ponderings of a mad woman « single with vodka

ponderings of a mad woman

ponderings of a mad woman — 1 Comment
22
Aug 10

livin’ la vida sentada

my mother recently told me that she has planned a trip to egypt and my first question was not “are you going to see the pyramids, the sphinx, or king tut’s tomb?” not “are you traveling by camels and goats, and are you aware just how much they hate americans there?” not “when do you leave & can you read hieroglyphics?” no, my first question was, “but what are the restrooms like there?” i could only imagine my mother squatting over shallowly dug sandy pits in the middle of the desert lacking any tp, much like those seen in slumdog millionaire. and that, my friends, is where the difference between men & women is most pronounced (besides the penis/vagina thing of course): how peeing & the places we do it in dictate much of a woman’s life.

living La Vida Sentada, the seated life, presents it’s own distinct set of challenges of which men have little idea, interest, or care. for instance, we have to constantly be aware of our liquid intake based upon when the next Emptying Of The Bladders will be (no, thanks. i better pass on that second ice tea.). we must make travel arrangements based on when we can pee next (is there a restroom there or should i go now?). we get dressed based upon the imagined effort it will take to remove said clothes for peeing (i am so not wearing pantyhose!” and remember the bride? do you know how many people it takes to help her pee so she doesn’t yellow that giant white dress?) and there is the always the question of cleanliness (oh no! it’s a gas station. forget it. i’ll wait. i can hold it for another 50 miles” and btw – what is up with those giant key chains they always have for gas stations? and do we really even need to lock up these pits of filth? who are they keeping out? i mean who the hell is sneaking in there that they need security? ). we alter our social life around peeing, “a THREE hour movie? no thanks.” and, “it won 72 tonys but there is NO intermisson? i’ll pass.” in fact, i am sure this is exactly why that genius device, the DVR, was invented and had to have been done so by a woman.

in addition to carrying this enormous burden, we are saddled with being the primary Trainers Of The Pee Release which means most of us are stocking purell like squirrels do acorns. all you hear in the ladies’ room is mothers frantically screaming, “DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING.” and “WAIT UNTIL I PUT PAPER DOWN.” young girls are indoctrinated early on about Layering & taught to master the muscle control required to do The Squat (an advanced move that saves time by not having to put paper down but can be very messy if not executed perfectly). and how in the world are we supposed to train boys to pee standing up when we can’t even do it ourselves? no wonder why men just pee anywhere they please – how can we teach them any differently as young boys? moms of boys must give up after being sprayed enough times and finally say, “just go pee on that wall instead of my shoes.”

and due to this woeful, seated life, i have more than once, thought about how much easier it might be if i had been armed with the invaluable information of a Pee Pee Guidebook i could consult before ever leaving the house – a line of travel books marketed solely to women written by women about ladies’ rooms across the world. i would hire an army of female travelers to urinate across the globe documenting facilities to create an all encompassing peeing library. it would be broken down into state & country specific volumes with a gratis map tics app that rivals triple A’s so one could choose travel destinations based on places to void the bladder. this encyclopedia of piss would list all the restrooms at main points of interest, tourist attractions, museums, hotels, camp sites, etc. and rate said restrooms from 1 to 5 toilet paper rolls: 1 being the worst and 5 being the best. ratings would be based on cleanliness, ease of use, location, amount of stalls, which way the door opens (we have all gotten trapped inside more than once when the door opened in), functionality of locks should they even exist, decor, price (yes, i said price: those backwardass europeans charge you to pee & the price has nothing to do with the quality of the place), availability & quality of tp/soap, papertowels/dryer, & family-friendliness.

not only would these books arm chicks with toilette rankings, but they would also include handy tips for acquiring the life skills so important to successful peeing like how to properly feign pregnancy or nausea to skip the line entirely without fear of retribution and make it back for halftime. or how to navigate ancient theaters with hidden stairways that lead to secret restrooms and be able to make it back to your seat within 15 minutes for act 2. which countries to avoid traveling to altogether that have no restrooms of any kind. “you want to go on safari out in the bush? where do i pee? you don’t know? no thanks. i can watch the antelope get mauled by the lion on animal planet. in fact, i’m pretty sure that is why hi-def tv was invented.”

so here is a sneek peek at the P.P. Patrol Library coming to a kindle near you soon:

Intro to Colllege Bar Restrooms of America 101:

let’s face facts: there has always been an entirely other kind of learning occurring on american college campuses – the learning of how to hold your liquor. sometimes in this endeavor, young co-eds must also learn to hold the pee, not only because of ridiculous drinking games that demand it, but due to the unsanitary conditions of said bars which worsen as on the night wears. in addition to ranking the filth of bathrooms among college campuses by state perhaps even aiding in the college of choice decision, this overpriced text book & class syllabus will cover:

*The Breaking of the Seal: when is it best to break the the proverbial seal? weighing the consequences of ruining the game by giving in to The Urge way before midnight before all the tp is gone or risking peeing on a bar stool which we all know isn’t very sexy.

*Overused & Overflowed: what to do when you find yourself ankle deep in contaminated water (which also includes the sub-topic Bar Shoes).

*Line Cutting Without Injury: negotiating lines without getting beat up so you can get in there before the way too drunk girl hurls all over the last clean roll of toilet paper.

*Making Doo: how to wipe with a cardboard tube should it become necessary or worse – drip drying!

*Pee Pee Etiquette - avoid being the inconsiderate bitch who tucks, zips, & buckles her belt inside the stall. and for god sakes, this is not the time or place to poop!

and bonus sections:

* Frat House Fun: yes, you are being watched. yes, you will find your name written on the walls along with horrid details about what you look like naked & who saw you that way and why. DO NOT PEE HERE unless you have no issues with future employers finding you on youtube.

* Off the Peeing Path: how to pull those cute little panties aside & pee behind a dumpster when all else fails without getting busted by the campus po po.

* The Dorms’ Dirty Little Secret: what your RA doesn’t want you to know about co-ed bathrooms.

The Road Less Peed

a series of travel companions especially useful for the pregnant, those with potty training children, or just those with pea sized bladders which would cover all rest stops on major highways in each state describing such things as:

*The Last Resort: pit stops that haven’t been updated since route 66 opened in 1926 and still have that filthy rotating towel thing upon which to dry your hands.

* Bagging the Elusive White Whale: where to find the dying breed of restrooms that have that plastic rotating seat cover or any seat covers at all.

* when it’s necessary to pack a gas mask to survive the toxic bursts of automatic air freshener.

* how to disable the automatic flushing mechanism that scares the crap outta your kids. literally.

* where to find the hidden pit stops which are less traveled, slightly out of the way, but far cleaner.

* what rest stops to avoid completely that double as prostitution service for truckers, drug rings, or contain “mysterious” holes in the stalls.

* what to do when peeing along side of the highway is just unavoidable.

* No Dogs Allowed: the best way to secretly scoop up rover’s calling cards before you jet.

the intro would be entitled “The History of the American Rest Stop”

sample entries will include personal experiences of the writers:

Hawaii: Maui: The Road to Hana: The Seven Sacred Pools at Haleakela National Park: hands down, the most disgusting bathroom i have ever encountered in my life. giant multi-user johnny on the spot bench seat with holes to sess pool below. no sanitary facilities of any kind. you must hold your nose or you will most likley barf from the odor of the mountains of decomposing feces below your ass. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT PEE HERE.

-5 rolls

Trains, Planes, & Automobiles: Domestic & Abroad

what girl can forget the horror, shock, & awe that she felt The First Time….she encountered a mobile restroom? who hasn’t peed all over herself because she doesn’t have “sea legs” while sucking in the pleasant aroma of tuna in The Head of a boat? who doesn’t remember realizing that the hole in the bottom of the train bathroom actually allowed you to pee on the tracks thus explaining the sign demanding you not use the restrooms while the train is in the station. it’s not just the pee destination you need to know about beforehand, but also the restroom that gets you there! important tips would include:

* bacterial parts per 1000 of surfaces in mass transit restrooms.

* what to do when you absolutely have to pee when the “stay seated” light is on.

* sneaking into “first class” facilities.

* how to be sure the “occupado” light is illuminated while your pants are around your ankles.

* what do if you must “go greyhound.”

* the pros and cons of travel potties and the effect they have on our nation’s youth.

Port Authority Bus Station, NYC: squatting will be necessary to avoid excrement covered seat thanks to wino that was in there before you. barf from the strongest odor of urine you have ever smelled in your life on the homeless person living in there thus contributing to the terrible humanity. no paper, no soap. run out as fast as possible vowing never to return to this place or the city that spawned it which smells entirely of warm piss itself and most fragrant in august after a drought.

-8 rolls.

Peter Pan Busline, USA: loose 20 pounds before the trip so you can actually fit in the tiny lav* CAUTION: do not look down into blue pool of human waste – you can never unsee it and the nightmare will haunt you forever. board early to avoid sitting in last 15 rows of bus closest to the lav. also, it is recommended you dehydrate 3 days prior to bus travel to rule out the use of it at all.

* advisable for airplane lavatories as well

1/2 roll

Shoppeeing, Eating, & Entertainment

a comprehensive set of guides for the family, elderly, or bladder challenged that would cover any retail area, dining establishment, & entertainment venue by town & state. also available in a mini version with a handy clip that can attach to the stroller or fit in a purse.

this guide includes:

* the hidden bathrooms in all retail locations “they” don’t want you to know about.

* the last remodel date of the bathroom: avoiding those restrooms with shag carpet from 1973.

* sneaking into the “employee only” bathroom.

enjoy a master thesis included in this tome called, the family restroom of america- does it really exist & it’s social ramifications.

sample entry:

Nordstrom, Freehold, NJ: uber clean restroom.* facilities well maintained. plenty of paper. hooks & shelves for belongings. child friendly. stroller friendly. baby changing area with private nursing facilities. soap & paper towels always available.

*not applicable to cafe facility.

5 tp rolls

Renaissance Fair, Anywhere, USA: rows and rows of filthy porta-potties complete with dirty footprints on floor covered in mystery sludge. bring your own tp & clothespin for your nostrils. prepare to wait on line in 102 degree sun & hope you drank enough mead to forget the experience altogether.

-3 rolls

Hotels & Motels of America:

once the road trip guide gets you there, where do you pee? this tome explores many important issue germane to today’s vactioners:

* the differences between 1 & 5 star lodgings’ facilities.

* how to calculate the pee to chlorine ratio based on the star system.

* tp folding & what it means to your family.

* the sanitary strip: its’ actually inversely proportional to the quality of the inn.

sample entries:

Ritz Carlton, Naples, Florida: numerous pristine facilities featuring high end decor & priceless artwork and full floor to ceiling stall partitions. pima cotton 800 thread count hand towels, 6 ply quilted paper, spa quality soap. will ruin all future restrooms for you. forever.

10 luxurious rolls

Motel 6, Bismark, North Dakota: sanitary paper strip applied to seat but do not use a black light to test the soundness of that inspection. cancer causing red heat lamps from 1964 create a certain coziness. 1 ply tp but artfully folded into a triangle. clean enough for a night or a few hours…

2 rolls

Europeein

have you longed to travel abroad but haven’t because of the hygienic horror stories you have heard? and rightly so, because they are true! this series of books will outline the country specific survival skills necessary to pee outside of the US or at the very least, prepare the reader to be less horrified by her first encounter with a parisian bathroom. (i use the term, bathroom, very loosely since there is not much bathing happening in that country at all*).

sample entries:

Italy, The Riveira: a wooden shack with a hole in the floor that has outlines around it for your feet for proper squatting position leaving you to wonder where does the stuff actually go? no paper. no facilities for hand washing. DO NOT POOP here. female child’s use not recommended. there is a fee of 2 euros that is much too high when you convert the euros to USD. i can’t believe anyone even has to pay to piss here.

-2 rolls

Italy, Venice: elusive restroom done up in subway decor complete with turnstiles located at top of winding hill past the virgin mary statue. doesn’t matter which virgin mary since it may be the only restroom on the island as signs lead you there from every single part of the place. pay 1 euro to enter the turnstile for privilege of holding your breath because bathroom attendant’s BO is unbearable to american noses. tp & hand washing available, but no provisions for hand drying. try not to overhear attendant laughing at how much money they make for charging people for a human function. also try not to notice the stench of urine around the entire city from exasperated travelers that gave up looking for the potty & dropped trou when they just couldn’t hold it anymore. not for those who are pregnant, have heart conditions, or are in poor health. bring water & snack for the journey.

1 roll

Paris, France: Jacques on Le Spot in middle of street, with no paper, a major stench undetectable to french nostrils and with a core temperature of 108 degrees inside during summer. requires a complicated amount of coins you will not have and for which not one snot ass vendor will give you change since you never paid attention in 8 years of french and thus still can’t speak that useless language; so you must ask the asshole with the canadian flag on his pack to get for you. he will then think you owe him some & follow you around the city until you shake him at the l’ouvre. as you exit the restroom, be prepared to be hit on the ass with a rolled up newspaper because the filthy old french man you walked by on the bench thinks you’re cute…for an americain. ask yourself why you came here in first place.

-2 rolls

*included with this set of guides would be a free smart phone app called the BOI – the Body Odor Index – it’s like the UV index but far more useful: “the recent water shortage & 14 day heat wave in venice has caused the BOI to reach a 9 out of a possible 10. stay indoors today or superglue your nostrils shut. it’s gonna be a stanky one out there today!”

also available for purchase with the books will be a companion PP Survival Kit which includes:

* ass wipes – they’re not just for kids anymore

* disposable toilet seat covers

* 6 pack of hand sanitizer

* brawny extra thirsty paper towels

* disposable baby changing pads or a disposable baby

* emergency coin holder (for abroad versions)

* face mask

* haz mat suit

* rubber gloves

* directions to nearest decontamination stations

* packed in a handy anti-bacterial travel case in your choice of pink or blue

with these books, i imagine a peeing utopia for women across the globe where we will all be united in our bladder freedom.

pee on sistas!

file it under gggb

from the i am getting too old for this files:

i have been out with my pre-tween girls on more than one occasion when i clucked disapprovingly at what “teenage girls are wearing these days. it’s just disgraceful that their mothers allow that.” pictures from my high school years would reveal that i dressed like one of those tramps myself.

no matter how routine she knows it is, and despite her seemingly huge annoyance with it, any woman over 30 will always be secretly thrilled to be carded.

at 2 am there is nothing sadder than a drunk, over-botoxed, orange spray tanned, too skinny, bleached blond cougar in spandex with new tits on an old body alone at the bar for last call waiting for someone (anyone) to take her home for a mercy fuck. i am going to retire early from the singles’ scene before i can be described as doing even just one of those things (well, except for drunk).

from the that will ruin your day files:

upon sitting in the pedi chair for a relaxing treat after a long hard week, the tiny asian bitch looked at my gut and most likely trying to make conversation said, “you have baby?” i said, “no, apparently i gained some weight since i was here last, but thanks for noticing.” consequently, she was quiet for the rest of the time which was nice because i always hate when they talk to me anyway.

while purchasing tickets for a movie, my mother asked for the senior discount. the vacuous 18 year old behind the counter then turned to me & asked if i would like the senior price too. at first i wanted to cry, but then i thought, “what the hell?” a discount is a discount.

from the hangover files:

i decided i must make a clean break from dirty martinis.

my liver can’t recover like it used to. in college i could party as late as i wanted for as many nights as i wanted, pop 2 tylenols before bed & resume all of my daily activities. now if i want to binge drink for even one night, i need to plan for a week of recovery.

a friend remarked, “when people say they have to quit drinking, it makes me nervous.” i told her that’s why i never quit.

from the beauty files:

i decided i won’t torture myself anymore to lose that last 5 (10) pounds because i realized there is no way you’re gonna get these perky 32DD’s (which are real AND spectacular) on a 5’0 frame without a little extra padding elsewhere.

my mom was never high maintenance (none of us have any idea how she raised me) but she did impart some valuable knowledge that has allowed me to preserve my glowing youth so successfully: 1. it is never too early to start using eye cream. 2. stay the fuck out of the sun especially when you are fair & have skin the thickness of filo dough.

it is not advisable to wear new fuck me heels in which you are unaccustomed to walking after a fresh pedi, because when you fall off them & twist your ankle, you will indubitably scratch up the fresh polish.

after a full day of personal maintenance, it occurred to me that i was all groomed up with no one to fuck.

i quit the gym, but it’s okay because i have some new behaviors in place: 1. i am going to jog to the fridge. 2. i will hide my remote & manually change the channels on the tv. and 3. i will put diet soda in my vodka.

from the lost poetry files:

roses are red.
violets are blue.
it’s been so long since i got laid,
that my legs i no longer shave.

from the irritable bowel syndrome files:

at dinner my pal thought her phone was vibrating, but she realized it was just her intestines.

after a long day or full evening of holding in my gas, i love when i am finally in my car alone and can let loose, but i am concerned my intense flatulence is obliterating the new car smell.

i often wonder what would happen if farts had a color and differed in color according to intensity of stank. kind of like the national state of emergency chart of color level for terrorist activity but for methane intensity. i think we would have no choice but to deem farting socially acceptable. except you might cross the street if you saw someone blow a dark green cloud knowing it was going to be especially foul.

the smaller the girl, the bigger the farts.

you ever think its safe to freely fart in an empty room at work and then someone walks in after you did? they have to know it’s you. no one else is in there.

you know your gas is intense, when you have to roll down the window.

you know you are in a solid relationship when you can lean to one side & lift a cheek and let it all out.

from the random musings files:

why is that i can instantly get most anything delivered to my house except for what i really need? vodka.

so, since i started writing, i can’t simply have conversations anymore or participate in any aspect of my life without wondering if its blogworthy and surreptitiously taking notes on my phone. to be fair, i tell people, “i am so using that in my blog.”

i tried to quit coffee but the withdrawal was so intense i didn’t want to live. plus i was tired and confused all the time. if i owned a drug company, i would develop a caffeine patch or a gum for those trying to quit or who just need a steady delivery system of caffeine to make it through the day. (hey merck, this is a freebie.)

being in bumper to bumper traffic has a domino effect: the guy in front of you moves up 2 millimeters, then you do, and down the line it goes. sometimes when sitting at a traffic light i will notice a space between me & another car that i can either ignore or move up few inches. i usually choose to move up because there is a delicious sense of power in knowing i just set off a major chain of cause & effect for all those poor slobs behind me. i am the traffic queen!

some commercials are so intentionally cheesy i can not imagine that the advertiser even thinks they are good. i figure that the production budget was so low, they advertiser just didn’t give a shit as long as the product was on tv.

i think we need to buy products on infommercials that will “save us so much time” because we wasted all that time watching said infommercials. they are just sooooo fucking long.

why was it when we were in high school (last century) the kids in the band & drama club were usually considered to be giant dorks, but as adults, musicians & actors are some of the most revered people in our society? same is true for the computer nerds whom we now worship when they fix our technology.

there is one good week for women in a month and that is the week immediately after the last day of her period when all of her jeans fit. the rest of the month she is either getting it or has it.

there are now studies extolling the virtues of eating chocolate, taking naps, drinking wine, having orgasms every day, laughing, and limiting hard core exercise. it can’t be long until we find out being a bitch is good for you too.

i think the reason bad weather is so infuriating is that there is no one specific on which to lay blame. you can bitch all you want, but you can’t do shit to change it. weather is the one thing we as humans will never be able to control & that simultaneously freaks us out & pisses us off.

i spent mother’s day with my mom & sister at my friend’s house with her boyfriend’s family for an hour before she came home. when she finally walked in, i told her i was about to text her: “10 more minutes and this becomes a blog post.”

i am all about having a sense of humor and i really don’t understand how someone can lack one. when i run into a humorless person, it immediately becomes my personal challenge to make them laugh and walk away with a smile. i have a warped need for approval.

from the parenting files:

your child’s entire sex education & knowledge of profanity occurs not from your well thought out talks, but from riding that damn bus back & forth to school every day. that is what happens when you put fifth graders & first graders on the bus together. sound travels up from “the back.”

a woman is always most fertile right after losing that last bit of baby weight.

i don’t know why that no matter what my kids ask me to do, my first response is always to want to say no.

i hate hosting playdates, going to birthday parties, and basically anything that requires dealing with other peoples’ children but does not involve booze at the same time.

happy hour used to mean going drinking after work with friends. now it’s that one hour after the kids finally go to bed when i think about drinking but fall asleep before i find the vodka bottle.

god, my kids are perfect, brilliant, well -behaved angels…i have never loved them so much as when they’re sleeping.

my friend had to get off the phone with me the other day because, as she put it “she had to bathe the bitches.” see, we all agree that we adore our children, but we are kinda over the mommy thing.

sometimes i overhear my 9 year old & her friends complaining about me or saying i am mean after i get annoyed with them for asking me for something every 10 minutes and i think “why, you little ungrateful bitches.” then i think, good, i don’t want these fucking princesses to come back here anyway. what happened to the good old days when you were afraid of your friend’s parents and avoided them as much as possible?

from the files of i wish i said this:

i heard a comedian remark that marriage was like the stockholme syndrome. having been there & done that, i must say this is brilliantly true.

from the fashion police files:

i have noticed that generally, most heavy, slovenly dressed, unattractive women, carry the most expensive designer purses. it must be because you don’t have to be thin to wear a purse or even look in the mirror to try it on.

why is it that thin women have more modesty than the big girls? it seems the fatter the woman, the tighter the pants & shorter the top.

men revere summer as a time when women run around half naked to beat the heat. i dread it as the time of year when my retinas are burned by being forced against my will to see far more exposed bodily hair & flab than i could ever have imagined existed. some people need not to dress seasonally appropriately.

from the break-up files:

i realized it’s not the boyfriend i miss so much, it’s the 24/7 texting i have a hard time living without.

i won’t exactly be out on the street after my divorce, but my lifestyle will change significantly. it’s kind of a “riches to rags to story.”

in the process of leasing a new car a few months ago, i discovered going to car dealerships is far better than going to singles’ bars.

when i think about dating again, i refer to that old addage about many fish in the sea, but then a friend said, “same ones keep getting thrown back in the pond.” so i decided to buy the club pack of AAA’s.

from the working girl files:

if he is cute, it’s flirting. if he’s not, it’s sexual harassment.

now that i’m working again (for pay), i am one lazy bitch on my day off – no more guilt about napping immediately after the school bus leaves.

from the sex files:

a woman scorned will undoubtedly make at least 1 of these 3 revelations immediately after the break-up: 1. he had a tiny penis. 2. she faked ALL the orgasms. 3. he was terrible in bed.

how we know when it’s really over as summed up by a fellow gggb: “my vagina is dry for him.”

i have a vibrator that is so good, that i don’t scream, “oh god.” i scream, “i don’t need a
man.”

women try to rationalize sleeping with a married man by saying, “if it’s not me, it will be someone else.” while that may indeed be true, i say, let it be someone else, girl.

men have turned online dating sights into a free prostitution ring. keep that in mind, ladies.

once in awhile i get lonely & think i need a man in my life, but then i get some fresh batteries and in 60 seconds, i am over it.

masturbation, by it’s very definition, is a solo act. so let’s agree that i won’t bother to pretend to jerk you off and you don’t have to hold the vibrator.

in case you were wondering: it is possible to burn out the motor on a vibrator.

faking orgasms is like eating potato chips: you can’t stop at just one.

ponderings of a mad woman — 3 Comments
6
May 10

all around mommy’s big tush…

in honor of mother’s day, i have written some very special nursery rhymes for all the mommies out there. happy day, you wonderful, incredible, strong, superwomen.

old mother hubbard went to her cupboard to see that it was quite dry
she opened the door to see vodka no more and loudly did she cry.

there was a new mommy who was very blue.
she was so fucking tired, she didn’t know what to do.
so she poured herself a double
and took something for her head,
whipped her husband soundly
and then went to bed.

all around mommy’s big tush
the children fought each other.
the children thought t’was all in good fun ‘til,
FREAK! went the mommy.

a vodka a day
keeps the mommy okay.
kahlua in the morning
mommy’s pouring.
gin at night,
mommy’s all right.
bottle of wine before bed,
mommy really prefers red.
ten a day, hundreds each month, empty bottles, liquid lunch.

hey, hey bar keep,
have you any gin?
yes ma’am, yes ma’am
just came in.
one for the mother,
one for the wife,
and one for the kid
who took over your life.

diddle diddle dumpling
one shoe is gone.
went to bed
with my clothes on.
diddle diddle dumpling
i’m a mom.

eeny meeny miney moe.
catch a toddler on the go.
if he bites you,
you best let go.
eeny meeny miney moe.

the itsy bitsy rugrat
got hold of a black marker.
off came the cap
and all the walls were darker.
out came the mom
from in the crapper all alone.
swearing never again will freely that kid roam.

mommy, mommy chocolate eater.
had a diet that couldn’t keep her.
stuffed her mouth full of jelly beans.
fuck! now she needs all new jeans.

pussy cat, pussy cat
where have you hid?
in the bushes, away from that kid.
pussy cat, pussy cat, why did you go?
i crapped in his bed since i hate him so.

wives of a feather flock together.
especially if there’s wine.
gin or vodka, it’s their choice.
as long as i get mine.

the mommy in the hell.
the mommy in the hell.
hi-ho she’s always drunk.
the mommy in the hell.

ring around the soccer mom.
the PTA mom is faster.
fuck you, fuck you.
you’re all over-achievers!

super stressed mama sat in a corner
drinking her vodka & rye.
she chugged the first one and felt quite numb.
and then quietly did she cry.

little miss muff
sat on her duff
eating her kid’s table scraps.
along came a husband who said all day she did nothin’.
now she is doing 25 to life.

little bo peep hid from her sheep
and then she didn’t mind them.
she left them alone and had shots of petrone
animal control would find them.

jack and jill went up the hill
to fetch their lazy father.
they both fell down & broke their crowns
because their father is a moron.

jack sprat ate no fat.
his wife ate no lean.
because he never fucking came home for dinner.

mom be nimble.
mom be quick.
mom catch the kid
about to be sick.
mom run fast.
don’t be slow.
otherwise on the carpet it will go.

fe fi fo fum!
i smell the lies of a bad husband.
i know he’s been in a another’s bed.
i am going to beat him upon his head.

young mother cole was a very lonely soul.
and a lonely pretty wife was she.
she called for her handy man.
she called for her plumber.
and then she called for her painters three.

hey diddle diddle
the kid in the middle
is usually kind of off.
the little one laughed
when the oldest took note
that mommy ran away with a cop.

hickory dickory dock.
somewhere it’s 5 o’clock.
so mommy poured one
and down it went.
hickory dickory dock.

hush little baby,
don’t say a word.
mama’s gonna change your turd.
if that turd really stinks,
then mama’s gonna need a drink.
if that drink don’t do the trick,
then mama’s gonna get really sick.
if mama gets sick and makes a fuss,
the neighbors just may call dyfus.
if dyfus comes to take the kids,
daddy is gonna flip his lid.

humpty dumpty sat on a bar stool.
humpty dumpty drank ‘til he drooled.
all the queen’s horses & all the queen’s men,
wouldn’t let humpty come home ever again.

hush a buy mommy,
in the strip mall.
when the stores open,
visa will call.
before school ends
mommy must leave.
then much will cry mommy, shoesies, & all.

mommy’s pants are falling down.
falling down.
falling down.
mommy’s pants are falling down.
her muffin top is showing.

i’ve been doing all the housework
all the live long day.

i’ve been doing all the housework
just to scrub this dirt away.

cant you hear the bathroom calling?
it’s the next place i must clean.

don’t you hear the husband shouting?
“i need some underwear!”

bitch, won’t you do
bitch, won’t you do
bitch, won’t you do the laundry?

no one’s in the kitchen with mommy.
no one’s in the kitchen, i know.
no one’s in the kitchen with mommy
not helping so she can’t go.
Continue reading →

ponderings of a mad woman / true but unecessary confessions — 5 Comments
15
Apr 10

the cleaner

i don’t know what it is about organizing/cleaning that i so deeply adore, but i just can’t stop doing it. i know i come from a long line of anal people: my great grandfather was called The Tyrant, my grandfather insisted my grandmother iron his hankies into perfect squares, and my father kept his shirts in the bag with the cardboard from the cleaners precisely stacked on his closet shelves (my sister & i used to try to pirate that cardboard without disturbing the perfect order of his shirts but he knew every time). or maybe it is just my manifestation of OCD combined with the false sense of control i feel i have over my life when a drawer is perfectly outfitted with labeled bins. as a kid i loved to clean and purge. my sister was always rescuing my priceless childhood memories from the kitchen sized garbage bags i would smuggle up to my room and fill with stuff that i eventually tried to buy back on ebay (and it turns out you really can’t buy your childhood back). i even had a circa 1979 dymo label maker which my sister & i used to label everything in the gd house. there was nothing like new pristine school supplies and brandy new boxes of crayons to send me into a tizzy. and i was quite neat for the most part, save for the messy anomaly of my teenage years. so, you can not imagine what a horrible, awful surprise it was to learn i had married a slob of epic proportions. we are talking a filthy, messy, stacker. nothing tortures a neat person more than having a slovenly roommate (just ask felix unger). i was miserable and had to do something about it, so i turned to a trusted friend for help, Mr. Clean, and became completely obsessive with instilling order in my life.

the organizing impulse really kicked into high gear when i learned i was pregnant with my second child (a sweet surprise that occurred immediately after i lost the last bit of first baby weight & had bought an entirely new wardrobe of very expensive size 1 jeans which never got worn): i had the idea that if i could somehow systematize my entire home and catalog every single item located in it, i would be running a well oiled machine before rugrat number 2 joined the family to turn things upside down with her own special brand of chaos. it would be different this time after the baby came – it just had to be. it had been 3 years since number 1 invaded, and i was just beginning to feel like i was finally in control of my life again (which is really a well practiced illusion for anyone with children anyway). i watched all the organizing shows, bought instructional books (which i could now write myself), took notes, and then attacked my home from every angle. i purged all the useless items and had every single closet professionally organized. i was buying giant plastic storage tubs before it was fashionable. and i worked it like a job before there was an actual industry completely dedicated to the Organizing Arts. anyway, by the time i was 8 months pregnant and balancing with one toe on a bar stool i had fashioned into a ladder so i could clean off the last high shelf in the kitchen, i had achieved my goal of 100% complete domestic organization and OCD niravna was mine (but the post baby organizational bliss was short-lived since once that second runt became mobile, she quickly desecrated my sacred Temple of Neatness).

my closets became a thesis in anal retention. all garments were placed on wood hangers (NO WIRE HANGERS!) which all must be made of the same wood and finish and FACE THE SAME WAY. as a kid when i had those colorful plastic hangers, they too were arranged by color. clothes were lined up according to season, function, color order (ROY G. BIV), and arranged from shortest to longest by sleeve and overall length. do i even have to tell you about the shoes with polaroid pix on the front of the boxes displaying the contents and stacked according to the same stringent standards as the clothing placement? (but the move to the dorm room with what can barely be called a closet when the divorce started destroyed that fashion utopia. it’s okay. we will rebuild.) i also run a tight ship in all of my domestic departments: in the kitchen, all cans & food goods face the same way and are alphabetized according to type with tallest items in the back. there is no drawer lacking excessive amounts of perfectly fitting modular containers filled with color coordinated utensils. no spice is without a rack. in the bathroom, there is no hair care product apart from its brethren or out of a basket. no toiletry roams free allowed to float aimlessly in a drawer or a cabinet. all things must be properly contained & corralled. paper goods lined up by type. i have my own hot line to call for emergency label maker tape refills. hell, my entire basement & kitchen remodels were thinly veiled excuses to build glamorous storage spaces designed to hold beautiful high end containment systems. i built a fucking cedar closet outfitted with cedar hangers. i searched tirelessly for hours to find just the right bin and there was no organizing device i wouldn’t buy. i have my socks in grids. by color. and type. my bras & panties (which, i am sure you have figured out, must match) are stored as a set separated by color by drawer dividers. why i am not next in line for ceo of The Container Store (my heaven on earth) is a mystery to me. and there is no doubt that i successfully passed the organizing gene onto to my kids.

my kids have learned my insane habits too. miss 9 year old is painfully neat & won’t allow a single stray item in her room (which is really just a glorified container for her things since she pretty much lives with me in here in the cell). she also likes to throw everything out and has to be watched like a hawk just like me as a child. “you are going to want that in 25 years.” “no, i won’t.” “trust me. you will and you won’t be able to buy back your judy blume diary on ebay.unfortunately, i know.” (i certainly don’t want her to make the same purging mistakes i did as a young novice. i never had an organizing mentor.) miss 6 year old is truly a slob at heart, but does clean when asked, BUT she calls it “organizing,” and she can’t seem to tidy up without embarking upon huge re-organization projects that involve emptying every single thing she owns onto the floor and assigning new placements to each – which is the same exact way i clean. and by the way, i couldn’t wait for her to read so she could read the labels on all the bins and be organizationally self-sufficient. at one point after i had sold all of my own & the girls’ purged items on ebay, i dubbed my self The Tidy Terror and and i actually had an entire schtick going in which i helped people organize by going through their stuff and selling it for them on ebay. that was a decent gig for awhile but i had to store too much crap in my house and it conflicted with my personal domestic organizational scheme and just really began to stress me out, man.

you can immediately read my mental status by how neat & clean my house is. when i feel perfectly at ease in my life, the order in my home rivals that of a military barrack’s. when i start to lose it, you can see that by the deterioration of my home – stuff will be all over because i just stop caring. but then the mess stresses me out, so i go into a tornado of cleaning in order to feel more in control. a kind of chicken & egg conundrum really. so you can only imagine the manic depressive organizational cycles my home has suffered over the past 21 months of The Less Than Amiable Divorce Proceedings. and the reality of living immigrant style in one small room with my 2 girls, has taken it’s toll on my neatness as evidenced by the buffet of food stains that was formerly known as, The Carpet. so, naturally, it also follows that as the divorce winds down & i feel a renewed, but cautious, sense of hope & control over my own life, i was inspired to spring clean. the other evening i was feeling so elated about A New Development in The Divorce, that i sorted my enormous bag of free samples into a plastic expanding file AND labeled them appropriately with the professional grade DYMO 3000: cleansers, moisturizers, skin care, hair care, and makeup. OMG. that is soooo insane, even for me, but i was so full of self-satisfaction i that slept without a care in the world that night. but i don’t stop at my own domicile – i have to keep feeding the beast.

i dont fuck around with my organizing.

i have been known to invade other peoples’ homes with my cleaning tendencies if they will let me or are just too weak to resist. like when my mom was sick in december, i seized that as my opportunity to “help” her by organizing her life. first i pounced on her kitchen and cleared all the counters. i can’t stand so much stuff being displayed. then i emptied her pantry, fridge & freezer and scrubbed until it all shined like the top of the empire state building as miss hannigan had demanded of annie. i was completely disgusted with the state of her fridge – there is no excuse for mystery sticky messes & crumbs. i firmly believe that where you keep your food should be pristine. after eliminating the extremely past due food items, i returned it all to the shelves but it was merchandised perfectly: all labels facing out, products in alignment, condiments with condiments, juices all together, cheeses stacked by type in the drawer. next, i hit that mass of papers she likes to call The Office. i labeled all of her hanging files, filed all the piles of papers, and made her look through every loose scrap of paper, coupon, and article she pulled out that will never be read unless god forbid she was saving them for me (but she knows where i file all of that helpful advice – the circular file). then we made lists and lists of lists (oh god how i LOVE lists) and she pledged her devotion to a new life of organization and told me she would reform her wayward ways as soon as she was well again. it was 48 hours of restored health before things returned to their natural state & the sanctity of The Organizational Oath was violated. sigh, you can only do so much for some people. but i have new arenas for expansion.

now that i am gainfully employed, there is a whole new level of organizing i have undertaken that i never even imagined existed: The Paint Department. i like to keep busy all day at work – i am not one for standing around which drives the slackers who were hired before me nuts since i probably make them look bad. it’s not on purpose or to be a suck ass (what kind of ladder can i climb, other than orange, there anyway?) but as you can see, inventory control just comes naturally to me. obviously part of my job is to stock the shelves. now, most employees fill in “The Holes,” as well call them in The Business, only as a blatant need arises. i am busy pulling out merch from the back of the 6 foot deep shelves that hasn’t seen daylight since the store opened 13 years ago. it’s like an inventory Land Of The Lost back there. but i don’t sop there. oh no. i climb that 65 foot orange ladder to the roof-line so i can pull the boxes down from the top & properly label them with my corporately approved black sharpie. i put like items together into the proper bay’s overhead area directly above the same items on the shelves (we pros call it “striping”). why are those spray cans from here stored with the paint brushes over there? harummpf, i say. of course i get so involved in this fun, i forget that i actually have to mix paint for customers sometimes. but i have to tell you that the spray paint aisle has never looked so beautiful. it brings a tear to my eye. i found some colors that weren’t even out for sale! the other day, one of my associates commented, “girl, i walked by you today, and you were so far back into those shelves, all i could see were your feet.” plus the frequent squatting down to fix all of the items on the floor, gives me a great opportunity to show off my butt crack thanks to the popular low waisted jean styles of today (about which one of my pals commented, “maybe that is why the working class wears such unfashionable clothing.” she may have a point). but paint sales have risen in the past month…

today the paint department, tomorrow the entire store. next week, the world. muah-hah-hah.

Archive / ponderings of a mad woman / true but unecessary confessions — No Comments
29
Sep 09

i heart guinea pigs

more random & fascinating confessions most of which my mom shouldn’t read:

i am a major underachiever & huge procrastinator, but i did pretty well in school anyway. i am more of a street smarts, common sense kind of girl, but i always wonder what amazing things i would have accomplished had i truly applied myself. although, my english scores were very high, i was in basic skills math & retard science. i still struggled in those too. eventually i grew boobs and said fuck it.

i may have once slept with a mafia don. i am not investigating any further.

i stalked a boy in high school. okay, several. on foot. with binoculars.

uncle buck is my all time favorite movie. i named one of my daughters after one of the characters.

it’s not the posting of unearthed sex tapes or naked pictures (both of which i have never wittingly submitted to) on the web that concerns me. it’s if my gut looks fat or if you can see the cottage cheese on my ass that truly worries me.

i find the smell of beer on a man’s breath to be sexy. that is really warped.

i still have all of my sticker albums. the stickers are in MINT condition. most still in original packaging.

when i get mad i shop. take that visa! i shopped a lot during my crappy marriage. this did not help my crappy marriage at all, but i have a kickin’ wardrobe.

i obsessively use the notes app on my phone to remember song lyrics so i can google them later to get the title & download them for my ipod.

i started a female pant suit revolution at my first job fresh out of college in 1993. i have authority issues. they breathed a sigh of relief when i quit. i am not meant for corporate life.

when i was 21, i came home late from a date & i busted my dad smoking pot. we went into the house & he sat on the bed of my childhood room while i lectured him on the evils of its usage. for an hour.

i worked at the freehold raceway mall before it opened to set up the gap there. when it opened they hired all new people. working at the gap sucks. i still fold my jeans the way i was taught.

as a teenager & into college, i shoplifted from mostly any retail establishment for which i worked. i found it to be quite a thrill. i totally understand winona rider.

when i was a freshman in college, i briefly dated a high school senior. i went to his prom.

sometimes i wonder if the people on billboards look familiar to me because i actually know them or just from driving past them every day.

when i watch really old reruns & there are old people on the show, i say to myself, that person must be dead by now. conversely, i wonder how the child actors turned out.

in college i peed behind a dumpster. several times. i also passed out on the floor of the girl’s bathroom in my freshman dorm after puking my guts out. several times. i drank a lot in college. i was nicknamed “booter.”

i had a major obsession with garfield when i was kid. i drew him constantly, read every book, and set up a residence for him & his girlfriend in my room. i had about 30 or so stuffed garfields & pals. i also slept with one of my stuffed garfields (& a nightlight) until i got married. i still have them all, but i am trying to get rid of the husband.

after college, while looking for a real job, i was a bank teller. since, i suck at math, my till was short often. i got fired. i still make sure all of my money is facing the same way & in order of denomination in my wallet.

i was an ugly duckling: i was born with one eye that crossed in & wore bifocals from 18 mos to 16 yrs. my feet turned inward and i had to wear shoes on a metal brace until they faced out. i was never allowed to sit “indian style.” when i was 12, i was diagnosed with minor scoliosis. i cleaned up nice though.

i used to get spontaneous bloody noses from allergies as a kid without warning. this was a fun party trick and most endearing to the hostesses.

at the end of my senior year of high school, a bunch of my friends & i stole a street sign with my name on it by knocking it down with a baseball bat. we were unaware that this was a felony. i still have it displayed in my home.

i had a “valley girl” sleepover party for my 13th birthday. everybody had to dress like valley girls & talk that way. i was like, oh my gawd, a huge dork.

mere days after i got my license and brandy new honda civic, i smashed it into a car that was pulling out of a parking spot at woodbridge mall because i gunned the gas instead of the stomping on the brakes. my bff was in the car. after the information exchange with the bewildered driver, we still went shopping. i bought a pair of sneakers which i then returned a week later but i made my mom drive me. it was years before i ever drove back there. the woman said to my dad, “meester, i don know where she came from.” my crazy bff still drove all over the place with me.

the manner in which i lost my virginity would most certainly be considered date rape today. it was over 21 years ago & i still have not forgiven that guy. i most likely never will.

surgeries: age 12: 8 molars removed age 15: nose job, age 18: 4 impacted wisdom teeth removed, age 21: breast reduction, age 30 & 33: 2 c-sections. age 35: lumpectomy (benign, thank god) age 36: corrective eye surgery for the cross. i sincerely hope i am done.

i secretly love lite fm. i have an entire playlist on itunes. i know all the words to most of the songs. brandy & wildfire are in my top 10.

i LOVE guinea pigs. i had 2 as a kid before it was cool to own them. i had a sleepover with my childhood bff & let “miss piggy” run around in her sleeping bag. the pig left many “gifts.” her mom was not pleased. the modern day guinea pig cult following pleases me to no end. i got not 1, but 2 for my kids when the divorce started. $200 later i realized they are cute, but a pain in the ass to take care of when you live immigrants style in a tiny room with 2 other small people. my kids lost interest in the piggys & i gave them away on craig’s list after 2 months. i still feel guilty & hope they are living happy little guinea pig lives. now i just collect guinea pig books & leave it at that.

my best friend in high school and i spent hours after school cataloging every possible way we wanted to be kissed. we didn’t have boyfriends, but we once hooked up in a foursome situation, latter dubbed “switcheroo with ____ & sue.” i was thrilled until i figured out they just both wanted to hook up with her and i was a mercy killing. she was & still is way hot, no matter how many kids she pops out. you know who you are, bitch.

when i 20 years old and flying home from UF for the holidays one year, i sat next this weird artsy couple. i had the window seat and was essentially trapped. the lady grabbed my hand & said she did “readings” and proceeded to read my palm without my consent. she told me that when i was 40 i would have a major illness but i would recover. i have obsessed about it ever since. when i was 36 & had a lump removed from my breast, and i wondered if that was the illness of which she spoke, but i couldn’t be sure. i have 2 more years to worry about it. so now i fear, “what if i am going through this terrible divorce (14 mos so far) and then i die (god forbid) or the world ending prophecies are true and i never get to enjoy my freedom?” sigh. i am sure she has long since forgotten me & that plane ride, but here i am 17 years later still worrying. it made me realize that you can have a lasting impact on people, positive or negative, long after you have moved on. so be more responsible, you crazy palm readers.

last year, i went on a date with a 25 yr old. during dinner he got carded and i didn’t. i then strongly suspected he was not even 21. i went back to his dorm room anyway. i was curious.

i have had at least 13 different jobs i can remember & sucked at all of them. in no particular order: ceramics assistant at a camp (i spilled an entire bag of slip), babysitter (i got nail polish all over someone’s table), grocery store cashier (before the days of scanners), marty’s shoes store clerk, gap sales person, gap kids saleperson ( hello, may i help you find a size?), secretary (for a day – i left after lunch & never returned), bank teller ( we know how that went), payroll sales person at ADP ( i faked most of my sales numbers), interior design assistant (i helped her organize by throwing out most of her source materials), wallpaper/window treatment sales person inside a paint store (i prayed i got the measurements correct when it was time for pickup/installation), pharmaceutical sales rep ( i was terrified of the office staff & drs. & my main drug was a market dog), psychological study research assistant ( i fudged all of my “research” for some poor dude’s thesis), & interior designer of my own ‘firm” for 11 months (when i was 9 months preggers, i had to sue my very first clients for stopping a check. the entire endeavor actually cost us money. i gladly gave up that empire soon after the first baby came).

when i was 10, i became completely obsessed with puberty & getting my period. i had an entire “starter kit” full of the proper materials under my bed that was ready to go when the time came (it sat dormant for 5 years). i studied the book, what’s happening to me, way before anything was actually happening to me. i still own it. i was actually happy when i sprouted 2 armpit hairs one day. i did flips when i got a giant bush (subsequently, i became a fastidious groomer way ahead of my time when i discovered i could do neat tricks with a hair clipper). i was a strange child.

i have a problem with honesty. too much of it. this why i tell you people all of this crap that is better kept to myself. i most likely have a weird need for self-deprecating attention.

baby hershey, pig #1. way cute.

cuddles, pig #2. also way cute.

Archive / ponderings of a mad woman / rants / seriously, folks / true but unecessary confessions — 4 Comments
23
Jun 09

the saga (and sagging) of my rack

i think the first thing you have to know about me is that i have extensively obsessive boob issues. my entire life has been about my breasts. i come from a long line of large breasted woman, but i was a late bloomer. and ever since i was a child, i wanted a set. bad. i was raised watching boobilicous cartoon super heros like wonderwoman, batgirl, catwoman & she-ra and couldn’t wait to fill in my underoos.

in fact, there are pictures of me when i was around 8, dressing up in my mother’s bras. i wanted boobs B A D. i did those crazy exercises, “we must, we must, improve our bust,” religiously every night before bed. i demanded my early bloomer friends show me what they had. i convinced my mom to buy me bras when i was in sixth grade & stuffed ‘em full of undies. That was a brilliant idea until one fell out on the swings during recess. STONE COLD BUSTED. not one of my proudest moments.

then my prayers were answered before my sophomore year of high school, when i was 15, & i sprouted a set of full C’s by the end of the summer. i came back to school with a sweet rack and was thereafter accused of sticking my chest out when i walked around. but, i wasn’t, haters! those were legit! soon the attention got to me & so did the inescapable teenage bad body image. that was the downfall of my super set. i started wearing minimizer bras. oh, the horror! by my senior year of college my boobs hadn’t stopped growing and i was 5’0″ (okay 4’11 1/2″) & 93 pounds, with DOUBLE D’s.

okay, so many did get enjoy them, but even though i had the perfect body, i hated it! yes, i was a DUMB BEYATCH! i began trying to hide the goods with baggy shirts and became more and more miserable. add in the fact that my mom has had gigunda tatas since she was 10 and she always HATED them and told me so daily. so she was on board the same unhealthy body image bandwagon that i was.

one day during a break between semesters, i saw a large breasted friend of mine. she spilled the beans that she was getting a breast-reduction and i was stunned that there was such a thing. sure I knew about implants, but making them smaller? and just like that, i decided i wanted to lop my boobs off too. i told my bff in crime, millie, (no names have been changed to protect the guilty) about my plan and she told me i was nuts & not to do it. “you have what everyone wants, ” she said. but, that only made me more determined, because i thought no one could possibly understand the plight of a petite huge breasted woman. besides the fact, that i am not a chick that ever listened to anybody. once something was in my head, there was no stopping me. i was sure the reduction was the answer to all my problems. the plastic surgeon with whom we consulted convinced me i would develop major back problems and the life before me would be that of an invalid, albeit, a sexy invalid, if i continued to carry those things around on my “petite frame.” what did he care? i was about to lose my tatas, but he was about to make a wad of cash. so after college I did the deed, and this, my friends, (all 3 of you reading this) is where my story gets really sad: the night before the surgery i had doubts about it & wasn’t sure i even wanted to do it, but i stuffed that down & ignored my gut. (exactly like the night before my now failed marriage, but that is another story entirely.) the other tragic twist is this: the insurance company rejected the pre-approval for the surgery at first. my father who would do anything for us & had no boobs himself lobbied the insurance company until they approved it. no one was telling his daughter she couldn’t chop her tits off.

Life Lesson One: Sometimes it is best to leave well enough alone. SIGH.

the ensuing recovery was a painful, awful, terror & when i first unwrapped my new jugs they were TINY. i had a full B & was feeling the first signs of remorse. the scars were hideous. when i gasped upon first seeing them, i said to my mother, “they are so small!” Her response was to say, “don’t let your sister hear you say that.” it was no secret boobs were not evenly assigned in my family. not only did I feel remorse, but i now had guilt too, and i had to keep it all to myself.

so, i tried to be okay with the boob issue for a few years by wearing mondo padded bras but regret slowly began creeping in until i couldn’t bare to even think about it anymore. i could no longer face my own girls in the mirror, but i became obsessed with other boobs, and just like a guy, i was always checking others chick’s racks out. i needed intensive boob therapy to get over it.

well, fast forward to pregnancy: i was now stressing that i wouldn’t be able to nurse because things may not have been reattached right, BUT, i had giant preggo boobs. it was awesome – AND the boobs stayed big & grew with each kid. so naturally, I wanted to have 4 or 5 kids. i was able to nurse, luckily, or not so luckily depending upon how you look at it – my life became even more about my boobs. there is no pain like engorged boobie pain and trying to get an ill tempered infant to latch onto a full boob. it seems logical that employing the fun bags for their actual intended use would be a snap, but its not and i elicited help from anybody within a 5 mile radius. forget the fact, the i went to an actual class to learn how to do this beforehand. useless. once the hungry screamer & i finally figured it out, my life was lived in 2 hour increments of nipple desecration and my life became a blur of boob chores – pumping, massaging, feeding, crying… and don’t get me started on nursing bras.

then several years ago, i found a lump in my right breast & it was terrifying. i had to to get my boobs mashed in the mammogram machine several different times which confirmed a suspicious lump. so, i had a biopsy & was told it had to be removed and they still weren’t sure if it was the c-word. i had it removed and thank God it was benign. of course, i had to have the lump removed from the smaller boob and i am sporting yet another scar which i tell dudes is a stab-wound ( it’s much more mysterious). i really just found the whole thing to be completely ironic. i wondered if there was no end to the suffering of my poor breasts.

the happy-ish ending is that I have made peace with the girls again (back to a DD thanks to the 2 babies), but feel terrible for treating my body that brutally. i hate the scars though they have mostly faded & are hidden by the (dare I say it) sagging (sigh). in a weird way i feel like they are fakes, because they have been altered.

so what is the moral of the story? mamas don’t let your girls screw with their bodies. they just need self confidence & your support to learn to love their bodies. plastic surgery isn’t the answer that we all think it is. i would absolutely discourage my girls from doing anything to their bodies at such a young age. women have it so tough, our boobs are too small or too big, but never just right. so ladies, love your gazungas no mater what size they are! they are part of what makes you, you, but they don’t define you. i finally realized, it doesn’t matter what size your boobs are, men will stare. it doesn’t matter what your body looks like as long as your head is on right. boobs & the women attached to them will always be used to sell stuff on tv. we will always use our boobs to get men to do what we want. men will always be on a quest to see ‘em no matter what size they are. they love ‘em all.

Life Lesson Two: Its all about confidence & good body image.

DUH. thanks epiphany for coming way late, but at least i figured it out. eventually.

single with vodkagood girl gone bad