Girls Night Uh-oh

I am lucky enough to have been blessed with a group of gals who I have been friends with since high school.  In our 25+ years of friendships, there have been ups and downs, blessing and tragedies, joys and sorrows.  To help keep us sane, we venture out once a month of a Girls Night Out.   We like to keep things fun by trying new and different things each month.  Last night we ventured out into the frigid evening to get mani/pedis, have dinner, and then tune up our pipes with some karaoke.

After a cold, snowy, stress-filled week, I was super excited to go hang out with my gal pals, first to pamper ourselves, and then to embarrass ourselves.

I wrapped up the week at my office and headed out to make sure everything was copacetic on the homefront.  Kids home.  Homework done.  Errands fulfilled.  Now, time to make myself GNO ready to go.

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Not too bad for a soon to be ol’ lady.  (Full disclosure, the glasses are not mine.  They belong to my mini-me.  I think I do them justice.  Can’t see for crap out of them, but I look cute! 😉 Plus, it annoys her when I take her things and take selfies.  Score one for mom! )

On the way to meet everyone at the salon, I made a quick stop at Target to pick up a few things.  Since it was GNO, I traded in my daily ‘student chasing’ tennis shoes, for a cute little pair of black heels.  A girl’s gotta look good after all!  Click-click…  Click-click…  Click-click… I cruised myself into and around Target, grabbing what I needed, but, as I clomped around, something just didn’t feel right.  Click-click… Is it my zipper?  Nope, that’s up.  Click-click… Did I remember to turn off my straightener?  Yes, I know I did.  Click-click… Do I have my phone?  Yup, it’s right here.  Click-click… So what could it be?  Click-click…   Click-click…  Click-wait…am I limping?  It’s at that moment I realize what I wrong.  A quick look down confirms my suspicions.

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I’m wearing two different shoes.

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Not only are they different shoes.

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But they are also different heights.

I’m an idiot.

In my rush to get out for a night of relaxation and laughter with the girls, I didn’t even realize what I had put on my feet.  I can maybe excuse myself because they are the same color with similar toe shapes, but I have no words for the fact I made my left leg an inch shorter than my right.

I’m a girl who believes in signs.  These shoes are a sign of two things.  1)  I desperately need a night out.  2)  The universe wants me to buy new boots.

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I’m nothing if not a rule follower…

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Sleep, what’s that?

Sleep, it’s the most important meal of the day.  Wait, that’s breakfast or something.  Anyway, people are always going on and on about how freaking important sleep is.  ‘It’s rejuvenating.  It recharges the body.  It keeps you looking youthful.’  Blah, blah, blah.

I always knew I wasn’t getting enough, but I didn’t know the half of it.

I go to bed between 10:30 and 11:00 pm everyday and wake up at 5 am.  People are always preaching this luxurious 8 hours of sleep, but that is an illusive mirage in my casa.  I figure getting a good solid 6 would just have to do.  Sure, I woke up every morning feeling just as exhausted as when I had crashed the night before, but that’s just normal, right?

Wrong.

For Christmas this year, I asked my lovely hubby for a fitness monitor….and he actually listened!  He gave me a Garmin Vivosmart, a nifty little gadget that does way more than count my step and tell me my heart rate.  Along with the added features of telling time, tracking my runs, counting my calorie burn, and being able to turn on my iTunes library (so cool!), it also gets my phone notifications and …. (drum roll) monitors my sleep.

When I was reading the list of features, I didn’t really understand why one would want to monitor their sleep.  I’m asleep, what’s it going to tell me?  This is going to be an uninformative graph.

Boy was I wrong.

I set myself to sleep mode, electronically and physically, that first night and snoozed (I presumed) away.  I woke up in the morning, synced myself, and my jaw hit the floor.  This is what I found.

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Originally I thought maybe all those bumps and jumps were normal.  Then I compared my graph to someone else’s.  Hers had one little bump during her hours in dreamland.  ONE!

Now I’ve always known that I move around while I sleep.  Plus, I frequently wake up and check the clock to see how long I still have until the dreaded buzzer sounds.  But, I had hard-core evidence now that I don’t actually sleep when I sleep.  I mean look at last night.

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Apparently I went out mountain climbing from 11:30 – 12:30 am.  Then I went for a little jig around the block at 2 am.  In fact, I didn’t have anytime during this 6 hours and 23 minutes that I wasn’t moving.

Ugh.

 

No wonder I wake up exhausted.

No wonder I can barely drag myself out of bed.

No wonder my calorie count is showing a 500+ burn from midnight to 5 am.

No wonder I can fall asleep at the drop of a Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This boy’s delusional

I’m convinced, somedays, that my husband lives in an alternate universe from the rest of the inhabitants of the planet.  Today is one of those days.

This morning I hop into the shower just as my delusional hubby is lathering up.

“Be careful,” daydreaming man warns me, “I’m dangerous to be around now.”

The strange look on my face prompts him to show me this.

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“Um. Ok,” I say.

Skip forward about an hour as fantasy-land man is heading out the door…  “I guess this is goodbye.  I’m heading out to my meeting and when the chics there get a whiff of me, it’ll all be over.  They’ll devour me.”

“We’ve had a good run.  I’ll miss you.”  (Insert image of me rolling my eyes and shaking my head.)

I sure hope he returns.  I might be too embarrassed to fill out that missing person’s report.

‘Well officer, he used to Axe body wash and then I let him leave for a meeting….’

 

A different kind of bucket list

As I muddle through this, my 39th year of existence, I feel the pressure of the world around me to follow the latest trend from fellow Gen Xers…the ‘I’m turning 40 Bucket List.’  The only thing more popular are those ridiculous month stickers people slap on their screaming babies to memorialize Junior being 9 months and crabby or Sally being 15 months and sassy.  Since I was born with attitude and raised in sarcasm, I posted this a few months ago.

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Isn’t he adorable.

But I’m just not feeling the whole mid-life crisis bucket list thing.  Mostly, because I refuse to accept this is mid-life.  I still feel 25 inside of my head, so why would I want to make a list of things to do before I die.  Bucket lists used to be for people with terminal conditions or the plots of Jack Nicholson movies. Now they seem to be a prerequisite for your Intramural Co-ed Softball registration and the last grasp at coolness before you say fuck-it and buy a Lazy-E-Boy and elastic waistband pants.

So in honor of my 39th year, I give you my Non Bucket-Bucket List.

1.  I would like to get 8 hours of sleep a night.  I dream of what that would feel like, no really, I do.  I imagine it would be similar to what heaven feels like.

2.  I would like one week where I get to watch Jeopardy uninterrupted.  It that too much to ask?  I don’t think so and, apparently, neither does Jeopardy.

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I don’t mean to brag or anything, but JEOPARDY retweeted me.  I now think I’m kind of a big deal.  The rest of my family does not agree.

3.  I would like to actually make something from one of these recipes I tear out of the cooking magazines I buy.  Sometimes I make is as far as buying a few of the ingredients, but, without fail, I forget a necessary item end up making one of my three, standard, boring meals, or buying take-out Chinese because I’m just too exhausted to try or care.

4.  I would like all my pants to fit me comfortably each time I wear them and for them to all to feel like elastic waistband pants.  I mean really.  Why do pants need buttons and belts…too confining.  I am approaching middle age.  I want to feel comfortable.  I want to ignore that my metabolism is changing.  I don’t want to have to lie to myself that my dryer is shrinking my pants.

5.  I would like to have a week, hell I’ll even settle for a day at this point, in which I do not have to play crazy taxi driver, racing around the city.  With two kids, at two different schools, in six different activities, I honestly don’t know whether I’m coming or going.  I’d kill to be kicked back in a Lazy-E-Boy in my unbuckled pants asking questions to Alex Trebek.  By the way, I’m #teammustache if you were curious.

Soooooo……

Basically, I want to be a grumpy old man now and do things in reverse.  I don’t want to walk the Great Wall of China or Sky Dive over the Grand Cannon before I turn 40.  Sure, I want to take a picture in front of every welcome sign for all 50 states, who doesn’t.  But not right now.  I’ll save all that for when I’m 80.  Right now I want to sleep, eat, sit, and comfortably watch TV uninterrupted.

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Yes, that’s me.  I plan on rockin’ old age like nobody’s business.

 

 

 

 

Kids these days

I must start this little ditty with an education in current teenage lingo. For those you who do not currently have a pre-teen or teenagers schlepping and moping around your abode, there is a current trend amongst their species to shorten words that don’t need to be shortened as there were perfectly effective and useful in their original state.  The latest causality to their assault on the English language is the affectionate term of endearment, babe.

If you’ve been anywhere near an Instagram account or tweeting on Twitter (Don’t dig around on Facebook. No self-respecting teenager would be caught dead there anymore. That’s where all the ‘old’ people are), you may have seen this pop up from time to time.

‘My two Bae’

‘Me and my Bae’

‘I love my Bae’

Kill me.

I was driving just the other day with my (deep breaths Kerry) 9th grader, when she made a statement about her ‘Bae’

Me – “Your what!?!”

Ridiculous 9th grader – “My Bae. It’s like Boo, Babe, Baby.”

Me – (Imagine me with a dumbfounded and confused look on my face.) – “Um, you don’t have any of those.”

Annoyed 9th grader – “Ugh. Mom, this just a thing people call their best friends, they are your Bae.”

Me – “Why would you call your best friend a large body of water? Sounds a little mean to me.”

Irritated by my obviously not being hip enough for her 9th grader – “Not B-A-Y, B-A-E. Bae, babe minus the second B.”

Me – “Well that’s dum, D-U-M, dum.”

Condescending 9th grader – “Um, dumb with spelled D-U-M-B. Your forgot the B.”

Me – “So did you.”

For this round….

Mom – 1

Put in her place 9th grader – 0

The solution!

It’s a common experience.  You’re sitting in some location of your house, minding your own business, doing whatever to darn well please, because it’s your house and you can, when you start to feel the inner workings of nature calling you.  A quick scan of the area shows that all the little people you have brought into this world are actively engaged, maybe it’s in Frozen for the 800th time or they are texting that drama queen from school you’ve told them to stay away from, but it doesn’t matter at the moment. Screen time be damned!  They’re busy and the coast is clear for you.

Or so you think.

The minute you steal yourself away to take care of business, they find you.  They always find you.

I’ve experienced it. I’m sure many of you’ve experienced it. Heck, I’ve even blogged about it before.

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What I present for you today friends, is a sure fire way to earn some peace and quiet and take back the sanctity of your thrown!

Warning:  The use of this method will require to leave your modesty and inhibitions at the door as you are about to intentionally embarrass yourself and mortify your children.  P.S. – You might also want to make sure those little rugrats don’t have a camera running, as no one will want to see this in replay.

Step on – Take off to the bathroom to do your business.

Step two – Complete said business.

Step three – Wait for the interrupting knock on the bathroom door from a child needing to ask you a completely useless question that didn’t need asking 30 seconds ago but is now a matter of life and death.  (Step three is slightly unnecessary as we all know there was no need to wait.  Said child knocked on the door the minute your cheeks hit the seat.)

Step Four – Tell child you will be out in just one minute.  (Use that sweet, singsongy, mommy voice.  It really lays the trap for what’s coming.)

Step Five – Emerge from the bathroom pants less and barrel towards your offspring at full speed in your underwear while loudly announcing, “I went poopy!  I went poopy!”

I have yet to have them bother me again while I’m in the bathroom.  Of course they don’t quite look me in the eyes anymore and might have to use some of their college money for therapy, but whatever….  All I know is, the bathroom it all mine right now!

 

 

 

 

Words

Um…. no

I decided yesterday that I was going to make a traditional corn beef and cabbage today for St. Patty’s. My mom always made us one and I realized I have never made one for my family.

Since I’ve already proclaimed my love for Siri, I decided to let her help me with my family dinner.

I clicked on Siri’s button and spoke, “Corn beef and cabbage recipe.”

Siri listened and typed, “Porn beef and cabbage recipe.”

Um…

1.  I don’t even want to think about what that recipe entails.

2.  I’m now questioning Siri and wonder what she really does with all her time.