Moving On Up…
Howdy!
So I started this website, see?
And I got really busy, see?
But I also got lots of extra space, see?
So I moved my blog, see?
And made it all pretty and promise to write regularly from now on, see?
I’ve moved! You can now find me at www.TheOnlyThingIKnow.com .
For those of you kind enough to have me in your blogroll or in your favorite feed reader, please take a moment to update your addresses as I will not be updating this blog from this day forward.
Looking forward to seeing you over at the new place!
Filed under: life | 0 Comments
Currently Serving Stalker #3
It must be time to change perfumes again.
*On a excellent note, this time I didn’t even have to use CafeMom in the tags!
Filed under: blogging, illness, stalkers | 9 Comments
CAUTION: Detour Ahead
You know that act at the circus in which some amazingly talented person juggles glasses while plates perched precariously atop sticks strategically 
placed on random body parts spin in opposite directions?
Picture her in Birkenstocks and a cute haircut, and you’re looking at me… Well, almost me.
My plates, on the other hand, are made of plastic to save me the time and effort of cleaning up shards of glass from my living room floor and the no doubt mess caused by my bleeding foot . The sticks holding the plates up? They’re more like little monkeys who insist on chanting “Mama, may I…” at varying degrees of loudness over and over again in my ear. And the glasses so expertly juggled before me aren’t really glasses at all but little league schedules (now featuring all-star tourneys and practices), and sippy cups, and my Crackberry (complete with task reminders that sound suspiciously like Frou Frou’s Let Go), and my to do lists, and baskets of laundry, and that package of Hershey’s Reeses Cookies that I long to have all to myself without the aforementioned monkeys noticing….
So can you picture it now?
Good, then you’ll completely understand the following cop-out:
Do you remember our little discussion about the things in this world that are scarier than Tom Cruise? These ladies not only agree but have some really shocking examples and some pointers on what you can do to help:
Visit one or visit them all… Just be sure to show your support and help out!
And one final detour to make this cop-out truly complete and inspiring:
Have you visited Mommy Matter lately? We’ve got lots of exciting new changes that you’re sure to love!
Wonderful image above is by Phyllis Kriege. More information can be found at http://www.nabiarts.com/06/Paradise/PK.htm.
Filed under: Adam Walsh, Family, Oprah, blog, blogging, celebrities, childhood, culture, friends, groups, mommy matter, parenting, politics, pop culture, social issues | 6 Comments
A Pretty Ballerina Am I
I guess it was inevitable…
I am on the verge of becoming one of those silly monsters that blog only about their excuses for NOT blogging. Sigh.
So, instead of filling your head with all of my pretty excuses (good,applicable, and slightly exaggerated as they may be), I’ve decided to tell you a bit
about something that has absolutely NOTHING to do with my not blogging as regularly as I ought and EVERYTHING to do with the reason why I stopped wearing my pretty pink tutu and diamonique-encrusted tiara out in public.
You see…
I fall down in movie theaters.
As a matter of fact, I only fall down in movie theaters.
Now, I’ve never been what one might consider the epitome of all that is gracefulness and coordination. Well, perhaps I should clarify that… I may not have ever been up for the lead in Swan Lake but, for all intents and purposes, am not what one would call clumsy per say. I mean, I can work a pair of appropriately inched stilettos like nobody’s business but definitely have what I refer to as my Bridget Jones moments (although I’m not quite fully convinced that they’re either embarrassing or British enough to be equally as endearing).
However, as bumbling as I may sometimes appear to be, it’s never been really much of a concern or call for any reaction more serious than a red face or two. Unless, of course, there’s a full house and it’s opening night of a long-awaited sequel- then I’m guaranteed nothing short of a red face, a skinned knee or two, and, of course, a bruised… ego.
Once, in a moment of mis-direction and mis-understanding (the top portion of my body was heading out the north exit while the lower half had a decided preference for the east), I fell flat on my face in front of a rather morbid crowd of about 150 perky teenagers. (Scream 1996)
Another time, during an ending credit-inspired mass exodus of about 200, I stood only to realize rather belatedly that BOTH of my legs were asleep from mid-thigh down. Peter fondly recalls of me “being there one second… then not.” I’ve yet to forgive him for all of that pointing and laughing business though. (Cruel Intentions 1999)
And a more recent Hall of Shame moment occurred at the hands of Spiderman 3, where I somehow mistook air for a stair and then proceeded to fall down a small flight of actual stairs (which, unlike their predecessor, were made of something quite substantial like concrete) . Luckily, it was the late feature; and the packed seats sat mainly adults who tend to snicker rather than cackle with glee at the silly lady who doesn’t know how to walk.
So, perhaps I should close this entry with a solemn promise to blog more often and movie-go more less… But I’d much rather go and dig up that old tiara and tutu and upgrade the Netflix account instead.
I hope you all are well!
Filed under: Bridget Jones, esteem, life, movies | 21 Comments
I have become a soccer mom.
Now, of course there is nothing wrong with being a soccer mom per say. As a matter of fact, many of the greatest women in history have, at one point or another, found themselves in a similar role. And as a feminist, I firmly believe that I should be able to stay at home with the kids, taxi back and forth in the valiant mini-van, and be responsible (not solely, of course) for the general upkeep and organization of the “household” without the consequence of some sort of gender specific name-tag stapled to my breast. But me? A soccer mom?
Bah.
It’s not the role in which I envisioned myself, granted, but it is a position in which I’ve grown accustomed and often excel. Lately, however, it’s gotten pretty damn hard to ignore that bitter after-taste of uncertainty that creeps in during the soccer mom’s obligatory chant from the sideline bleachers. For even though I don’t sport that aforementioned arrow & circle with the words Susie Homemaker scrawled across the bottom, I do find myself stapling on a whole new stereotype to the front of my new Mommy Matter tee (yes, that was a shameless plug. Deal with it.):
(I realize that this is a complete turn-around from my last post, but I feel that I should point out that this entry deals with those things that go on out in the real world and not just in my head.)
So… what is it I’m getting at?
Little Man started baseball.
Yes, this entire rant is about little league. More importantly, it’s about little league parents. My peers. My soccermom/soccerdad counterparts. It’s about those insane, idiotic, loud-mouthed, ridiculous, foot stomping, booing, jeering, over-friendly parents that spend three hours a week living vicariously through their children while perched on the edge of a fold-up travel chair complete with dual cup holders and a nifty carrying case.
I feel so out of place at every practice, every game. You see… I clap for every child. I smile at every victory- whether achieved by “our” team or “theirs”. My heart breaks when that kid misses the catch or strike out and then walks back to the little dug-out with his head hung. I can’t boo- I don’t know how. I also don’t know how to make it all seem such a big deal- to place such importance on it all or how to convince my eight year old that he’d rather sit home and read a book or play a his Nintendo.
But those other parents- those die-hard soccer moms much more deserving of the title than I - they play by a different set of rules. And they wear their labels proudly.
And I’m left wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
After all, it’s just a game, right?
Filed under: childhood, children, culture, esteem, games, groups, household, labels, life, parenting, sports, stereotype, women | 7 Comments
Yesterday was my mother’s birthday.
I call her mother- not mom, mommy, mama, or momma. I have called her mother since I was old enough to squeeze out two syllables, although I’m fairly certain that I started out with mama like other children (mine included). She, however, quickly put an end to that nonsense. Mother was the more appropriate, I guess.
The children called and left a message on her voicemail.
I’ve been a bit busy lately.
Busy yet bored. It’s a very strange combination. I’ve started several new projects and have organized all of the closets (with the exception of the boys’ room as I’ve yet to garner the courage). I’ve also read several new novels and organized then re-organized Mommy Matter on a daily basis.
Still, I sit here feeling as if I’ve accomplished nothing.
The origami is being difficult.
It could be me and my current role. It could be the lack of appreciation. I think it’s the broken record though… but, then again, it always is.
Enter understudy- stage left.
God, why’d I have to miss that era where they served french fries in the small packages and super-sized the quaaludes for free?
*On a more productive note, I shall endeavor to endeavor to write here more often. I’ve been a tad crazy occupied lately. Remember: Forgiveness is supposed to be divine or some shit like that.
Filed under: life | 3 Comments
It’s two thirty in the morning here in Hickville.
Of course, those of you who know me well are completely familiar with my warped sense of time and the insane bouts of insomnia that have plagued my life since I was a pig-tailed princess sneaking past my mom’s room in the middle of the night to spend a lovely two hours lending my voice-over talents to the various characters on Superman. (Yes, that was an incredibly long sentence, but you handled it wonderfully. Congratulations.) Tonight, however, the insomnia isn’t the only thing keeping me all bushy-tailed,bright-eyed, and mildly paranoid.
You see, earlier this evening, I came to the rather startling conclusion that I’m in the wrong kind of book.
This is how I see it:
The Bard gave Caesar a soothsayer and the Ides of March and Macbeth the weird sisters. In fact, it seems that every really good story has some sort of prophet… Some subtle warning all wrapped up in crazy and topped off with a big fat bow of unbelievable.
My prophet?
A creepy little girl with a basket full of cracked eggs.
Welcome to my cheap-fiction horror novel.
As the Little Shakespeares are looking forward to chocolate bunnies, fake grass, and food color stains on the morrow; I left them all in the capable hands of that pretty piece of meat that I married and headed off to a late-night push and shove at the local Walmart. As this is Hickville and civilization is a forty-minute drive and headache from here, I found myself the lone customer at the ridiculously over-priced gas station on the corner. The lady behind the counter was neither familiar nor friendly (nothing new considering I fit in here about as well as I would at the Republican National Convention), but I was in and out quickly.
It was on the walk back to the car that I noticed her standing by one of those smelly trash cans by the pump. She was peeling eggs. I’d guess she was, I don’t know, seven or eight… I smiled at her. She smiled back and said,
Do you believe in evil spirits?
Ummm… Pardon?
We were at the party at my cousin’s house and the spirits have been chasing us around town. Did you know that tomorrow’s Easter?
Yeah, ummm, Happy Easter, sweetheart.
I quickly hopped into my van and drove away.
Now I’m home and sitting here at two in the morning typing this. The baskets are done and awaiting the coming gleeful shouts. The last of the eggs are dancing in the pot, and I’m…
Well, I’m just waiting for the zombies to show up.
Filed under: horror, life, literature, media, movies, pop culture, prophet, shakespeare | 6 Comments
I have these moments of insanity.
In this case, I caught the spring cleaning bug and decided to re-organize my laundry room. I find myself doing this twice a year as everyone and everything somehow manages to pile up in there; and when all of the varied crap gets shoved on the shelves, I find myself with no where to put the folded clothes. This means that I actually have to put them away in their proper place.
And who the hell wants to do that?
(Not me, of course. I’m the proud “folder” in this castle. Unfortunately, the position of “putter-upper” belongs to Peter… and he’s been on strike since 1998.)
Operation Laundry Room, of course, called for an extensive arsenal of mesh bags, new shelving, and many nifty plastic totes of various size and shape.
After getting everything set-out and up in preparation, I returned to my living room to find this:
And quickly came to the conclusion that- if handled properly- this could be the solution to all of my cleaning needs. Now, if only they come in a size “eight year old”.
Filed under: children, cleaning, home, household, organize | 3 Comments
Dear B*’s momPlease let B* come to my party can he. I am B* is my friend it will be fun let him come We will be playing are games so let him be playing a lot of games he is my Best friend in all wide world so it will so much fun if you say no I be mad. ceck yes or no
from RJ
Dear RJ,
I am a grown-up and do not respond to threats.
B*’s Mom
*Little Man has informed me that RJ’s party is in July and will be from 4:14pm until 11:02pm.
Filed under: children, friends, games, life, party, school | 7 Comments
