Undomestic Diva

24 Things You Never Wanted to Know About Me (And I'm Sorry)

I'm totally biting Avitable's rhyme with this meme because really? I'm feeling rather uninspired these last couple of days. So... here's a bunch of shit you never wanted to know about me. Feel free to answer these same questions in the comments or link back, doing your own post.

1. Did you date someone from your school senior year? Yep.

2. Did you marry someone from your high school? Candy Ass and I started dating the summer before my Sophomore year and married two years after I graduated.

3. Did you carpool to school? I drove myself.

4. What kind of car did you drive? 1986 Ford Bronco (Eddie Bauer Edition, bitches)

5. What kind of car do you have now? GMC Yukon XL which Dave of Rattling the Kettle likes to make fun of me for, pointing out where the RV parking is at whenever we have blogger meet-ups.

6. It's Friday night - where were you (in high school)? At the movies or in the park.

7. It is Friday night - where are you (now)? Probably on the computer working. Or twittering.

8. What kind of job did you have in high school? I worked at a mushroom farm. Words cannot accurately describe the smell of that place.

9. What kind of job do you do now? I own a photography business, am a columnist and run a moms website.

10. Were you a party animal? No but only because Candy Ass isn't the partying type. But I'm a good time.

11. Were you considered a flirt? No.

12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? No.

13. Were you a nerd? On the high school newspaper staff, raised pigs for FFA and competed in speech tournaments. Hell no, I was COOL.

14. Did you get suspended or expelled? For fighting, yes.

15. Can you sing the fight song? I never went to pep rallies, so no.

16. Who was/were your favorite teacher(s)? Mr. Steele who sparked my interest in Criminal Justice.

17. Where did you sit during lunch? I didn't eat lunch at school - I usually ditched.

18. If you could go back and do it again, would you? No way. I hated high school and all the bullshit that came with it.

19. Did you have fun at Prom? No, we didn't stay. So, yes.

20. Do you still talk to your prom date? On most days. :)

21. What did you want to be when you grew up? A criminologist.

22. Biggest fashion mistake? I took the vintage clothing thing a bit too far with the old man polyester pants.

23. Favorite fashion trend? Chucks.

24. Are you going to your next reunion? Haven't decided. I'm thinking no... We'll see.

Shitastic

Well, I went through all the trouble of trying to film my two year old singing along to Eminem's new one "We Made You" while driving only to have problems with Vimeo when attempting to upload it. TWICE. This was the icing on my shitastic flavored crap cake that was my day, so all that cuteness and wrongness? You're just going to have to imagine it.

And yes, this is my fucking post.

Rainbows and sunshine,
UD

This is how we do's it

People have emailed and commented asking me if Candy Ass and I really talk to each other the way I say we do on this here blog. And the answer is, Yes, yes we do. Perhaps it would be smarter of me to have totally denied that, but whatever, I like to open my mouth and see what happens rather than think things through. But you already know that.

A perfect example of how Candy Ass and I operate:

I had a recent MRI on my lower back which showed I have two "severely" herniated discs. Every now and again I have to do battle with physical therapy, but once they threaten me with exercises to "make my back stronger" I end up ditching and don't come back until I'm bent over, begging for someone to unfold me. 

After Saturday's walk, which was only 3 miles, my back felt like someone had wedged a brick into my spine and left it there. It hurt. It wasn't a matter of distance or endurance, just that my back gets bitchy on me easily. I was complaining about how badly my back hurt later that day when Candy Ass, AKA Mr. Sympathy, weighed in.

"Why does your back hurt? It's not like you ran a marathon. You walked. Slowly, I bet."

"So, asshole. It still hurts. Remember? Herniated discs? It doesn't take much."

"Oh, you poor baby. Three whole miles. Couldn't have taken you 45 minutes, walking slowly even. Sounds exhausting."

"Bite me, bitch."

*** 

Before every fishing trip, Candy Ass will order new flies and nymphs and line for his fly rod. This time, when I thought he was looking for some new Woolly Buggers (could not make that shit up, folks) he was actually shopping for - get this - a back brace.

"A back brace? For what? Are you going to start lifting weights?"

"No. For fishing."

"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA" (Or something less mean. Wait. Nope. It was definitely "BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA")

"What??"

"Let me get this straight... You need a back brace for fly fishing? How old are you?"

"I need one."

"You, who gave me shit for walking three miles and then complaining about my back, is now ordering a back brace to wear while standing in a gentle stream in the majestic Sierras while you cast your feathery-light line hoping to snag a two pound brown trout?"

"Yes."

"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

Folks, right or wrong, this is how we do's it.  

Marching for Maddie

 
*Click to enlarge

This? May look like a large group of amazing people who came out to March for Maddie. And it is. But they are just a small sample of who is walking in her honor. There are more than 30 more teams across the U.S. are also marching for Miss Madeline Alice Spohr as well.

You can view more photos here.

Monitor this

It's difficult, but I'm bringing sexy back in a big way via a holter monitor which I am certain will be next Fall's fashion must-have, so help me Tim Gunn. All my miserable migraines have led me to this "precautionary" monitoring of my heart by a cardiologist for 24 hours to make sure a) I have a heart and b) if so, it's pumping enough blood and oxygen to my brain.

I'll wait until you're finished laughing. Jackasses.

Anyway, if you've ever had to wear a holter monitor, you know it's no fun. Yes, there are far worse things to go through, but having electrodes firmly adhered to your chest that connect to a gaggle of wires that lead to a box on a belt around your waist sucks. I'm trying my best to avoid public places right now being that it looks like I've got a bomb strapped to me.

Besides, the more things I go and do, the more I have to write down in my "patient diary" the cardiologist's office gave me. Every time I eat, go to the bathroom, yell at my kids, drive, talk on the phone... I have to write it down. I scoffed at the nurse who hadn't me the 5x7 "diary" which alloted a whoppin' page and a half for such entries. Four hours into my 24 of monitoring, I was stapling extra 8.5 x 11 pages to it.

Actual entry: "3:51 PM - I had another piece of chocolate because I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry."

I hope the cardiologist has a sense of humor. What I ought to do is just print out my Twitter stream for the doctor. To hell with this "patient diary" crap: 

OK. Off to the cardiologists to be accosted by a nurse & a gaggle of electrodes. Shoot me.

It's cold in the cardiologists office. And I'm thinking of leaving.

They could at least put up some other decor besides photographs of clogged arteries.

If just being at the cardiologist doesn't depress you, the green carpet definitely will.

I think just the idea of wearing a halter monitor is giving me heart palpitations. IRONIC.

I should have probably worn a nicer bra.

(This is what you call nervous tweeting. A close cousin of drunk tweeting - only less fun.)

No, I would not be interested in reading about pacemakers. Thanks.

My turn. Oh look - my heart is going to beat out of my chest. THIS IS FUN.

SEND XANAX

Wow. I'm hooked up. That was fast.

Hmm... I'm think maybe I shouldn't record in my "patient diary" every moment I find myself twittering. They may call for an intervention.

15 minutes in to this holter monitor and I'd like to rip these itchy ass electrodes off my chest. And not in a sexy way.

Trying not to catch my holter monitor on fire while attempting to cook dinner. It's harder than it sounds.

Also, I just don't think it's fair that I have to record in my "patient diary" every time I sneak a piece of Easter candy. That's invasive.

On second thought, maybe I should just stick with the patient diary.

 

What daddy does

Career Day is quickly approaching at E-man's school and so a note was sent home to all the parents, asking for volunteers to come in and talk about their job to 120 Kindergarteners, giving a 10 - 15 minute presentation on what you do for a living. 

E-man: "Mom, can you come talk to my class about being a photographer?"

Me: "I could... but remember, I already told all the kids what I do when I took photos of them? They already know what a photographer does."

E-man: "Well, what about Dad?"

Me: "Maybe. It's kind of hard to explain what Dad does though. Computer stuff. Do you even understand it?"

E-man: "Yes. He makes money for the bank."

Well there you go.

Why I should not be given power

I'm guest posting today over at Twenty Four At Heart. It should serve as a prime example as to why no one should ever trust me with their blog user name and password. [insert evil laugh here]

Let's explore Uranus

My kids are constantly putting crap on their bedroom windows even though Candy Ass and I keep telling them not too. The worst are stickers. Stickers, true to their name, refuse to unstick themselves and it takes Candy Ass a good couple of hours, a few razor blades and a whole lot of cuss words to remove several dozen Thomas the very helpful engine's from our relatively new windows.

Not only is it a nuisance to remove stickers and other mysteriously adhered materials from these windows, but it's also ugly. The boys' playroom window happens to be in the front of our house so we'd really like it if the windows simply looks liked windows and not art projects, ya know?

Yesterday, as I pulled into the driveway, I spied a rather large sticker? poster? something-or-other perched in the playroom window. Not again! I thought. I quickly got out of the car, marched up to the window, prepared to get mad when...

I just about fell down laughing. Am I the only one who finds this both hilarious and deeply disturbing? There's something both embarrassing and yet laughable to know that everyone who stops by to visit is now invited to Explore Uranus. HAHAHAHA!

I know - I need to grow up. Maybe tomorrow.

Counting calories

Candy Ass is on a diet.

 

At first, I took offense to this, thinking him telling me he has to eat frozen meals instead of my home cooked ones was merely an excuse to not endure enjoy my fine culinary experiments talents.

 

(And no, he’s not on the diet that rhymes with Lenny Fraig. It’s one that has to do with a certain piece of exercise equipment my youngest sacrificed the tip of one of his fingers in a few months back. At least someone’s using it… properly… now.)

 

Anyway, I’ve had to search high and low for frozen meals that are low in calories but also have meat because GGRRRROOWWWLLL he’s a meat and potatoes kind of guy and lord knows everything frozen is Asian-inspired. The man I married will not go within 20 feet of a Chinese restaurant (is this grounds for an annulment? Just wondering.) so JESUS this diet thing is difficult. On me.

 

But really, I’ve been very supportive – happy even – to help find the snacks and meals he can eat. So helpful in fact that Candy Ass quickly grew suspicious, it finally occurring to him that because his new diet means I don’t hardly have to cook dinner really – just for the kids – that could possibly, perhaps, perchance be what is making this girl very happy.

 

The funny thing is, I’ve even managed to lose a whoppin’ three pounds by eating these frozen meals along with him which no doubt pisses Candy Ass off being that he’s cut calories, watches every snack, drinks GALLONS of water, has given up all soda, measures his milk intake and exercises five times a week and me? I just ate an entire box of Peeps along with my frozen meal. And drank an entire fully leaded Coke.

 

On the flip side, I have learned that it is entirely possibly to burn a microwaveable meal. And before you get all What the fuck? Can’t you do anything right in the kitchen? on me, let me first say, No. And secondly, in my defense, those instructions are very confusing. Microwave at 50 percent power at 4 minutes and vent then stir then re-cover then microwave on high at 2 minutes turning halfway through…?? I just learned about the goddamn popcorn button for christsake. These frozen meals are practically asking me to make my own pasta. Um, hells no.

In the wake of tragedy

People never fail to amaze me. But this time, I mean it in a good way.

This past week has been such a fog of tragedy and sadness, but it's also been refreshing and amazing. I've seen some really astounding people come out of the woodwork, bend over backward for a family whose loss is unimaginable. I've watched total strangers gladly give up meals out and morning lattes in order to donate to charity. I met bloggers and friends who flew in from all over the country and Canada to pay tribute to a little girl whose story compelled them to be there. And I've received emails from random people wanting to know what they could do, willing to do anything.

While I don't consider Maddie's services to be blog material, I will say that Mike and Heather did a beautiful job; their strength and courage to speak was inspiring and uplifting. Heather had us all laughing, something only she could do in a moment as heavy as that. I could never imagine myself as graceful in the wake of such sorrow.

For those of you who have been so generous as to donate to March of Dimes or otherwise in Maddie's name, thank you. I encourage people to continue the spirit of generosity and kindness that has given even a cynic like me a certain amount of reverence.

Not that I've lost my dry, sarcastic touch. My world's been shaken, and uncomfortably so, yes. But I will undoubtedly regain my bad attitude in no time at all, after all, Heather would expect nothing less of us.

But for now, you know, thank you.