It’s true! At 42-years-old, I became prom queen at the hotel we were staying at for a soccer tournament. I even have the pics to prove it via I Became Prom Queen Last Night! – Hot Mess Memoir
Grab your weekend bag and some wine because we’re goin’ on a road trip! via We’re Goin’ on a Road Trip Friends! – Hot Mess Memoir
I’ve done so many “how to be a decent human being” posts (you can find those at my self-hosted blog in the top menu btw) via How to Be a Decent Human Being as a Soccer Mom or Dad – Hot Mess Memoir
The soccer mom life chose me….
And yet again another pouring morning I have the honor of sitting in for a soccer game. And for anyone that says “your gonna miss this,” no I’m not. I’m going to miss them being young and adorable sure but the go, go, go; sitting in the freezing rain? I’ll miss that about as much as I still miss Sister Mary Helen in 3rd grade which bordered on mental abuse every day in the classroom. This blows.
Last year my son went to 5th grade camp. One of the items stressed to be brought was deodorant. As the 28 year old, creepy Camp Director explained,
“Cause there’s nothing like 50 ripe smelling boys in the middle of the day,” he giggled, making all the moms uncomfortable at the thought of sending their sons with this man for 72 hours.
Up until today I really haven’t smelled my son’s BO…too often. Really, I could count it on one hand. Sure, him and his brother fall on the floor in a meltdown when you request they take a shower. Or, they can’t possibly fathom my demand that they will be taking a shower EVERYDAY come summer. I know, I’m such a terrible mother.
So every so often I would attempt to keep the deodorant dream alive with hints like,
“Hey, I packed some deodorant for you for your overnight with grammy.”
“I’ll give you $5 if you wear deodorant.”
Tonight after soccer practice, P got in the car and suddenly a new odor began to envelope my surroundings. It smelled of gym socks and pine and mildew. I pondered how to effectively get the point across about this growing BO problem.
‘Fuck it,’ I thought. ‘He isn’t taking my hints seriously and this is for his own good.’
With the calmness of a pilot explaining to the passengers our flight time, I said, “P, I’m gonna need you to get in the shower when we get home as you really do stink.”
There, I said it and he took offense.
“Geeze mom, talk about being blunt. Uh, maybe I stink cause I just finished practice?”
“And I get that but dude, start using deodorant.” I was breathing through my mouth while talking and doing this was proving to be difficult.
Had I not been blunt there would have been a whine fest and not the good kind of wine fest that I like. He would have taken his smelly little ass and plopped right down on the sofa rattling off 50 reasons why not to shower.
So there, that’s my story on how my child prefers to smell like a bum that pissed himself, living under a bridge. Go hygiene!
This morning I lost my shit. I was done. Done with with the shit hole motel we were assigned to, done with the ridiculous soccer schedule and done with the jacked up road system that is Southern Cincinnati.
P’s game this morning was at 8 am. Now, he had a game at 7:15 last night so we had roughly a 12 hour window between games to do things like sleep and eat. Oh wait, no…11 hours because the moron that scheduled these games didn’t take into account daylight savings time.
- Last night I had washed P’s uniform in the sink.
“Why not take it to the washer and dryer on site like every motel/hotel has had since 1990, Hot Mess?”
Well folks, it’s because our motel was so ghetto-tastic that they didn’t have an f’ing washing machine/dryer on site. I get that they want to give you the whole experience of Kentucky and living by the Ohio river for a few nights but if they think for one second I am taking my son’s uniform down to the Ohio river and washing it, they’ve got another thing coming.
After washing his uniform in the sink with the Tide Pods I had brought to use in a WASHING MACHINE, I rung out the uniform and hung it up to dry for 6 hours. 6 hours later itwas still damp so I had to use the hair dryer that was connected to the wall to dry it. This became a challenge considering 3 other people had to use the restroom and 1/2 of the time it was to shit.
2. Liquor City
I cannot get over that there is literally a liquor store in the parking lot. What the hell was Paris Hilton thinking when she chose this land……oh….now I get it. Well that makes sense:
I actually saw the liquor store as a perk except for the occasional hobo in the parking lot. All I wanted was a good Cab and didn’t want any trouble.
3. Possessed coffee maker
Yesterday morning I fished through the 3 foil packets only to discover they were all decaf. I heard the Housekeeper in the hall so I approached her for regular. This decaf thing was pretty cruel. She was helping an older Gentleman who heard my question. He went back into his room, 610 and returned 15 seconds later with his regular coffee packets. I thanked him and returned to my room.
I began making my coffee. All went well until I grabbed the completed cup and was burnt by a sudden burst of air that caused hot water to splash on my arm. I’m not Mc Donalds and the hot pickle incident but I did rip the machine out of the wall and took the little ass hole down to the front desk. Normally this would be the point in time they would offer me a complimentary dinner, breakfast or free wifi but seeing we were in a hovel, the front desk clerk had NOTHING to offer me. She simply took it and said she would get me a new one.
4. Half cleaned room
I think I’m a pretty good hotel guest. I tip all the time, clean up after myself and make sure everything is picked up so my room can be cleaned properly. After returning to our room after the first soccer game, I hit the restroom in our room. I deduced that our room had been cleaned as we had fresh towels, the trash was removed and they did the following tacky thing with our shower curtain:
I walked into the room afterwards and found the bed completely unmade. What the hell? Not only are we paying $75 more than what this room is worth but now what do I do? If I go out to the Housekeeper who’s making $7.35 an hour and declare, “You didn’t make my bed. You need to get back in my room and make it,” I am going to feel like one of those bitches in The Help. I wondered how many other people didn’t have their bed made. I’m guessing the carpet wasn’t swept either.
Because she did hook me up with extra toiletries that I had requested (my hair requires a TON of shampoo) I decided to not say anything and just make it myself.
5. Bathroom odor
Starting last night, our bathroom began to smell as if someone was on their period. I’m not on mine and no other female as visited our room except the cleaning lady. I was not going to dig through the trash can either to confirm this theory. There was nothing we could do. My youngest, C, declared this morning while wrinkling his nose, “Mom, what is that smell?” I couldn’t wound him for life and tell him what I thought it smelled like. I just had to empathize with him and count the hours down till we were gone.
6. The icing on the cake
I went on Trip Advisor this evening to see if other had had similar experiences or if I was just being a brat. I was horrified to find the following review:
OUR ROOM WAS 611.
Hot Mess Hits the Road This will tell you about our planned trip to Cincinnati and why.
So at 12:30, the family was in the SUV bound for Cincinnati, actually Covington, Ky for a weekend soccer tournament. I had plans to fire up the ole’ laptop and get some work done while my husband drove us but I quickly realized I was needed in other areas for our journey.
My husband was at the wheel and I would like to describe his driving style. My husband feels that if he is in the passing lane and he is 3′ behind you, you are to move. Immediately. When most people don’t abide by this, he rides their ass, going 80 mph. This makes me absolutely batty, causing me to feel the necessity to watch the road as if I were the driver. We continued to go between 80 and 90 the entire way there, riding someone’s ass 3/4 of the time. When I brought this up, his response was:
“You wanna drive?”
‘No ass hole, I just want to get there alive.’ Was my first thought.
“I just don’t want to rear end someone.”
The bridge from Cincinnati to Kentucky was a disaster. Cars were merging everywhere. I didn’t even know there were that many people in Kentucky to cause this issue. My sons did not realize this was stressful for both mom and dad and continued to chatter about absolutely nothing. It hit a fever pitch when my husband firmly said,
“GUYS! Can you stop chattering for like 2 minutes? Just 2 minutes. JESUS!” This exchange was occurring while I’m looking down into the Ohio River thinking, ‘One false move and we swim with the fishes.’
Thankfully, our ghetto-tastic Hampton Inn was immediately the first exit, once off the bridge. A gabillion other hotels, either the same cost or lower and we pick this hovel? Just as we turned in, I suddenly realized why this hotel was selected for soccer tournaments:
‘Everything is gonna be ok,’ I thought. ‘Everything is gonna be ok.’ Do you see what is literally in our parking lot? Fun fact: according to my husband, at one point, Cincinnati was dry. Covington, Ky took this as an opportunity to offer what the city would not. Even as we turned on to our street, there was this liquor superstore that seemed to be as big as a Best Buy
From a Trip Advisor review, the views of the Ohio River are “just lovely” from one side of the Hampton Inn. When my husband checked in, I asked that he request a top floor, preferably over looking this majestic scene.
Apparently this review was written by a Hampton Inn employee as the view is more reminiscent of a crime scene or the backdrop of Silence of the Lambs. I already saw a hobo and his dog hanging out right when I walked to the window to check out the “lovely view.” Thank God I didn’t waste $10 using The Sandwich Trick to get this view. I would have gone back downstairs and asked for it back.
So now I’m up here alone because I sent the boys out with another father for wings and boys time. I don’t like wings and I can only take so much soccer talk.
My room is a complete shit hole but of coarse I knew that going in because I did research. Hampton Inn fools you thinking they have remodeled by showing the one place they did remodel:
The rooms haven’t been touched since probably 1998. Here is our piss color room:
I asked for 2 queen beds so our sons would not wake up feeling like they were 80 from the sofa bed. Of coarse that is too modern for this hotel as they only offer a King with a sofa or 2 doubles.
The hotel is almost full because apparently this is the hotel de choix for not only the soccer tournament but a girl’s basketball team and a local Mary Kay convention.
So alas, I am going to get my shoes and walk over to Liquor City. I hope they have wine and not Boones Farm wine. If they don’t have wine, I’ll have to go to the superstore a 1/2 mile away.
P.S. C is hoping to see Colonel Sanders while in Kentucky. I told him it’s a definite possibility.
Get ready you guys! In less than 24 hours, we will be off to Cincinnati. Home of the Reds, Bengals, WKRP and the finest purveyor of vibrators, Pure Romance.
We are driving there for a huge soccer tournament. P was invited to play with an older team because he’s that good (you have to say it like Will Ferrell in Stepbrothers).
Only stories can come out of this weekend. I theorize this on the basis of several facts:
- It is to pour all day Saturday and all day Sunday. We have absolutely no shelter.
- A road trip for a few hours with children is definitely interesting.
- For an entire weekend, the entire Hampton Inn will be overtaken by prepubescent boys.
- In addition to the entire Hampton Inn looking more like Lord of the Flys, we are getting connecting rooms with another parent and son.
- There were about 20 other hotels that could have been selected at the same rate and cooler. Instead, images of the rooms show what look to be a Value City Furniture Showroom.
- P’s game on Sunday is at 8 but really it’s at 7 since we have the time change that morning.
- He has 1 uniform and 4 games. You do the math. I get to fight over the 1 to 2 washing machines on site with 100 other soccer moms. Bring it bitches, I’ve got my Tide Pods ready.
So get ready for a fun filled weekend. I’ll take pictures and post them on Twitter.
Good night to all!
Friday Evening-Adult Meltdown
My weekend started off awesome at 5 PM on Friday when I realized I had locked my keys in my car. I was scheduled to take my youngest son to movie night at his school in 1 hour. The movie they were showing, Inside Out, didn’t start till 7 but concessions opened at 6 and I wanted to make sure we got good seats and something to eat. I live a solid 40 minutes from work and another 10 minutes from his school so obviously this put a kink in the plans.
As soon as I saw the keys between the seats, I had a minor adult meltdown as I slammed my open hand on the window and screamed “damn it”! I was almost in tears because my son was really looking forward to this event and I didn’t want him to miss it.
Sulking, I walked back into work, slammed my purse on my desk, got out my AAA card and called them.
“Ma’am, I have your account pulled up but it shows here that you didn’t renew your membership last month.”
More great news.
” How much is it going to cost to renew?”
“If you want just the basic membership like last time, it’ll be $66. If you want to be able to use it instantly that will be an additional $20.”
I was in a hurry and in no mood to negotiate so I just accepted the charges like a little bitch and gave her my card number. I already spent $500 on my car at Tire discounters this week so hell, what’s another $88 at this point.
Friday Night-My Own Private Hell
One hour later I’m in my car speeding East. C and I arrived at the school 20 minutes before the movie was to start. As I came upon the gym entrance I took a deep intake of breath at what was before me.
On just about every surface was a blanket, pillows and hundreds of children, all under the age of 8, jumping up and down, running, laughing and screaming bloody murder. Surely this will be gym time in Hell.
After realizing my mouth was wide open in disbelief, I shut it promptly and continued to walk the 8″ path made for egress. To my right was my friend who taught here. Completely forgetting all filters, I asked the following question in my most serious tone.
“How do you teach everyday?”
“What?” She asked. She obviously couldn’t hear over the Chucky Cheese like atmosphere.
“How do you teach these kids everyday? I would slit my wrists.” I said looking around like I had just been involved in an accident.
“I mean….what the hell?” Was my classy finish.
She just gave me the same grin I seem to get quiet often these days that read, ‘I’m polite so I am going to smile because I don’t have an answer for her.’
C and I laid our blankets down in a 2′ x 2′ empty spot behind a grandmother and her daughter. If we laid our heads down in the aisle I spoke of earlier, we may be actually able to lay down and not sit up the entire time.
We made our way to the hallway for concessions. The line extended way farther than it should have. After a solid 5 minutes of waiting and a substantial number of people behind us, C decided it was the right time to announce he had pee and he had to PEE NOW. I was screaming inside. I know we were at his school but I did not feel comfortable letting him walk to the restroom alone. Some of these parents looked like they had just crawled out from under a bridge and I was not about to trust them.
After his 3 minute potty break I was pleased to find the line had moved not at all. I was now behind 3 middle school girls. One of the girls was channeling her inner obnoxiousness by not standing still for a millisecond, loosely holding a can of coke and on occasion, tilting it while she talked just around my $450 boots (I can’t afford $450 boots, huge discount).
“I tell my mama to shut up all the time!” She proudly yelled over another girl in the group, clearly trying to get some sort of WT street cred. I officially did not like her.
‘This little brat is going to spill her coke on my shoes and there is no way in hell her parents are going to replace them. I’ll probably be beat up in the process of demanding this, by her.’ Thank God it never came to that.
In the middle of nowhere, one of the smaller girls in the group that was eclipsed by coke girl looked at me and said, “I like your sweater.”
“Thank you,” I responded and continued to type on my phone.
Coke girl then took her free hand and placed it on my shoulder.
“I just want to touch your sweater.” She said smiling like a
“Why did you do that? What did you put on my sweater?”I said quickly checking for stains or a kick me sign.
Giggling she said, “no reason.”
The little girl piped up again, “she wanted to give you the cheese touch.” The cheese touch is basically the modern day cooties.
“Well as long as that is all she gave me, I’m good.”
“Can I have a hug?” Coke girl asked.
“No, I would prefer not,” I responded.
One last train wreck I want to call out that happened when we were leaving the school. As we walked into the hallway, a mom and a tiny little boy were standing outside the gym, probably waiting for someone.
“Hi C,” the little boy said to my son.
“Hi,” my son responded.
Just as I was finished folding up the blankets into a more manageable load I looked down at the boy. Not only did he have 1 ear pierced, he had both pierced with 2 large faux diamonds! Not only was I amazed but I was disgusted on so many levels.
“Does that little boy go to your school C?” I asked after being out of earshot of him and his poor excuse of a mother.
“Yes, he’s in kindergarten.”
“And those are real pierced ears?” I asked.
“Yep!” C responded shaking his head. You could tell he was proud that he found something that shocked me.
“Unbelievable.” I said under my breath.
Saturday- At Some Point My Car Drove Over an Ancient Burial Ground
To round out the 2 trips very expensive trips to Tire Discounters this past week, irony thought he would have more fun with me and my car.
Saturday morning I had a Doctor’s appointment. It was only 15 minutes away so I left exactly 15 minutes before the scheduled time. I got in as I normally do, clicked my seat belt and checked my rear view mirror. Just as I was looking into it, I saw a mouse scurry up the backseat and into the seat belt hole.
I LOST MY SHIT!
I unbuckled my seat belt, jumped out and went screaming into my house.
“You just can’t calm a woman down,” my oldest declared after I told him and my husband what had happened. This was some sort of joke going around with him and his friends. He decided to try it out on the situation.
I gave him “the parent look” coupled with the evil eye.
“Do you feel that is an appropriate comment to make given the situation? I will ground you for a month if you say something like that again. Try me.”
He quickly excused himself.
Fortunately when my husband got a broom out to feel around for the mouse, the mouse quickly vacated by jumping out and hopping across our yard.
‘Great!’ I thought. Now that little ass hole is going to give snakes a reason to come to my house-food!
So that was my weekend friends. Today was a combined total of 4 hours of soccer, grocery shopping, washing of a soccer backpack that P got even dirtier just hours after hand washing it, 3 loads of laundry, and many other exciting chores.
I know, I know. I live the life of a kept woman.
How was your weekend? Did you have a mouse in your car too?
As you may have read, my family eats, sleeps and breaths soccer. My husband had the soccer gene (still does) and passed it down to the boys. My contribution was my one season on the middle school basketball team. My playing was cringe worthy. I managed to embarrass the family on more than 1 occasion by dribbling the ball to the wrong side of the court despite angry parents yelling at me to go the other way.
My oldest tried out and made a soccer team that is EXTREMELY good. This is a club where the coaches are former professional soccer players and know their shit. Currently both sons are participating in a weekly indoor practice with this soccer club. They are lucky enough to have the club director coaching. We will call him Baklava.
Baklava played professionally for England, Poland and Germany. He looks like Mad Mikkelsen (NBC’s Hannibal) and I put him at about 50. He is kind and passionate about the sport yet you can’t understand a Goddamn thing that comes out of his mouth.
Below is an overview of what I saw and heard at yesterday’s hour long practice for my youngest:
Baklava is standing in the middle of the gym and yells, “Where are mey babies? C’mon babies, c’mon!”
Seconds later, 6 little soccer players run out and circle around Baklava. Baklava spread his arms out wide like soccer Jesus and announced, “Here are mey babies!”
I leaned over to our friend who also had his son in training and whispered,”Somehow it sounds adorable and right coming from Bakalava. If you and C said it, you would come off like pedophiles.” He gave me a that isn’t really funny grin.
“Stresh!” Baklava called out.
I didn’t understand until all the boys simultaneously spread their little legs out and began to stresh.
“Now, we pasta bowl to each other. Pasta barillo to Ash,” Baklava said attempting to explain a new drill. The child he was referring to: Ash, is actually named Nash.
The boys began to dribble the balls around several cones while Baklava began to shake his head up and down yelling “Gout, gout, gout! Ball, ball, ball. PUMBA da’ ball!”
I giggled. I didn’t know we would be referencing the Lion King today. Will he be holding my 7 year old up, displaying him to the soccer mom kingdom?
“Puta! Puta! Puta,” he yelled. Language sir! I still can’t figure out what he was trying to convey.
As practiced continued, he asked my oldest son to join in on the fun and be the bald boy. When the little ones kicked their balls into the goal, P was to kick them back.
Next Baklava had the boys line up with their balls. They were to dribble the ball to him, he would then kick the ball 4 feet away and the boys were to recapture the ball, dribble and kick it into the net.
As each boy went on I would hear Baklava yell, “fasa, fasa!”
During one of the drills, he yelled out”Bob Villa” or “Vaudeville”. I don’t know which one it was, maybe both. Off and on since yesterday I’ve been pondering Bob Villa and Vaudeville, trying to figure out what that translates to with regard to soccer.
I’ve asked my sons if they understand what Baklava is saying.
“Not really,” P responded. “I ask J when I don’t understand but he just looks at me as if I’m stupid or he doesn’t understand either.” J is P’s teammate. Baklava and J’s mother are dating and live together so J has a leg up with regards to translating.
So that is my practice story. I found it funny and thought I would share it with you guys. Well, I’m off to fix some pasta and pick up some baklava.