Holiday · Pop Culture · Super Hot Mess · Uncategorized

Elf on the the Shelf-Day 1

What my son sees upon waking: 

A delightful little elf named Zipper just wanting to play video games. In fact, he even has his own special soccer uniform, because I am that good. 

Adult version of Elf on the Shelf: Zipper has hit rock bottom. He can no longer afford the prescription drugs on his TSA salary that he buys from college students (ritalin, adderall, xanex). He looked over to see his keyboard cleaner and had amazing  idea- high on ritalin. 2 hours later, he can’t feel his own face. 

Getting to Know You · Uncategorized

I’m Not M.I.A. 

Just a quick note that I am not slacking on posting or reading everyone’s posts. I do apologize! I have to take care of a few things that I anticipated would take 3 evenings tops…I’m on evening #5. Obviously I was a little off. Anyway, I’ll be a mean lean posting and reading machine starting Sunday….that’s if I didn’t underestimate again. Hope all of you are having a great Saturday!  

Family · Uncategorized

Well I Did Not See That Coming….

C comes into my room crying. After several minutes urging him to tell me what is bothering him he finally blurts out:
“I’m afraid someone is going to break into the house and kill you.”
‘I’m sorry, come again?’ I thought.
He continued to cry and say it over and over again. Ok, he was freaking me out now. He was just 1 pale twin short of a horror movie.
“Dude, no one is going to break in and kill me. I promise.”
By now my husband had come up and asked what’s wrong.
“Go on, tell daddy what you told me,” I urged him.
He whimpered for a few seconds then started, “I-I-I,” large gulp of air. “I told mommy that, that….I’m afraid someone is going to come in and kill you and her.”
And do you know the first thought that came to mind? I’m almost embarrassed to tell you. My first thought was, ‘Wait a minute…..I thought the killer was only coming for me. Not daddy. Just me.’

My Job In Hell? Changing The Top Bunk Of Every Bunk Bed

My 6 yr old son wet his bed last night. I’m over it. But he didn’t just wet his bed, he wet his bunk bed. For anyone who hasn’t had the honor of changing a bunk bed, allow me to paint you a picture: If I go to hell, my assigned job will be to change the top bunk of each and every inhabitant of hell. And they will all have bunk beds.

Changing a (dry) bunk goes like this: you stand at the top corner and rip off the fitted sheet and attempt to pull it to the foot of the bed. 99% of the time this will not work so you have to climb the ladder and yank off the stubborn foot corner. You throw the sheets on the floor in complete anger questioning why the hell you would buy a bunk bed in the first place. Oh yeah, the rooms of your home are about 12 x 5.  Next you take the fitted sheet and gingerly wrap it around the top, left corner. You know this is in vein yet you attempt it anyway. You duplicate this by wrapping the right hand corner. You cringe as you see these new corners slowly inching their way up as you are pulling the 3rd and 4th corner to their respective areas. It’s like they are taunting you. As the 3rd corner is wrapped around the mattress, you now realize the conundrum you are in. How do you stretch the 4th and final corner? You “donkey it”. What I mean by “donkey it” is you literally kick your feet in the air (like you just don’t care) while swiftly attempting to wrap the final corner around the bed. It’s a moment you want NO ONE to see. This method is successful 66% of the time. The other times involve you ruining your cuticles as you squeeze your hands between the slats and the mattress, trying to tuck it all in. Frankly, Ru Paul has it easier.

C’s mattress is, um, sorry, I’m trying to find a word to describe it. We weren’t responsible parents and put a mattress pad on it 10 years ago. I’ll just be real. No, too much work. If I were to describe the mattress to you, I would say it looks like a mattress you would find in any well appointed crack house. Piss stains are all over it along with blood stains from bloody noses when the air was dry. I would say the only thing missing is a junky rolling off of it onto the floor.

Because I take initiative, I would like to also tell you that this mattress is a hand me down from his big brother. Big brother equally pissed in his bed on a regular basis. When bestowing it upon C we simply flipped it over to the lesser pee side and said “look at your brand new mattress!” Side note, for our oldest sons mattress, we did purchase and use a mattress cover. I’m sure C will be elated.

I’ve decided to treat the peeing in the bed like the factory that notes x amount of days without an injury. C just set the clocks back another 6 months. I told him I’ll buy him a  new mattress after he can go 6 months accident free. He looked a tad discouraged about this news but quickly returned to questioning why our fucking elf on the shelf has yet to make his debut. Don’t get me started about the elf…..


Shaping Up to be a Hot Mess of a New Years Eve

I stayed up till 2 a.m last night. I thought my sons had the rule down pretty well that unless the house is on fire or someone is sick, don’t wake me. This was my 1 week off and I wanted to at least sleep till 9.

At 8:07, P comes into my room and taps me on the shoulder. I was in an incredibly deep sleep from staying up so late along with the 3 glasses of Cabernet I consumed that were supposed to be for tonight.

I gave him the look of death. I was going to loose my shit if he said something like, “I’m hungry” or “watch my yo-yo trick.”

“Mom, I have strep throat,” he said in a raspy voice while clenching his throat. I wanted to scream. I am going to call it now; my oldest is a full blown hypochondriac. He has an ailment twice a day that usually resolves themselves by the end of the day. Plan on a post dedicated solely to his non-ailments.

“You don’t have strep throat P,” was the first thing out of my mouth. Then I thought, ‘who made me Dr. Quinn? Maybe he does have it. Yeah, but he probably doesn’t.’

I gave him a throat lozenge and said “wake me up in 20 minutes.” You could tell he didn’t find this acceptable. ‘Oh I’m sorry, would you like me to come down and watch you play your phone?’ I thought.

I laid back down. I can never get back to sleep no matter how hard I try. I punched the bed 3 times out of frustration, 10 minutes later. I grabbed my phone and headed downstairs.

At the foot of the stairs I noticed a moisture soaking into my left sock. I looked down to find about a 5 hour old, pool of piss. The icing on the cake were the 2 types of foot prints I noticed, jetting out in different directions, drying to the floor like the pee pool.

“C, did you step in Chi-Chi’s pee?”

“Yeah,” he answered like I had just asked if he took the last granola bar. He was preoccupied playing the X Box.

“Do you think you could have given me a heads up that there was a pool of pee right in front of the stairs so I wouldn’t step in it?”

“Sorry. But I stepped in it too,” he said as he stretched his entire body across the white pleather sofa.

“Oh my God, then why are your feet on the sofa?”

“There dry now,” he said as he transferred his feet from the sofa to the coffee table. I was too tired to walk C through the logistics of this. I would do it later.

Turns out, P is 100% o.k now. I know, I too was shocked at this Christmas miracle.

“My eyes are watering and hurt though”, he announced a few minutes after confirming his throat no longer hurt.


School Money Maker?

As a child, I was always excited to attend an assembly for a school fundraiser. As a 10 year old, the prizes were AMAZING!  Sell $50, get a slap bracelet. Sell $51 to $200, get a walkman. Sell $201 to $400, receive a skateboard. Holy shit, the possibilities were endless.

When my sons attended a faith based private school, they would be sent home with 2 catalogs. One would have all of these sugary fudges,cookies or mix you simply mixed with cream cheese that would override your sensory glands and deliver the following message: “it’s cream cheese and this shit is good. Now can you direct me to your thighs please?” The 2nd catalog would be sent home consisting of junk priced roughly 200% over cost including wall plaques, cookery and wrapping paper.

As a “go-getter” each year, I would attempt to cheat my son’s existing fundraising system. I say “cheat the system” because rewards were based on units, not dollar numbers. ‘Holy shitballs!’ I thought, ‘all I have to do is order 7 units of something that costs $1.99 and I won…I mean, he has won.’

When the catalog came home I quickly retrieved it from their backpack. Surely there has to be an array of useless Christmas junk ranging in price from $1.99 to $249.00.

Obviously the Mad Men of “Scam Another School” thought this through. The cheapest item was a roll of wrapping paper for $6.99! $6.99. ‘Me too cheap for $6.99,’ I thought.

To give you perspective on my philosophy, I have been physically “visiting” the following wrapping paper at Target , awaiting it to be marked down. It’s by Sugar of Los Angeles and was $5.00 a roll. I hesitated because I had visions of wrapping a tie box and an X Box 1 game and the roll would be done. I waited, I was good. After Black Friday, I had a 20% off coupon, so I decided to pull the trigger. Yes, I just used that douche expression, sorry. I bought the wrap with my red card and got it for $3.80. I don’t know why I’m saying this but I feel the need to drop a mic and say “your welcome.”

Back to the overpriced, tacky wrapping. Suddenly my estimated purchase of 7 had been reduced to 2.  Admittingly, I am a wrapping paper snob and the paper selection was less than stellar. Skylanders or country snowman? Really? Clydesdales with wreaths around their necks? Did the Amish design this paper? Dear God!

On the last day of the sale I decided to be honest and upfront with my 6 year old.

“Look, you have sold 8 products which is awesome! We would have sold more but you are peacing out of this school after this year so if we were to sell more…well it would be kinda’ like helping the opposition.” I realized that was a word he was unfamiliar with.

“…like helping the bad guys.” I elaborated.

“My school has bad guys mommy?”

Realizing my transgression I quickly brushed his forehead, “No, no! Your school has all good guys. We just want to give you a leg up for your future school!”

“You want to give me an extra leg?” He said now clearly freaking out.

“Oh gosh no. Basically we want you to be the smartest in your class.” Really no sense in beating around the bush here.

This seemed to please him and he went about his way. Well guys, I’m tired, it’s 12:35 am and I will continue my story tomorrow if anyone has even read this. Good night!






Labor Day Tips and/or Birth Control

My son’s 7th birthday is officially today. Thank the baby Jesus he was a million times easier to get out then my first son. I am gonna be real here people; I am a goddamn wimp when it comes to all things medical, especially “down South”.

When I became pregnant for my first son, I would like to think of it as a “surprise”. Inside I had no idea how logically, I would get a baby out of something the size of a penny..or maybe a nickle…I don’t know.

Armed with the knowledge of what it takes to birth a child, my second (and final) child came with a lot more experience and I was prepared to play that card for days.

“We want to break your water Mrs. Hot Mess” the nurse would say.

“No, I would like for you to break it after the epidural. I would also like the  nice man that performed my epidural from 3.5 years ago to do it.”

“Oh I’m sorry but he may have already left for his daughter’s volleyball game.”

“I’m sorry but I’m creating life here which falls a little higher then a volleyball game. I will, neigh, you won’t, make it if I do not have an epidural from this kind man so it would be in your best interest to track him down, stall his Prius and alert him that you have a situation.”

After childbirth: “we would like to cathorize you now Mrs. Hot Mess.”

“No, I have up to 3 hours to pee, I see no reason to even suggest this at this time;” I say as I roll back over onto my 100 thread count sheets to face a “chair” that is supposed to be a comfortable fold down chair when in reality it’s from the same line of furniture found in all business traveler rooms of Red Roof Inn.

And, if anything, if they ask you if you want your new baby to sleep in your room at the hospital, JUST SAY NO. Again, JUST SAY NO! For the love of God, listen to me on this one. Children’s Services will not be called. Your child will not turn out like Marilyn Manson if they sleep in the nursery with 5 well trained baby nurses overlooking their well-being. This will be the last, I repeat, last time you will have uninterrupted sleep for the next 18 years. I can count on both hands how many times I’ve slept past 9 in the past 10 years.

All I’m saying is this:  do not follow the pack when it comes to your body. There is A LOT of room for negotiation to allow you to be more comfortable during pregnancy.Just because Nurse Misery learned a technique at the vocational school doesn’t mean it’s practiced across the board (with the exception of washing hands with soap and water).

Holiday · Uncategorized

Elf on the Shelf Part 2 (view discretion advised)

Last year one night I was becoming increasingly frustrated that my boys did not find my Elf on the Shelf efforts good enough.

“Why didn’t Zipper move last night?”


“Why does Zipper only stay in the living room?”

Jesus! This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, we were to move it to a stationary area and that was that. No props, no notes, no scavenger hunts.

Out of anger I staged the following scenes. Again, if you are offended please look away now. Also to note, I’ve never used drugs in my life and never intend to. Just thought the one scene was pretty ironic and what you get after about 3 glasses of Cabernet.

Elf on the Shelf, Elf behaving badly
The Elf at Studio 54. It’s just sugar all! The dollar is real though.
Bad elf, Christmas, Elf on the Shelf
“There can only be one favorite stuffed animal in this house and you aren’t it!”
Elf on the shelf, Naughty Elf, Christmas
Zipper, we’ve called you hear because we love you and want to see you get better. Put down the pills….

So tomorrow I will post images of what my sons see. I can assure you they have never seen any of these pics. Good night!


It’s a kid’s birthday, I’ll pass….

I’m currently sitting on a hard as a rock bleacher watching my youngest at a gym for a gymnastic party he was invited to for a class mate. The “gym” is in what looks to be a carport with sides….and was about a 40 minute drive.  This is completely practical considering it’s for a 7 year old on a Saturday night from 7 to 9 PM, in December when it is pitch black. This wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t Ohio and deer are EVERYWHERE! I had a massive buck (that is a male deer for all my NYC and LA friends) dart out in front of me last week. I have been in a vehicle on 3 separate occasions when we’ve been hit by deer, one of the times on my father’s motorcycle.

Despite the time of evening, I sometimes look forward to taking the boys to birthdays because I can bring my computer, work on my blog or books. I noticed the birthday boy’s parents were considerably chatty so I made it a point to take the bleacher to the very top as a message of “please leave me alone this is my alone time.”

5 minutes later the father is following me up for an additional meet and greet. ‘Oh I’m sorry, it was supposed to end at my name is so-so, nice to meet you.’ Nope. I got to hear the history of why they had a party 40 minutes away in the middle of no where.

“Ok, line up!” I heard a teen say to the boys. I gathered he was the cruise director here. He had bleached his hair white, shaved it on both sides and wore it in a pompadour with a blue tint at the tips. He clearly didn’t want to be there yet he needed someway to pay for his ticket to NYC for acting.

The 6 children lined up. Suddenly the birthday boy’s mom stood up. ‘Fuck’, I thought. I knew what came next. In a helium high voice she turned to all the parents and declared “C’mon! Parents can join in too!”

No, no, I don’t want to join. This is my sole alone time that I get to veg and write. I have been to gymnastic parties before and they have always been kids only. Why mess with perfection?

I declined the invite 30 minutes ago to participate and have been feeling like an ass hole ever since. For the past 30 minutes, more parents have got up, taken their shoes off and joined in. I want to scream “STAY WITH ME PEEPS! WE MUST STAY UNITED HERE. If those kids see any weakness we will all be out there before you know it doing a Bruce Jenner.

Stay tuned…….



Getting to Know You · Uncategorized

I Just Scored….

I didn’t get laid. Get your minds out of the gutter folks. I wouldn’t introduce myself that way. This isn’t a “She’s My Cherry Pie” blog.   No, I mean I just scored about another 15-25 min to write my first blog. The Columbus Crew are currently playing in some playoff thing, have yet to score and my husband wants to finish watching it despite a solid 22 minutes into the Walking Dead. WD can wait, I need to write.

So who am I? “Why I’m a Zizzer Zazzer Zuzz as you can plainly see”- Dr. Seuss, Dr. Seuss’s ABC, 1963. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I have 2 sons and Dr. Seuss books were really the only ones I used to be able to enjoy, except the 400 page novel, Green Eggs and Ham, which I would be envisioning the slicing of my wrists just before Sam got him to eat the damn eggs and ham. “Their spoiled! Don’t eat them!” I would secretly cry to the trippin’ high hot mess thing the Dr. Seuss artist created.

Getting back to who am I. Well, I guess I’m a writer now. I’ve written about 4 books. My direct line to the publishing world is buried in a project that I hope all of you will hear about over the next year. I asked him if I should pursue an agent, publishing on my own, etc. and he said I should wait on him since it’s virtually impossible to get your foot in the door on your own. Normally this would be the point in time where all of you are saying “Don’t listen to him. He’s stringing you along.” Alas, I know he isn’t. I know because his mother is my neighbor and my friend. She would kick his ass if he didn’t follow through with his commitment to help me. I hate not taking the bull by the horns and figuring it out on my own so until that ball is rolling, you are stuck with this blog.

My publishing friend in which we will call D, said something that really stuck one day: funny always finds us. He couldn’t be more right. I had the same philosophy, only I always say: If irony had a job, he would be a comedian. I don’t know why I made irony a man.

I am 30 something, married with 2 perfect sons that drive me to drink Cabernet just about every night. It’s not uncommon to roll over the next morning and find 26 “likes” on Facebook to which my blood turns cold, my face hot and in my mind I am screaming ‘FUCK! What did I write?’  I find myself deleting about 1/3 of the posts. I even received the following in a private message one morning:

Hey, I think this picture is inappropriate and should not be on Facebook. Would you please take it down?

I’m not saying it was an image of me feeding the homeless but it sure as hell wasn’t of me kicking kittens.

Well damn it, the Crew game is over and I have to go downstairs. After we get all of these formalities out of the way we can have some fun and I can assure you I have stories to tell. Good night. 🙂