Undomestic Diva

All In A Day...

I can't remember where I saw this before, but man, maybe this is why my throat is so damn sore.

P.S. I say most these things on a daily basis, plus a few i-n-g words. If you know what I mean. {wink wink}

Congrats!

First they were too hard and now... to easy?!? Angie had it right - it's none other than a box of boring old envelopes. I wish it were the filter to a brand new air conditioner... but it's not. Have I mentioned the record 100+ degree heat we're having this week? Yeah.

Anyway, a big congrats to Angie... who will be receiving one pound of the Kopelani Coffee Beans that debuted at Starbuck's yesterday.

I'd write more, but I've got a sore throat that makes child birth seem tame. (OK, so not child birth. BUT IT REALLY, REALLY HURTS. If I were a man, I'd have spent the day in bed, watching a Bonanza marathon and dozing in and out. But I'm a mom, which, APPARENTLY, is a whole different thing and hypocrisy does not apply to me. (Although I wish it did.))

Guess That Photo Contest

In celebration of Starbuck's debuting their new Summer drinks today (which may or may not include energy drinks, double-shot espressos among summery blended creations), I thought I'd do a "Guess That Photo" contest where the winner will receive one pound of the just-on-the-shelves today Kopelani Blend Coffee Beans. It's a medium blend of African, Latin American and Kona Coffees and Starbucks should REALLY be paying me for saying all this. But they're not. I'm just an addict who can't help herself. (Good thing my vice is espresso and not alcohol. Am I right?)

Anyway, rules are same as always. Put your very, very specific guess in the comments section of this post. You may guess as many times as you'd like through 8:00 PM Pacific tonight. If more than one person guesses correctly, the prize goes to whoever either guessed first or was more specific. 

The photo has been cropped, but not skewed in any other way or fashion.

If no one figures it out, prize goes to the most creative guess. Good luck!

Where Did All The Sitcoms Go?

I had a great Mother's Day, with nothing arriving in an unmarked envelope. Which, as we all know, is good news. My mom helped my guys plant flowers for me and bought me another pomegranate tree to kill again plant in my yard. They also made homemade cards for me which made me cry because, I don't know, it's just nice ya know?

Candy Ass arrived home from his fly fishing trip just in time to give me $100 to buy my waxing warmer pot but then my mom gave me an entire waxing set so... now I'm a $100 richer and it could mean some mighty smooth legs around here this summer. Or, at least some decent blog material when the waxing goes wrong. Sounds like a Dateline NBC Special: When Waxing Goes Wrong. I can just hear Chris Hansen now.

Speaking of televisions most guilty pleasures, I can get enough of old shows lately. I miss the old sitcoms. For me, lately TV has been just "eh" and not great. Ever since the strike... I kinda just lost interest in a lot of shows.

Last night, I happened upon "America's Funniest Videos." I don't know how many times I've seen a number of these old videos... sledders hitting trees, unfortunate pinata bat-to-the-balls segments and that one baby making the faces with the dubbed karate noises. But, IT NEVER GETS OLD.

But my most favorite old shows? The funny 30 minute sitcoms that no longer exist.

One of my all-time favorites is Friends. The funny thing is, I never once saw the show at its regular time and night. I started watching it when it was in syndication and now, almost nightly, I watch the reruns at 11 PM and laugh out loud at scenes I've seen waaaay too many times. "How you doin'?" One of my favorites has to be the episode where Chandler goes to Joey's tailor and Joey finally figures out that the tailor... um... goes above and beyond what's required of him. Freakin' cracks me up every time.

I can't decided if I love Friends or Roseanne more though. Every once in a while I find reruns of Roseanne on late at night and I am hooked. It makes me want to eat roast with gravy and applesauce. And I don't like applesauce. What I loved most about Roseanne was that it was different. A lot of people (at the time it originally aired) didn't like it because Roseanne Bar? Arnold? was such an abrasive person. But you know what? For most people, the show was a far more accurate depiction of life than Fresh Prince of Bel Air or... whatever else. Most sitcoms were like an after-school special, with cliche issues all solved within a 30 minute time span with a happy, predictable conclusion. If only life were that way. Roseanne was... real. And funny. And normal, for most people.

Another fun one was Married With Children. Good god was that ever a guilty pleasure that made you laugh! And you know what? Beneath the self-deprecating do-no-right father and the inept, QVC-addicted, bon-bon eating housewife, overly hormonal son and bleach-blonde hussy of a daughter was a family that really loved each other. Kinda like the Kardashian's. But different.

Wow. I've managed to over-think a sitcom. Not easy to do. But I guess I just miss the 30 minute sitcoms that were funny and original and memorable. WHERE DID YOU GO SITCOMS?

Word to ya Mutha

It's not often that I get all sniffly on you... but it is Mother's Day and I would be an idiot to not take a moment to scream from the server tops how much I love and appreciate my mom... She's pretty awesome.

My mom... she's everything I am, but on kinder and gentler levels.

And she's everything I'm not... domestic, selfless, patient, grateful, faithful, courageous and hopeful.

She's the most amazing grandma a grandkid (or three) could have...

And while there was a time when, as a teenager, I was insulted when people told me I was just like her...

Now, I couldn't be prouder.

To the woman who has made me not just a better mother, but a better person... Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

And a big shout out to all the mamas out there. Hope you have a great Mom's Day! 

The Ghost of Mother's Day Past

Mom, sisters, aunts, family members and those of you wishing to not know certain things about me that fall under "too much information" category, you may stop reading now.

No really. Stop reading. You don't want know. Trust me.

I have to tell you, that my husband Candy Ass, well, he's given me some wacky gifts in the past. One Valentine's Day, he gave me rubber mud boots. Not to sound ungrateful, but what in eff am I going to do with mud boots? As a graduation gift, he gave me camouflage clothing. Because...? On my 21st birthday, he left that morning to "run a quick errand," came back with a grocery bag and said "Here. Happy Birthday." It was filled with alcohol. And there was that one time he made his mom go into Victoria's Secret to buy my gift because he felt like a pervert in that store. TO BUY LOTION, not even lingerie.

[sigh]

For a while though, Candy Ass was truly making progress in the gift giving arena. He started buying me gifts before the actual holiday and tried hard to come up with things I might actually have a use for... Although he always felt the need to drop far too obvious hints in the days leading up to giving me the gift. (I don't want to know!!! Please. Surprise me! For the fun of it!) But honestly, these gifts were far better than mud boots and camouflage and I'm (slowly) learning the value of knowing when to just shut-up and appreciate that it's the thought that counts. When there's thought.

But last year, on Mother's Day, I'd say he took a giant step backward in the gift giving department. It's not so much that he didn't put thought into it - because he definitely did. {shutter} And it's true that he thought it was something I could actually use. {shutter} But... well, it just wasn't what I would deem an appropriate gift. At least not for Mother's Day.

For starters, whatever it was, it wasn't wrapped; it was still in the manila envelope it was mailed in. Um, OK. You know how you just get that feeling when something just isn't right? Unmarked, manila padded envelope... I was certain it was anthrax or something equally fatal. Was he mad at me? Had I done something wrong more wrong? Hmmm...

I opened the envelope as gently as possible, hoping not to detonate any explosive device, not particularly wanting to be obliterated into tiny little specks and ruin the carpet. (On second thought, oh hell. If I'm going to die some explosive death, might as well take the carpet with me, right?) I peeked into the envelope hesitantly, my stomach in a double knot and sweat on my brow.

And then my heart stopped beating.

For like 30 seconds, I SWEAR-TO-GOD I DIED. Only there was no light at the end of the tunnel, just a lot of flames and oh god, the heat! I had died and gone to hell. That part, not so surprising. But I was shocked when I came to and realized that yes, indeed, my Mother's Day gift, in its original mailing envelope, was none other than a hot pink vibrator.

Like a chameleon, my face turned the same shade of hot pink and my shaking hands dropped the envelope like a brown recluse spider had just crawled out and bit me. Maybe one had. Maybe I was just hallucinating...

Nope.

Now let me just tell you a little something about this... this... toy. It's not a colorful, cheerful, innocent, perfectly normal hoochiemagoo. It's damn near heavy machinery in the world of sex toys. It's bent and big and ginormous in girth and looks like someone's pearl necklace got caught in the middle of it, and there's a second doohicky protruding where I'm pretty sure no doohicky should protrude - at least not on a real live man (unless I'm missing something here) - and there are speeds and up and down arrows and levels of gyration and frankly, no device should require that many D batteries, and HOLY HELL WHERE AM I GOING TO HIDE THIS SHIT? was all I could think of.

"Do you like it?" Candy Dumb Ass asked excited, certain he had picked the perfect gift.

"Um. WHAT THE F*CK?"

I couldn't help it. I was... caught off guard? A little?

"It's your Mother's Day present! I picked it out for you!" he said, still far too enthusiastic about a device that could potentially replace him - or so I've heard.

"Well I certainly hope the kids didn't help you with that."

"You don't like it?" Candy Ass asks, offended.

"Um. Let me think. Yeah. NO!!!"

"But I thought --"

"And when my mother asks me what I got for Mother's Day? What the f*ck am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know."

Let me just tell you, I can't even call that pink machine by its intended name because the blushing almost hurts. So, like every normal couple, we gave it a nickname. Bruce.

Let me tell you, Bruce, yeah. He still sits where he was sat originally. Untouched, unscathed, unused. Because, frankly, it scares the living bejesus out of me. I've never handled a power tool before...

I'd throw him away but the trash men would surely discover it, take pictures of themselves making rude gestures with it and then post them around my neighborhood with a sign that says "THIS BELONGS TO THAT FREAKY BITCH AT THE HOUSE RIGHT THERE!!"

At least, that was the thought that ran through my head when I had originally thought of wrapping the son-of-a-bitch in a set of Cal-King sheets four hundred times over, then dousing it with oil and dog crap - just so no one would be tempted to unravel the sheets - and then stuffing it in the bottom of the garbage bin. But I chickened out, so instead, it still sits in that same damn drawer, mocking me and intimidating me like a middle school bully, whispering what a wuss I must be every time I walk past it.

Needless to say, Mother's Day... yeah. I'm totally OK with skipping the whole gift giving part this year. No. Really. In my head, I'm constantly hearing a low hum, almost a buzzing sound, like something... vibrating? I swear, it's like the Ghost of Mother's Day Past, in all its hot pink glory, is haunting me.

 

Mommy, how do you spell...

The E-man never disappoints.

While I was cooking dinner the other night (please, somebody order me a trophy for actually cooking dinner), E-man said he had a question for me.

"What's up, E-man?"

"Mommy, how do you spell sit?"

"Sit? Sound it out."

"Does it start with a C?"

"No. Try again. Sit. S-s-sissss."

"No mommy, not sit. SHIT. Like the stuff that comes out of your butt."

[internal conflict ensues disguised by a thoughtful pause - and maybe a slightly audible snicker]

"Honey, it's S-H so it sounds like shhhhhh."

"Oh."

"But, you probably shouldn't call it that. 'Poop' would be better."

I know. I was really proud of me too.

How does my garden grow?

You guys didn't think my garden would still be alive and kickin' but it is! HA!

I know. I can hardly believe it either. I even have two tomaters on their way...

That's right bitch. TWO!

Lucky for me, I haven't killed the boys' sunflowers they planted with grandma either.

Although the neighbors blasted Morning Glory is trying to strangle them daily.

(Don't worry, I went all Jackie Chan on its purple ass and told it WUSSUP?)

My cilantro is looking nice and... bushy. (Hee hee)

Although Candy Ass told me I need to cut it? So it doesn't seed? HUH? CILANTRO HAS SEEDS??

But I admit - I am having one little problem.

See this soaker hose?

Yeah. Well... Um. This can't be good, right?

How? You ask? How???

 

HE is how. Meet Morton. Our Saint Bernard puppy. And we use the term "puppy" very lightly since he's a hefty 150 already.

But he's got a bit of chewing problem. In that, he likes to chew. ON EVERYTHING. Including, my beloved soaker hose.

I tried to patch it using shop towels and zip ties.

But... yeah. Didn't work. And all I got from Candy Ass was a big fat "I TOLD YOU SO!"

Other than that, I practically have one of those green thumbs everyone keeps talking about.

Never mind the house plants.

Because I care about my children's teeth

Just in case you haven't heard, I'm not above telling white lies when it comes to protecting my children from gingivitis.

ME: E-man, you need to do a better job of brushing your teeth.

E-MAN: Why?

ME: Because, I don't want the dentist to have to rip them out with pliers.

E-MAN: Why?

ME: Because it would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, trust me.

CANDY ASS: And because the dentist will have to put spiders in the holes to eat all the junk out.

ME: That's right.

Candy Ass Speaks

Let me just set the scene for you. Candy Ass and I are in our living room... He's in his lazy boy chair, feet up, eating Mint Chip ice cream right out of the quart in his Hot Wheels pajama bottoms his mama sewed for him. I shiat you not, I couldn't make that up. (I'll spare you the picture since, frankly, it's just weird.)

Anyway, as I sit on the opposing couch (which somehow just feels safe with what we're about to do and all), I've got my laptop a rarin' to go and well, there's nothing left to do now except maybe try to grab his attention between the ice cream bites and the DIY channel.

Here we go. (My questions/dialog in bold.)

Can you mute the TV?

I guess.

When are you buying me an air conditioner?

That's the question?

Yes.

[long pause]

I'm going to check out one of those room-size jobs in the next couple days.

I thought I'd just skip to the chase with that one.

What I should have really answered was 'What? That new camera I just got you doesn't come with an air conditioner?'

To which I would have had to reply, 'You mean the camera I'm paying for with the wedding I'm shooting?'

Stop typing everything I say.

That's how this works, my friend. Moving on.

If you were to be referred to as something besides "Candy Ass" in this blog, what would it be and why?

[laughs] "Whipped." It's obvious.

Oh PUH-LEAZZE!!

If you could refer to me as something other than "Undomestic Diva," what would you pick?

Peg because you embody the spirit of Peggy Bundy.

What did you think about me calling you a "vag" in my last post?

You've certainly called me much worse.

Who wears the pants in our house?

It would definitely have to be you. Have I ever seen you in a skirt or dress?

I don't think that's what they mean.

I stand by my answer.

When are you buying me an air conditioner?

I already answered that one.

Oh.

If I could "fine tune" one domestic skill, which one would it be?

Housekeeping.

Um, so you're saying I could improve in ALL areas of housekeeping?

Yes. Why?

Does my outfit make me look fat?

[Looks me over.] Yeah, Pretty Hot And Tempting.

[eye roll]

What's the best way for a guy to answer that question?

You always say what I said about Pretty Hot And Tempting.

What's your favorite Starbucks drink?

Zebra Hot Chocolate with whip.

Why don't you ever go get a Starbuck's drink for me?

I have.

Yeah, like twice ever.

What are you going to do for me?

Anyway.

Is there anything I cook that you like to eat?

Ranch potatoes and chicken cordon bleu

Speaking of cooking, how's the Happy Hooker working out for you?

The Happy Hooker is a marvelous invention. I can't imagine BBQing without it.

And your rationale as to why it was a necessary purchase when the Fo Shizzle welcome mat was not?

I don't get much and there isn't a part of the house that seems to belong to me so I at least deserve to get a Happy Hooker.

And now, pal, you can spend all your money on a Happy Hooker of a different kind if you'd like. You don't get much? There isn't a part of the house belongs to you? Let me get you a tissue and you can lie on the couch and tell me all about it you big ass whiner.

BTW, when are you buying me an air conditioner?

Jesus, I answered that question like three times.

Yeah, but several readers wanted to know.

Coke or Pepsi?

Pepsi. And Team Jolie.

Asshole.

[laughs]

Do you have a tattoo?

Of course not. Why would I desecrate this beautiful body?

Jesus.

Do I have one?

Yes...

And your thoughts on that?

Um... whatever floats your boat.

Do you like the show "Corner Gas?"

I haven't heard of it.

Whose on your Hump Island?

Really?

Yes.

Angelina Jolie,

BASTARD!!!

Jessica Simpson and Jessica Biel

Wow. You came up with those awful quickly.

And speaking of sexy, can you describe the lesbian shorts?

[laughs, hysterically]

Nope. The words escape me. But if I had to describe them in one word, I'd probably have to say "munch."

OMG. You're retarded.

But really, how hot HAWT do I look in them?

Let's put it this way: You light up the room.

Are you saying my legs are, um, a little pale??

Yes. They could use a little sun.

Don't you think I could probably get rid of the lesbian shorts if we got an air conditioner?

I don't think you'd ever get rid of the lesbian shorts - they're almost a part of you. It's like that old bra and --

OK. Got it. Next question.

If you had your choice to be anywhere in the world with me and these kids of ours, where would it be?

Montana. Tamara in GA would probably love it if I said in Georgia next door to her, but I wouldn't ever say that. So, Montana.

If it weren't for me and the kids, where would you be right now?

[smiles waaaay too happily] I'd be sitting on the couch in my underwear eating ice cream and watching TV.

Like you're doing right now?

Maybe I should change that to "driving home from the Sierras."

Too late.

Where would you take me on a dream vacation? To show your undying devotion. Because I gave you all these kids. And because I'm the greatest wife ever.

I can't think of the name of it, but I heard about this place where you can rent your own island. I'd take you there.

Do you think I'll ever nab that dang "Mother of the Year" award?

To me, you're mother of the year.

You're full of shiat. You're just trying to get people to like you.

So?

Describe the qualities you like best about me.

You're witty, thoughtful and

(do I need one more?)

[long pause]

There's just so much to like about you. It'd be easier if you asked me what I didn't like about you...

That's coming next.

Oh great.

Fine. You're creative - without a doubt.

Describe the qualities you like least about me.

You're a control freak, you're worrisome and I don't know what else.

Oh. Stubborn!

If you could say one thing to me without any repercussions, what would it be?

[big sigh]

I guess I'd just leave a hundred dollar bill on the pillow and walk out.

Are you effing serious?

Fine. I'd find a loving way to encourage you to be more... domestic.

But then I wouldn't be the Undomestic Diva.

That's true.

When are you buying me an air conditioner?

Goddamnit!!

Which came first: the woman with the opinions or the mom with a blog?

The woman with the opinions for sure.

Is there a post you wish I had never written? Which one and why?

Eh. It's hard for me to know when I don't read your blog.

Ha. Ha.

It would have to be the recent one about me leaving you for the day to melt in the house so I could sit in the air conditioner at work. That's false. I left because I had to get work done.

How come you normally work from home but that day you HAD to go to the office?

I told you, it was too noisy here.

You mean, too hot?

[sigh]

Sum up our marriage in 6 words or less.

My balls are in her purse.

Well aren't you just so effing funny.

What surprises you the most about me?

It's been 12 years. I don't think there are any surprises left.

What's your biggest pet peeve about me.

Dinner ain't like mama fixed it.

You're just asking to die, aren't you? That was below the belt, Asswipe.

Have you finished making those kitchen cabinets yet?

[looking offended]

Are you kidding me? The DIVA (in capital letters, please) won't let me start.

Liar.

What's your favorite thing to do in the whole world?

Fly fishing.

What's your best feature?

My devotion.

TO WHAT?

To the Diva and my three boys.

OK, fine.

Describe yourself in 6 words or less.

Shy, humble,

You are NOT humble.

Humble, work in progress. Or I could just say "awesome."

That must be the "humble" part speaking.

Would you ever start your own blog?

No. I don't have time. Plus the Diva would be jealous of my writing skillz (please spell with a 'z')

Can you quit calling me "the Diva?" It just sounds weird coming from you.

What do you think of my blog?

I'm very happy you found something you love, an outlet that gives you a break from the hustle and bustle of the undomestic life you live here.

And it's certainly much cheaper than your love for photography.

My BFF Tamara in GA would like to know: "Is it true that you secretly love me & it pains you so greatly to hear the voice of the one you can't have so much that you prefer to not answer the phone when I call. Answer wisely boy."

Fo' shizzle.

You did not just say that.

[laughs]

Did you enjoy this little Q & A session?

Um... yeah.

Is there any ice cream left?

No. I ate it all. Is that part of the interview?

It is now... so I can show people how selfish you are. Bastard.