for the work he performed and informing how great it was to see the baby. But, NNNOOOOOOO, my impartial mood went from disbelief to anger when these words were spewed “You know, I didn’t want to say anything, but I think I have to, that child of yours really needs a good spanking on the ass, he doesn’t listen” I whimped out, I ended the conversation quickly. I was awed, I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily for her I didn’t have any alcohol coursing through my system, it wouldn’t have ended well for her.

After the phone conversation, I thought of many things I should have said, it was all I could do not to pick up the phone and tell her that she needs to keep her pie hole shut (peppered, of course, with some profanity). Instead I just hugged my child, told him he is perfect and that I love him.

One last thing….I truly believe most parents have the best intentions. We all must choose our battles. The next time you are in public and run into the worst behaved child on the planet, remind yourself (before the evil thoughts enter your mind) that this is just a parent doing the best they can, and hey, at least at this moment my child in a cherub.

Welcome to my blog. Please be patient with me. I am new at this, and just like everything else I do in life, I am going to jump in the deep end head first, and hopefully wade my way through.

I am going to write about daily observances, in my life and possibly those of random strangers at wal-mart. I want your feedback. You do not have to agree with me. I do ask we be civil to each other and respect each persons individual opinions and thoughts. Afterall, thats I why I am starting this blog. However, I must inform you, my thoughts are the only ones that matter in the end. Hence it is MY blog!

I hope you are able to get a better understanding of the human race from this blog. Ok, Ok, at least a humorous side of human behavior. I am goijg to be brutally honest, I hope you are ready for this.

I am a white trash snob!

It is true! Pick your jaws up from the floor!! I wonder how many of you are too. Admitting this cold hard truth can be difficult. The first step is to say out loud “Hello my name is _________ and I am a white trash snob”

I admit it, at home I let gas fly – even giggle about it. I will squeal with sinister delight, “did ya hear that one, wait until you smell it” (c’mon I know you do it to, you will just not admit it!) .
I wear my hair “pebbles” style atop my head. I walk around in my husbands t-shirts and wear nasty sweat pants. Not a pretty visual.

When I leave the house a entire different and more awesome me emerges. I go out in public, I am the epitome of a snob and a hypocrite. I am well groomed, with expensive clothes, shoes and handbags. My child is always the best dressed one in a room. If a white trash Biotch has the nerve to invade my space with her foul mouth and uneducated speech I will think unkind thoughts and turn in the other direction. But the worse she could do is let me hear or smell one of her air biscuits while she is sloppily dressed in sweatpants wearing her hair atop her head “pebbles” style. I would gasp with shock and disgust. I would roll my eyes to the person closest to me and probably mumble something about her being White Trash!”

I wonder if this is just Human Nature. I am a very kind and generation person. I am non-judgemental regarding the type of house you live in, the car you drive, or how much dinero your significant other makes. But yet for some reason, when I see “that” person who resembles what I look like most weekends, (and secretly wish I could go out in the obviously comfortably dressed state they are in) I become a horrible snob and judge far too quickly. Maybe I should look in the mirror more often. This is something I will work on with myself. If you recognize this quality in you, maybe we can spend some time at a K-mart and try to heal together.

….one last thing: What gives any of us the right to think, even for one second, that we are better than the person standing next to us? We are unaware of their story, their life or their history. The woman with the messy clothes and hair, driving the jalopy car, loves her child as much as I love mine. The person living in the tenement housing projects takes as much pride in decorating their living room as I do. I will stop my snap judgments and hope you all do the same. Let’s greet the public with a smile!