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26
Nov 09

gggb gives thanks

hand-turkey

i could blather on about how grateful i am for my delicious children, supportive family, beloved friends, all my abundance, & yada yada which, of course, goes without saying; but here are a few more things a girl like me is thankful for this thanksgiving…

my young well hung boyfriend.

that my young well hung boyfriend doesn’t give a shit about the 5 extra pounds of muffin top that now pours over my jeans since we started dating.

that after losing my father, i still have a wonderful man in my life (see above) that supports me, gets me totally, thinks i am fabulous just the way i am & loves me unconditionally.

smart food white cheddar popcorn & carbohydrates in general.

the wonderland that is sephora.

joss stone, & alana davis.

chelsea handler & all talented, strong, & funny women, famous or not, who aren’t afraid  to speak their minds.

my lawyer.

my lawyer’s staff.

not having to spend anymore time with the in-laws or pretending to like any of them ever again.

flavored vodka.

texting.

pendente lite.

butt wipes.

the freedom from giving a shit about what The Asshat (a.k.a. ex husband to be)  thinks about anything i do. actually, what he thinks about anything at all.

the wonderful sense of humor my father had and how he taught me to see the humor in everything, every day.

not having to sleep next to a Snoring Fat Ape ever again.

never being seen in a yellow car/suv again.

not pretending to care about anything that has to do with the “the market or “work.”

not having to wash stained underwear, rush (a.k.a. The Worst Band Ever) t-shirts, or filthy socks.

not having to care about how foul the bathroom i don’t use anymore now is.

finally feeling completely free to be myself.

having the fortitude to show some people that payback is a bitch & consequences for bad behavior are real.

ebay, facebook, google mail, zappo’s, nordstrom, & online shopping.

talk soup, the dish, family guy, the simpsons, & the like for making me laugh daily.

my DVR.

ipods & limewire.

paige petite jeans.

flat irons.

high heeled clogs & wedges.

my mom’s new kitty, dexter.

the incredible strength my mother possesses & passed on to me .

the bright future that i know lies ahead of me.

my dear friend mary petto who invited my mother and i to join her family dysfunction this year. she ended up putting out her back & spent it flat on her couch while the rest of us ate ourselves into a tryptophan induced coma in her dining room.

having happy memories of my father being with us last year on this very day.

IMG_0209

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24
Nov 09

one of these things is not like the other…

rainbowdrink

remember that skanky biker bar that i told you about over the summer, that my really cute pal likes to drag me to? well, she dragged me there again this past weekend. see, she just got sprung from the joint (her divorce became final last thursday & i am not the least bit jealous…), so we went out to celebrate and i made the mistake of telling her 2 things: 1. that i would drive and 2. that i would take her anywhere she wanted to go. of course we ended up at mcskanker’s bar. we haven’t been there since i last drunkenly flirted with that fat biker (see visual at bottom of teddy bear post) and it seems things have changed a bit…

when we first walked in, the new bouncer was said fat biker. so yah, that was a tad awkward. in fact, none of the usual bouncers were there (including the one she used to drag me to visit), but it still looked to be the usual sub-par crowd of deadbeats & axe murderers. we sidled up to the bar and then trolled for the one good looking dude there. see, we have this standing contest to amuse ourselves which involves seeing who can find the only attractive man (read: has all of his teeth) in the bar we might even consider talking to first. it’s silly, but passes the time until we are drunk enough to pounce on the empty dance floor and shake our little white boo-tays without inhibition. upon scanning the crowd for our contest, it appeared that the patronage of said establishment had, umm,  changed. we saw lots of what we thought were men with their girlfriends, but they weren’t men. and, the actual men there seemed a wee bit more interested in each other rather than us. we both had this realization at the exact same time and said, “umm. i think this place turned into a gay bar, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

at this point, when faced with this situation,  it is then customary for women to discuss the following:

  1. any “experimenting” we may have done in college.
  2. if we would ever consider such a thing now.
  3. if we ever would kiss each other.

i never have taken a trip on that particular wild side and i don’t think i ever will, but nonetheless here are my criteria if i were ever to consider it:

  1. i would have to be all kinds of plastered.
  2. no below the waist action for either participant.
  3. she would have to be supermodel hot, and, since, i am not a supermodel, i am not sure how i would bag a woman of that caliber anyway, so it really is a moot point.

turns out it’s very disconcerting being the lone heteros in a gay bar until the BAC is sufficiently raised. i wondered if  this is how gay people feel all the time out in the straight world: completely out of place & needing a stiff drink. at first, we hoped vehemently that no one would hit on us at the bar and then, when they didn’t, we wondered why isn’t anyone hitting on us at the bar? is no one into lipstick lesbians anymore (because clearly that is the kind i would be)? and then we wondered, hey since those guys over there are really awesome dancers, would they mind if we cut in & danced with them?

it probably goes without saying that the big dance hits of the evening were, “crazy bitch” and “i kissed a girl.”  these songs were met with great cheers from the crowd and jovial shoulder bumping. part of the celebration that night was a big lesbian birthday party which we were fine with until it was apparent she did not bring enough cake for everyone. and that my friends, is where my liberality draws the line: dessert discrimination. we also saw a bunch of swingers doing their thing on the dance floor which was interesting. i have never witnessed the casual partner swap lifestyle in person & it was certainly intriguing. i am sure if i could have gotten another couple to overlook The Troll that was my husband, swinging may have saved my doomed marriage or at least my dead sex life, which honestly, i just may have settled for…

so all in all it was fun being out with the newly freed slave girl, as it always is, it was an enlightening experience, an unexpectedly refreshing change of pace, and most importantly, an amusing blog post. next week we’re hitting the bar from animal house…

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17
Nov 09

“activities”

ribbons3

so here i am at kiddie gymnastics, as i like to call it,  trying in vain to pirate their wireless service. i am thus far unsuccessful. anyway,  i haven’t been to this lovey facility since last year when my eldest took this very same class (and soon thereafter, quit it), and i am still totally creeped out by the muscular pre-pubescent boys. there is something so disconcerting about boys under ten that have 1% body-fat and 99% defined lean muscle mass. i feel like i need to avert my eyes, for fear, that merely looking is close enough to pedophilia. but it is hard not to gawk and just being in the same room with them is alarming to me. young boys should not look like a combination of a starving ethiopian & hunky fireman calendar pinup. i am used to seeing those kind of muscles on barely legal high school & college boys, not 8 year olds. plain wrong.

ok, so i am what is known as a “slacker mom” who doesn’t helicopter about every aspect of her kids’ lives, much less their activities. honestly, i find the whole activity concept to be a little overdone and a downright pain in the ass when it gets dark out at 4:30pm. so it should come as no surprise to you, gentle reader, that it is november & i have just gotten around to signing them up for anything. of course, this dreadful divorce sitch has had something to do with that. you see, in september, i gave the proper information to The Control Freak to take care of as requested and it never happened as expected. i was already behind the A-type mom ball by waiting until september to sign them up in the first place. anguished cries of ” what have you signed your kids up for?” and “have you signed your kids up yet?” and, “what, you haven’t signed your kids up yet?” had already been heard throughout the burb since early june. these hysterical over-achievers had made this vital decision immediately after the current activity ended in may. every year they buy into the, “hurry, the classes are almost full,” induced panic that these schools create. i was akin to a leper and they were looking at me like i had ruined my children’s future. “your kids aren’t doing anything?” and since fighting about every single thing with The Hat is endless, i let the whole activity issue go for a bit to foucs on other more important petty fights, like my unregulated utility usage. i reasoned, activities are not a rite of childhood passage. they are a spoiled suburban entitlement. no one is worried about cheerleading in india. i am sure over-scheduling your children after school is much less prevalent in idaho. my kids won’t be disadvantaged if they just have good old-fashioned playdates after school. kids just need to be kids i said. but, my 6 year old’s incessant cartwheeling by the edge of the steps was really fraying my nerves and i realized it was either a trip to the emergency room or sign her up for gymnastics classes. she is now training for london in 2012. plus, you know those good ol’ fashioned playdates? no one is around to play since they are all at activities.

i do worry about my eldest. she is just like me as a kid. i tried a zillion things and quit them all cause i had perfectionist issues. if i wasn’t good right away, i gave up. i compared myself to everybody else. maybe if i had stuck with one thing, and got really good at it, maybe even excelled at, and then gone to school for it, perhaps it would have led me down a different life path that inspired me to make better choices in my young life that would have had a positive effect on my current old life (i can think of one majorly bad choice in particular that is a real doozy to undo). and, as parents, of course, we all want the best for our kids. we want them to make better choices than we did or maybe even make the same successful ones. we don’t ever want to see them fall or fail or make mistakes. we want to see them excel and succeed. pride in your children can be many things to many people. pride can be the sweet kind of, “you can be anything you want in this life” pride to the insane “beating up the coach & other parents & berating your kid for being less than perfect” pride. childhood activities are great as long as your child is happy. obviously, there are many positive aspects to being involved in group activities. i watched those the boys club of america commercials in the 70′s. i am familiar with the “community center” on every ethnic sitcom. my point is, it’s not cool to force your progeny to participate in stuff they don’t really like or are not that committed to because you are vicariously living your old glory days and unfulfilled fantasies through them. and these “teams” & “competition” squads cater to that crazy competitive edge for many parents. hey, not every kid is a prodigy or an athlete. these “schools,” be it dance, cheer, or gymnastics are businesses designed to make a bundle from our vanity. billions are spent on costumes, professional photos, team gear, competition fees,  & extra “team” classes every year. it’s a huge industry & they gouge you unabashedly. i once met a woman who worked soley to pay for her daughter’s dance competitions. 100% of her paycheck to dance! just ain’t me. i remember a friend of one of my girls in pre-school being “recommended” for the gymnastic team. puh-leeze, she was three!  and i also remember watching team practice here last year & being appalled at how abusive the coach was with the teenage girls. they cried nearly every week & injured their young bodies. i would not allow my daughter to participate in that . and helloooo! the school is just using the wins & accolades to advertise to get more peeps to sign up next year. oh yes, this is the best school. yes, i know some real champions do come out of these schools, but not as many as they would have you think. i used to think that to be on “the team,” these girls must be amazing dancers and gymnasts. boy, was i naive. i have since seen many of these kids & they are terrible. sitting through the recitals is pure torture. i was never so relieved as when both of my girls decided they didn’t want to dance anymore. i had sat through a 3 hour recital & dragged my parents too. the school held the kids hostage the entire time in the back “to watch their peers.” this was so no one could leave before it was over. after that hell, the 2 bitches running the thing got on stage to extol their own virtues for 25 minutes. i remember my dad cracking jokes the whole time. he was such a good sport. in fact, if my girls now came to me and asked to try dance again, my lone school criteria would be for them not to have a recital.

i generally try to take a low pressure, laid back approach with my parenting. i don’t feel that my kids are status symbols for me of any kind, but i have to admit i have been pushing my 9 year old to “just try” art classes, because i do think she may have some talent and could develop it. not to become the next picasso, but to instill a sense of pride & confidence in herself. to have “a thing” that is hers. to have a way to relax. something to take some pride in. “yes, this is my portfolio.” i think i would have led a very different life if i had “a thing.” i was proud of my art at times, but dropped it because i felt i wasn’t good enough or perfect enough always comparing my art to another person’s work. not realizing we all have our own style in anything we do in this life, from drawing to parenting. for every person that supports you, there is another close behind trying to crush your dreams. change your ideals to conform to theirs. people feel threatened by what’s different or challenging, and  it takes a lot of strength to ignore that chatter. but as a kid, even though i thought it was the answer, trying to conform just made me more unhappy and really didn’t turn out all that well in the long run – i  did not pick up a drawing utensil again until i was trapped in a bad marriage. maybe i would have been more confident & had some interests deeper than aquanet & farlows in high school if pursued my art     (and don’t get me wrong those are 2 really solid interests and provided much enjoyment in my teen years). i will always wonder. untapped potential sucks.

so here i sit, despite the stench of sweat & feet, inhaling the clouds of chalk dust, watching my little gymnast cartwheel her heart out. her smile is huge even when she falls off the balance beam (don’t worry – she is tiny and the beam she uses if like 6 inches off the ground). i am, of course, absolutely proud of her, regardless of how she does. i am weak from how cute that teeny little tush is in that secondhand leotard. i love how proud she is of herself as she waves at me & wants me to see (“mommy, did you see me on the trampoline?”). how delicious they are at this age. the world is theirs for the taking.and honestly, my only hope is that she has fun & enjoys herself and she develops not even a talent for it, nor a love for it, but just an intense like for it. a place to go feel confident, on top of the world, & to shine in her own mind even if she doesn’t make it to london or past the top of the steps for that matter.

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8
Nov 09

roses are red part 2: for all occasions…

dried_rose_petals

okay, so the “happy divorce ™” card line (perhaps future e-card line?) was a hit. like bartles & jaymes, i thank you for your support. so, one of my best girls suggested the line could be expanded to include all kinds of Fuck You Occasions. why stop with Lunatic ex-husbands? i now realize the possibilities are endless and i am again inspired (still not inspired to finish a real post, but inspired nonetheless)…

roses are red, as a friend you’re the best, but you are a fucking bitch, when you pms.

rose are red, chocolate is divine, you were a sloppy drunk last night, we think it’s detox time.

rose are red, diamonds i adore, you slept with my boyfriend/husband, you’re a dirty fucking whore.

roses are red, there’s a cake called bundt, i have defriended you, because you’re such a goddamn cunt.

rose are red, love is usually fleeting, you’re fired you moron, because you missed the staff meeting.

roses are red, some peppers are mild, you better tell your wife soon, that i am pregnant with your child.

rose are red, your chic restaurant is hip, but the service was so bad, i am leaving no tip.

roses are red, the 80′s were rad,  but its 2009 now, and that haircut is just plain bad.

rose are red, facebookers like to chat, your husband/boyfriend propositioned me online, because he is a fucking rat.

roses are red, hay goes in bales, stop pressing send, and forwarding me those asinine emails.

roses are red, some eggs are runny, it’s time you knew, your dumb-ass jokes never were funny.

roses are red, lawnmowers cut grass, have you turned around lately, and seen the size of your ass?

roses are red, bozo was a clown, you are looking just like him, put the makeup brush down.

roses are red, the public is beggin’, no more fat thighs, in those scary tight leggins’

rose are red, some grapes are red, i may go to hell, but i sincerely hope you drop dead.

roses are red, swines have the flu, you’re the worst fucking boss, and i hate you.

roses are red, peaches have a pit, this job fucking sucks, and now i shall quit.

roses are red, kittens are cute, get your ass to the salon, you have 2 inches of roots.

roses are red, where is waldo, i am pleased to tell you, you’re getting quite baldo.

roses are red, i am feeling quite smug, to be the one to tell you, we all know it’s a bad rug.

roses are red, i have a feeling, you haven’t realized how much, your hairline’s receding.

roses are red, edward is a vamp, the whole town knows, your daughter is a little tramp.

rose are red, your bratty kid is a punk, the only way i can be with your family, is to get completely drunk.

roses are red, florida is warm, i will kill your dog, if he doesn’t stop crapping on my lawn.

roses are red, some people read books, i am not coming to for dinner anymore, because you’re a horrible cook.

roses are red, still water runs deep, no more nice presents for you, because you’re so fucking cheap.

roses are red, ducks like to quack, don’t ever call me again, since you really suck in the sack.

roses are red, pavement is black, i am finally breaking up with you, so hit the road jack.

roses are red, watch out for broken glass, it’s time for you to go, don’t let the door hit you in the ass.

roses are red, pens have ink, go take a shower, because you fucking stink.

rose are red, peanut butter loves jelly, go brush your teeth, cause your breath is so damn smelly.

roses are red, the suns sets at night, go clean your messy room child, before i set it alight.

roses are red, carnations are pink, i will skin you alive, if you leave your dishes in the sink.

roses are red, monty python eats spam, that slut over there, slept with your man.

roses are red, green is the clover, i am tired of you bitch, our friendship is over.

roses are red, dogs have fleas, i never want to see you again, lose my number please.

roses are red, roaches are vile, i stopped listening to you whine, for quite a long while.

roses are red, leaves grow on trees, i ain’t gonna forget, about that money you owe me.

roses are red, bunnies like to hop, pull your pants up, and cover that huge muffin top!

roses are red, baseball players spit, so sorry to hear, you just can’t take a shit.

roses are red, moles like to dig, your armpits are soaked, because you sweat like a pig.

roses are red, i used to have slinkies, your fat rolls are growing, put down the twinkies!

roses are red, vodka is taxed, you look like a dude, time to get your lip waxed.

roses are red, i must beg your pardon, but if you ever want to get head,  you must tend your garden.

roses are red, babies eat mush, you can’t wear a bikini, unless you shave your giant bush.

roses are red, teenagers get zits, put on a bra, we don’t need to see your sagging tits.

roses are red, birds fly south, you nauseate me so, i just puked in my mouth.

roses are red, fruits drinks are blended, i could do this forever, but i think i must end it…

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3
Nov 09

roses are red…

dead_roses

as soon as the papers were filed, The Head Mental Patient started assaulting, daily, my poor inbox with nasty, mean-spirited hate mail. i have enough to publish a book which i plan to name, “How to Divorce a Crazy Man,” or something along those lines. my response to his vengeful emails was normally to ignore them, because he is a manchild & really just wants my attention, and, they are, after all, the rantings of a madman. over the months, the emails would ebb & flo: eventually subsiding from my lack of attention and then returning when he went on a new anger bender from the lack of control he had over me. once in awhile i would respond with logic in an attempt to make his head explode. lately, i usually respond with, “sounds good. have a smurfy day, ” or “ok, hugs and kisses, sweetcheeks,” all of which make him foam at the mouth & me giggle.

of course, i forward all of these emails to my bfbff (swv lingo for boyfriendbestfriendforever), and after we catch our breath from laughing hysterically, we think of all the sarcastic, annoying, silly responses we can. last night was one such night, where inspired by a new resurgence of asshat rage, i waxed poetic. i would like to share my poems with you since not only are they amusing and are going to be a new line of svw greeting cards, but they make great filler until i finish all of my 1/2 done posts on other topics.

the svw line of happy divorce (tm) greeting cards:

roses are red, violets are blue, we no longer fuck, but i am still screwing you.

roses are red, you never had a clue, you were a really sucky husband, i’m glad i’m no longer married to you.

rose are red, you smell like dog poo, i hated every disgusting minute, i had to fuck you.

rose are red, you must be very blue, i’m taking 1/2 half the cash, sucks for you.

roses are red, giraffe’s necks are long, you have a miniscule penis, and i knew all along.

roses are red, my lingirie is new, my boyfriend fucks me awesome, hope you’re gettin’ some too.

roses are red, these sweet shoes are brand new, you made tons of cash, and i thank you.

roses are red, wine has a cork, you were an awful husband, and a giant fucking dork.

roses are red, your brains are full of goo, it was a horrible 16 years, happy un-anniversary to you.

roses are red, some carnations are blue, i always hated your mother, and your dad’s an asshole too.

roses are red, life isn’t fair, you are a hairy troll, here’s a gallon of nair.

roses are red, cows like to moo, you think you’re a ka-ra-tay master, but you can’t throw a shoe.

roses are red, this was the best decision, keeps the checks coming, or you will be imprisoned.

roses are red, copper is shiney, i want all the world to know, your cock is quite tiny.

rose are red, my boyfriend is young, your wiener is small, but he is well hung.

roses are red, violets are blue, you are a worthless human being, good riddance to you.

i’m taking orders for the holidays. personalization is free.

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16
Oct 09

transition

straight-jacket

so it’s been awhile since i placed pen to paper, well actually fingers to keyboard, last. mostly, the reason is, that in order to allow my lawyer to keep his blood pressure down, i have to save the really juicy stuff until The Never Ending Divorce is over. and you know it ain’t easy for me to keep this thing PG. i can do pg 13 at best and that’s even questionable. i just can’t publish all the really cool stuff on which i have been recently working. the man is keeping me down. the other reason is, i am just feeling, kind of, dare i say it, uninspired lately. a little bit blah.

so, what do i write about then? more ramblings? about how much i hate the holidays & birthdays now? about how i still dread doing homework over 20 years later? what it’s like to be living with a functional mental patient, possibly a Bona Fide Sociopath, who is plotting my demise as i sit here? how the dreariness of the impending long winter is bumming me out? how hard it is to go through my dad’s things when my mom asks me to so i have had a pile of his sweatshirts in my trunk for weeks? how i have taken to hibernating like a forest creature with layer of fat and all? it’s just not much fun being me now, as glamorous as it all must seem to you, i know. even though i am a “swinging single” now, i am in month 15 of a ridiculous divorce & impossible living situation and i am facing more major holidays without my father. i still cant seem to grasp the finality of his death yet. when i try to face it, it engulfs me in a giant wave of grief that i fear will drown me. and i wonder will i ever reclaim the part of me that died with him that same day? i am just so tired of being held hostage in my own life, trying to move forward but being held back. watching helplessly, the toll it’s taking on my beautiful, innocent children. knowing they deserve so much better than this & being able to do nothing about it. being held back by the very person that filed the damn papers in the first place. it’s infuriating. let me give you a small glimpse: today he had an electrician here to try to rig up the switches, to limit my utility usage. a few months ago, The Mental Patient removed 48, yes 48, light bulbs in my kitchen because he claims i leave the lights on too much. my kids now sit in semi-darkness to do homework. but i am the crazy bitch, right, asshat? perhaps i am: clearly i was mentally incapacitated the day i married him.

but i started this blog and i now feel a responsibility to my enormous readership to keep it fresh. keep it going. and i have scraps of paper here and there of half baked blog ideas, but none of them are really calling to me to complete right now. for example, i have a killer disney rant, another rant about the movie, field of dreams, my adventures this summer at what i like to call the “elder-pool” at my mom’s “community,” my evening as a chaperon at a sleep-over party for eighteen 9 year olds, why i think wawa is a fascinating commentary on society, tons of material on all the time spent at the supermarket, my evolution of cell phone dependence, funny stuff about my childhood, endless stuff about my dad, and the real meat of it all: my journey of self discovery which lead to my committal to my own happiness at any cost (and in those 3 little italic words lie most of the aforementioned juiciness). and seriously, stay tuned for all that stuff, because it’s all fabulous. well it will be. really.

why am i telling you all of this? i am not sure. for filler i guess. i am just in transition like the season. and so is this blog.  because just like going to the gym, i  feel an obligation to write, but not really the desire. sigh. stick with me though, i will perk up again soon. i always do. until then there is vodka and my g-spot…

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5
Oct 09

not my mother’s cook book

pbj

i can be found most every night, slaving away in my kitchen making dinner for my beloved children. after much trial & error, i have created a vast arsenal of nutritious meal options. since i want to share my experience with new & fellow mothers, here are a  few of my favorite recipes*:

cold cereal

1. pour in bowl.

2. since you are out of milk again,  just give your kid the box. works well for when you run out of school snacks as well.

chips & salsa***

1. pour salsa in bowl.

2. open bag of chips.

3. give kid bag of chips & bowl.

ice cream***

1. get 1/2 gallon container out of freezer.

2. coat with sprinkles generously. use multi-colored sprinkles for extra vitamins.

3. serve with spoon.

(provides 100% of RDA for calcium, which is integral to young bone development.)

tuna**

1. open can, drain most of liquid, & dump contents into bowl.

2. scrape remnants out of mayo jar & combine with tuna.

3. mix well enough.

4. glob on crackers.

5. admonish kids not to get cracker crumbs all over couch.

pizza***

1. call for delivery.

2. eat out of box.

chinese food***

1. call for delivery.

2. eat out of containers.

microwave popcorn***

1. place bag in microwave.

2. follow directions.

3. pick out burnt pieces.

4. open windows to let out burnt popcorn smell & deactivate smoke alarm.

5. serve in bag with mint flavored floss.

(on shabbat: pour in bowl.)

frozen waffles

1. defrost in microwave until mostly warm.

2. hand to kid on a napkin because dirtying a plate is really unnecessary.

3. ignore complaints about frozen spots because bus in already in front of your house waiting for your kids.

chicken nuggets

1. get in car.

2. go to mcdonald’s drive through.

3. cave in to happy meal requests as long as it’s a different toy than last time, but insist apple side is chosen over fries to offset nugget guilt.

cheesesticks***

1. open package.

2. hand package to oldest child & direct to open wrappers for smaller children.

grilled cheese***
1. bring children to grandma’s for dinner.

soup***

1. open can.

2. pour in cereal bowl.

3. add water.

4. microwave until lukewarm.

(spoons are optional.)

peanut butter & jelly

1. turn bread over so kids can’t tell you are using the heels because you forgot to buy bread when you were at market today.

2. spread too much  peanut butter on each side of bread.

3. slop too much jelly on so it leaks out the sides (kids totally love this) being sure to get peanut butter in jelly jar b/c you are too lazy to get another spreading knife.

4. cut off crusts.*

pasta*

1. boil water until 1/2 ” depth is left in pot because you forgot about it.

2. refill pot & boil new water.

3. use random pastas collected from several 1/4 full boxes that have been left open.

4. overcook pasta because you forgot about it until you passed by kitchen to re-wash laundry  that you also forgot about from 4 days ago & left in machine.

5. serve with any topping you can find because you have no actual tomato sauce, while convincing children it’s international pasta night & that is how they eat in whatever country you can remember from 5th grade geography.

mac & cheese

1. follow directions on box & serve.

2. eat leftovers from pot while standing up.

crackers & cheese

1. give kid package of cheese.

2. give kid box of crackers.

3. show child how to properly tear proportional pieces of cheese & place on crackers.

4. get mr. clean sponge to scrub permanent marker off of inside closet doors  in 5 year old child’s bedroom that 8 year old knew was there for 6 months, but chose this one time not to tattle on younger sister. remove most of paint from doors even though most of marker remains. be happy anyway because she wrote ” i love mommy.”

go out to dinner

1. ask kids where they want to go.

2. go where you want anyway.

3. get your other slacker pals to join you with their kids.

4. seat kids at own table while you & pal sit at another & dish about your fascinating, fulfilling, suburban lives.

(this is my favorite, most used, & most highly recommended recipe.)

after you master these recipes, sit down with a vodka tonic in your water bottle, pat yourself on the back for nourishing your brood, and eat the leftovers while standing over the garbage can as you are throwing out the paper plates.

guide to asterisks:

*all recipes to be accompanied with baby cut carrots & side of tv.

**to be attempted by advanced chefs only

***feeds multiple children simultaneously

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29
Sep 09

i heart guinea pigs

guinea

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.

baby hershey, pig #1. way cute.

cuddles, pig #2. also way cute.

cuddles, pig #2. also way cute.

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23
Sep 09

the ebaybe years

several years ago i discovered the most glorious website ever invented. the greatest testament to capitalism, american style, thy name is ebay. it was in the early ’00′s. ebay was in its heyday and my budget knew no bounds. literally over night, i became obsessed with this amazing online bidding phenomenon. after i quickly ran out of  practical items to purchase, i  started collecting like i had never collected before. i have been known to dabble in OCD & that combined with my failing, yet lucrative marriage made my romance with ebay’s ability to score me rare items, on which i could outbid anybody by putting in astronomical amounts, simply unavoidable. i went through major purchasing phases of different genres of items for years. i bought household items, clothing, shoes (every style of high heeled michael kors clog), designer purses, custom made bedazzled tee shirts ( i had an in with every seller)  to name a few. and everything had to be new with tags (NWT).  my feedback score is so high because of all the crap i bought, not sold. selling came  later & we shall get to that i assure you. i was sure that if something couldn’t be found on ebay, it  just didn’t exist. if you mentioned looking for something & were unable to find it, my standard response was, “did you check ebay?”

soon, my loneliness in my loveless marriage was replaced by the all consuming passion of finding my childhood items. neither my mom, nor i were big savers. so i got rid of mostly everything i had as a kid. i was rediscovering long lost items. extensively researching them, stalking, & tracking them down on ebay. offering outrageous “buy it nows” (BIN) to sellers who thought i was loopy. but my silght OCD could not allow me to rest until that item was in my hand. and all the toys absolutely had to be MINT. yes, obviously, i have perfectionist issues too. finding unused perfect toys from 30 years ago will significantly up the cash value of such items. i was buying bristle blocks, vintage board games like don’t tip the waiter, old school candyland, perfection & superfection (both of which gave my then 2 yr old a heart attack), alpha blocks, 42 boxes of vintage colorforms, miscellaneous dolls (remember dressy bessy?), several libraries of children’s books (ahh, my beloved sweet pickles set), 6 richard scarry playskool sets, weebles, fashion plates, sets of garbage pail kids cards, barbie’s hair salon, & basically every toy i could remember ever having owned. but the coup de gras was the fisher price little people (FPLP to those of us in the biz. ebay has its own language born of limits of letters on auction titles). and i remember clearly when i lost my mind over FPLP. there was a lot to learn & i was a quick study.

FPLP had their own following. a community complete with discussion boards and i fast became the ultimate ebay nerd bedecked in a bedazzled ebay t-shirt. i was thrilled to learn that there were tons of little peeps. there were the typical guys you knew, but i discovered something called the variation: these were LPs with the rare colored body, the unusual expression, the european versions, ethnicitized versions, wood bodies, plastic bodies, mistakes that came out of the factory: all highly collectible. oh, but one had to beware beacuse deviant FPLP sellers lurked among us. very very bad boys & girls who manufactured fake deviations in their domestic subterranean toy laboratories. selling them for crazy money to those poor little lambs who didn’t know. there are books & websites dedicated to cataloging authentic peeps & known fakes. it was like the fisher price CIA. but nonetheless, i had to have every single one of them. i got hooked up with another FPLP looney-toon and she started selling to me directly through my own personal auctions. she must have been happy as a pig in shit because i didn’t care what it cost if i wanted it. i was collecting the playsets too. i had to have a complete perfect set with a mint set of people. i had to own every set ever made. even if i already had the people that went to the playset, i needed a new set of peeps just for that playset. i was an FPLP snob. not only were they residing in sixteen (yes, 16) compartmentalized containers, labeled by type (via professional label maker, because i tolds ya i don’t do much 1/2 assed) but i cataloged my FPLP via an excel spread sheet. omg. a spread sheet? i was hitting rock bottom fast. how crazy was i becoming in the quest for happiness in my life? i was losing my mind & i didn’t care. i had teeny tiny plastic people to whom i could tell my troubles and who loved me (and that’s i have ever really wanted: just to be loved. well, by a full sized male human). i wouldn’t even let my kids play with the peeps for fear they might muss their mint condition status. one errant smudge or paint chip and it was all over. simultaneously, i was planning my basement remodel. i had so many FP playsets & FPLPs that i actually designed a shelving system to display all of it. my reality check came when i left my laptop out one day signed into my ebay account and mr. asspants saw the exorbitant amount of money i had spent on FPLP. he lost his shit, rightly so, and forbade me to buy anymore. shah. whatever. i would be damned if he was going to take the only joy i experienced outside of my children away from me. especially when he was the catalyst in the first place. but like it or not, i did start to see what i was becoming: a full blown mental patient. i had to stop or i had to find a 12 step FPLP recovery program. it was downright nuts & besides, storage was becoming an issue. eventually i sold off most of the childhood finds & the FPLP, but i still have approximately 272 tiny little people living here with me in my divorce process dorm room (formerly the room known as, guest). i will never unload them for more than a fraction of what i paid, so i actually let my girls play with them now. well, most of them. okay, not the sesame street people. a mint prairie dawn in worth like 50 bucks. and a mint herry monster?  priceless. they come up for bid only during a harvest moon.

DSCN0346

another part of my ebay insanity was to keep buying new sets of the same thing to upgrade it: i.e. my colorforms. if i found a rare set, say the highly coveted holly hobby glow in the dark house that i paid over 70 clams for, but if one colorform was missing, i would hold the set until a complete set came along, buy the new set & resell the one i had. usually at a loss or barely break even. i did this with all kinds of things, but vinatge toys mostly. i didn’t care if i sold at a loss because i was in search of the perfect set, not a profit. i went so far as to start an ebay group for a colorform exchange program. i am not making this up. i am truly that obsessive. you have an extra i need? i have one you need. let’s exchange them. surely i can’t be the only whack job buying entire sets for 1 colorform.  umm, yah, turns out i was. ebay folded the group due to lack of interest. yay, another new low.

finally,  i came to my senses and parlayed this bizarre talent into actually selling for a profit. der kommissar had such a tight hold on the family finances that i had to make some cash for myself. so i began selling anything in my house that wasn’t nailed down. i didn’t care what i made. i just wanted liquidity. i was basically scamming him. i would buy items with the credit card & then resell them on ebay when i was done with the item. this was the most fabulous justification for shopping because everything had untapped resale potential. so i reasoned i was going to make the cash back. however, it did add a certain slightly stressful edge to daily life when i had to keep not only the item, but the packaging too,  in what i called” ebay condition.” i even purchased plastic 1/2 body dummies to model my clothes upon for the re-sale photos. i got a tripod & set up a photo studio in my basement. i was fuckin’ hard-core. i don’t mess around, my homies. i rarely made my anticipated killing though.

at this point  a few years had passed (time does fly online), & i had become such an ebay efficienato, that friends & family were taking notice. i knew all the tricks of the e-trade. there was nothing i couldn’t buy or sell on ebay and they wanted in. i became an ebay power seller, people (for rills! they sent me a certificate and everything). at first it was a great idea. i designed business cards and a logo and dubbed myself “the tidy terror,” which i think is perfectly self explanatory. i was selling anything you asked me to for a 50/50 split of the profit after the ebay fees. hefty commission fer sure, but i got results. it became an all encompassing endeavor with more & more people wanting me to sell stuff. and i had to be diplomatic about their items. everyone thinks they have the best crap in town and it’s worth a fortune. what we all didn’t know was that the ebay market was about to bottom out from sheer seller saturation. it was getting harder & harder to sell regular items. only in demand craft items or rare & vintage items were still selling. i was losing money in fees for unsold merchandise & drowning in a sea of other people’s used clothes. let’s not even discuss how often an obsessive person like myself checks to see if her listings have any bids. there is a whole bidding strategy in which people wait til the last minute to bid, called “bid sniping.” it was driving me out of my ebay ravaged mind checking every 20 minutes for 7 days. and ebay shows you how many watchers you have. you can have 99 watchers & no bids on the same item someone else sold for a zillion dollars the week before. the ebay universe follows no rhyme or reason and it just became too much weight to bear. also, the pressure from my “clients” was becoming unbearable. i was crushing their dreams of new louis vuittons with slouching sales & poor profits.

then there was the shipping and packing: a production in & of itself. i was up late at night listing my items & exhausted in the morning packing them. i was spending hours packing & shipping items all over the place. i had purchased a postal scale, bubble mailers, shipping labels, packing tape, & was saving hundreds of boxes in my garage. i kept every box that was ebay worthy because it cut into the profit margin to buy boxes. recycling shipping supplies was a must for the same reason. i had piles of packing materials & bags of styrofoam peanuts. my mother was bringing her boxes & used wrappings over to my garage. it was out of hand – i had a gd shipping center in my basement. i had my own account with ups & the usps for jeebus chisto sakes. it was clear i had to retire and my passion for all things ebay began to subside. when all was said and done i really didn’t make money. it takes a 24/7 dedication to selling on ebay to make a real living at it. oh and a storage facility. and maybe an assistant over age 5.

however, my shining ebay moment came after that when i was redoing my kitchen and i sold the old kitchen on ebay for a few thousand dollars. i sold an entire kitchen people. literally selling everything and the kitchen sink.

the divorce proceedings really killed my whole ebay thing. i was very busy responding to false claims & general lunacy, that i had no time anymore for my previous ebay passion. then the asshat had blocked me from all of the finances and refused to pay the credit cards. ebay shopping kind of lost its appeal while he was busy trying to destroy my credit.  but most recently, a dear friend asked me to help her and sell a few things for her. so i am dipping my toes back into the ebay pool slowly & cautiously. i made no promises to her, but i went to her house, collected items, measured, photographed, described, listed, & i am hoping for the best. if the results are favorable, the ebaybe just may make a comeback – i still have a few tricks up my sleeve…

the ebaybe’s 5 simple rules for ebay happiness:

yes, i will sell your crap for you on ebay, half, or craig’s list: provided you are willing to abide by these 5 simple little rules:

1. i am the ebaybe. the ebaybe shall not be questioned. i decide the amount i will list your stuff for & if it’s even a saleable item. everybody thinks their crap is the best stuff ever & worth a fortune. newsflash: it’s not. unless you have a majorly rare item or pristine antique. in which case, you should be talking to christie’s or the comic store guy & not me. plus people are on ebay to save money.  this means they want cheap stuff. it’s little more than a giant glorified garage sale for the entire world.

2. you do not get to “bust the trade” so to speak, if you are unhappy with the final bid amount on your item. this is a big no-no on ebay and will fuck up my perfect 100% feedback score. understand, as a seller on ebay, all you have is your feedback score and i am already jeopardizing it by even getting involved with you & your crap in the first place. my feedback makes my lovely items more desirable over some other schmuck’s same exact crap. so the moral of the story is” you get what you get and you don’t get upset. ” well you can get upset, but i don’t want to hear about it.

3. selling shit on ebay is a very involved process, therefore i am not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. i will come to your house, inspect your items, take them home, photograph them, measure them, list them, deal with all the idiots & freaks on ebay, pack it up, & ship it. this is time consuming, therefore, i get a cut of the profits after ebay’s fee’s & commission. yes, we share the net profit, people. now, i am not a greedy person. i am a reasonable woman. but if you bug the bejeebus out of me during this process with incessant calls of “did you post it yet, ” or “how is my stuff doing?”  and etc. , my cut rises exponentionally.  go to my link & bookmark the page & keep it track of it yer damn self.  and for god’s sake, clean your goddamn stuff before i get there. no one wants to buy things with 17 years of dust on it.

4. you must take back your unsold items. i am not running a storage facility or donation bin. you are responsible for this part. i will not hesitate to throw your priceless heirlooms out if you leave them at my house for a week after they do not sell.

5. you get paid when i get paid. you will know when this happens because you will receive money from me. it takes time to get paid. you will not harass me about it. if you do, see the part in rule 3 about my cut.

now, if you still want to do business with a complete bitch, let’s talk. until then, take a look at my current auctions  (if i even have any at the time you are reading this)

check out my listings:

ebay

half.com

please…….

sent to me by steve cobbs himself


the tidy terror

the tidy terror

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17
Sep 09

the holidays are coming, the holidays are coming.

shofarso “the holidays” are coming. the jewish holidays, of course. every year at this time, like all my fellow tribesmen, i am saddled with the responsibility of explaining what the holidays “mean” to all of you gentiles. and basically, it boils down to this: there is rosh hashana (hereafter known as RH), which is the jewish new year, meaning it coincides with the hebrew calendar, hence the year 5769. this is generally two nights of unbridled stuffing of the gut with all kinds of traditional artery clogging foods. apparently, all the historical desert wandering countered the effects of over-cholesterol ingestion. RH is when we ask God to allow us to live another year by writing us into book of the life. RH is followed by yom kippur a week later. this is the day of atonement when we ask God to forgive our sins of the past year. to achieve that goal, we are expected to fast, which means we starve ourselves for 24 hours because God will reward us for such by allowing us to live another year by being written into the book of the life. i have no idea how a people who based an entire culture, history, & religious practice around communal food sharing for thousands of years, came up with this idea. i can not go for 24 minutes without food. 24 hours is out of the question.

generally in august, a panic ensues in the jewish community about “the holidays.” and we really have many holidays. like every 6 weeks at least ,but these are the holidays, the holiest of them all. most important ones we have. we start planning feverishly: all the people we are inviting, are we doing the first or second night at our house, are we doing it all this year, are we going to someone’s house, what do we bring if so? what about break the fast? are we doing the meal the night before (erev) or the actual breaking of the fast? the night before we stuff ourselves silly in the hopes of having an easy fast, that is what we wish each other, “have an easy fast. ok, you too.” breaking of the fast preparation is generally easier because it consists of what we like to call “bagels & schmears.” schmears being the spreads for the bagels. so, anyway, we literally write off all of september with promises of “we will get together after the holidays.”we are just so busy preparing. my kids went to jewish preschool- they were home more than they were in school in september. the more conservative the synagogue, the more days off. sometimes the holidays stretch into october depending upon how they fall and this causes even more time to be written off. and we expect all of you goys to know when the holidays are, but every single year some jerk plans something really big on our holiday, a hockey tournament for our kids, a school event, etc., and we flip out because they refuse to change it. it’s our plight every single year. we know when your holidays are you need to know when ours are. uch.

so, we all observe the holidays differently depending upon how religious we are. many jews use this as their reason to feel like a “good jew” and sit through hours of services at temple. sometimes morning and afternoon. but is anyone actually paying attention? i have seen dozing, snoring, & actual saliva drippage. so many jews want to be good on the”high holy days” that we actually need to have tickets to get into services. security is tighter than at an obama rally. no sneaking in. don’t try to worship without proper registration. this is how they get you to join, by promising you tickets for the holidays. some synagogues actually have to conduct these services off site becuase so many people want to aattend. the whole congregation shows up. people you haven’t even seen all year show up. when you get there, its cut throat seating. there is no seat saving so don’t even try. my parents didn’t really observe by going to temple, so as i got older i dabbled in going with friends. and was it ever boring. eventually though i came to feel like a hypocrite, because i didn’t really observe anything jewish all year, why go now? like, okay, i’m covered for the entire year if i just go these 3 days? i don’t think so.

there is the question of fasting on yom kippur. do you fast or not? do you lie & say you did? some people will drink water but not eat all day. some drink water only for taking medication. some with do neither but sleep all day (that does not count, btw, asshat). some will brush their teeth, some won’t. what time is fasting officially over? do you wait till your usual dinner time or until the shofar is blown and there are 3 stars in the sky? some drink water only for taking medication. you’re supposed to sit & pray all day, think about your sins, and starve while you do it. some claim hypoglycemia or illnesses. the only years i felt no guilt about not fasting was when i was pregnant. again my parents didn’t fast and i don’t. i did it once or twice but decided on the whole hypocrite thing and abandoned it. let myself off the hook, i did. an interesting custom is to go down to the river & cast stones into the water, each stone representing a sin you committed the past year that you want forgiven. i usually run out of  stones…

i find the holidays inspire a weird jewish competitiveness. who is a bigger martyr with more dishes to wash & more people at their house? who had the most food and spent the most money on it? the supermarket gets cleaned out. who spent longer in temple & fasted the longest? did you go both days, both sessions? who got the most fabulous outfits for the holidays? who is the first to wish you a happy new year? (innerestin’ sidenote: every year someone wishes me a happy & healthy new year & i have no idea what they are talking about at first. then i realize oh, its RH.) then in classic jewish fashion, they whine & bitch about all of it before, during, & after preparations. none of this is what i think God intended.  i don’t believe most of us really get it and change our ways, but i have been called a cynic once or twice.

of course, for me, holidays since the divorce began & after my dad’s passing have lost a certain luster to me. they have become something to get through & past rather than to celebrate. but its still family time, so we get together for too much food & sickly sweet mainschewitz. we will dip our apples into honey for a sweet new year, ask to be written into the book of life once again, and have it catered…

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