What Else?

Our lazy Sunday started of with a bang. First, I figured as long as we were both up, we should probably try to make it to 11:00 mass. I get in the shower, do my thing, turn the shower off, when my hand held shower head falls, narrowly missing my foot. I put it back up, and tell Will to be careful when he is taking his shower. I should have known better. The poor little boy was painfully struck in the arm by the offending shower head. After soothing my poor angel, we were off to church and all was fine. While at church (during mass) my mom invited us over for dinner, which solved my least favorite question every day...."What's for dinner?"



At my parents' for dinner, I took my last bite of lasagna and tasted what I believed to be pork. I asked my mom and she said, "Oh, I forgot that you don't eat that." Yeah right. I could already feel my stomach churning. To repay her, I made off with her crazy glue.



At home, after getting a little sick, I decided to fix the shower head with the crazy glue. Except, you know what happens when you steal crazy glue from your parents? It's totally dried up and breaks in half when you squeeze it. Of course. I found some caulk and thought that might work, so I put it on and moved on to my next project.



Let me just tell you, my pear tree is the bane of my existence. I don't even like pears. However, it provides the only shade in my backyard, so it's staying. These damn pears fall everywhere and my dad was going to come over and mow the lawn the next day, so I had to pick up a weeks worth of fallen pears. Easy enough, sure, but if you take into account the five wasps on each pear, not to mention the swarm of flies, this is a difficult task. I was using gardening gloves, a child's rake and a child's shovel. I'm sure it was pretty amusing to any onlookers. Just as I've sprayed everything with Raid, I hear William yelling in the house, "Mom, the toilet's overflowing!" With Raid on my shoes, I run into the house to plunge William's handywork. Fortunately, it wasn't really overflowing, but it definitely needed a good plunging. I resumed my pear project and after about four bee stings, I kicked the remaining pears into the mulch and called it a day. But my house had other plans for me that night.

After a little rest, I went to wash my face and realized my bathroom sink was completely clogged. So, I went to remove the obstructions (hair), but no luck. I decide to be an adventurous homeowner and take apart the pipes underneath the sink. This sounds like a recipe for disaster, right!?! Actually, it went pretty well. I took all of the pipes apart, cleaned them out (all the while, still getting a little sick from my dinner) and put everything back together, with very little mess. I tell William to hit the water and it goes down....and then it comes back up. By now it's about 10:00 at night and I've had it. I did, however, keep it together. I called my dad, but he was already tucked in for the night, so I decided it would have to wait. We used the tub spout to wash our hands, but I just couldn't bring myself brush my teeth and spit it into the tub, so we filled up the sink a little more.

By this point, the bathroom rug was pretty gross, so I threw it in the washing machine. As I'm just about to fall asleep, I hear the loudest noise (ca-chunk, ca-chunk) from my basement. Apparently, if you have one item in the washer, it throws the thing off balance while it's spinning. Who knew? As it turns out, this problem remedies itself after a couple other loads (or at least I think it did).

By the time I wake up Monday, the sink has gone down a little, and I think we're good to go. My dad says he'll put some drain cleaner in it and try a couple other things (that he found on the Internet-I'm sure). Well, $107 later and two guys, two hours my drain was unclogged. Apparently, there was years and years worth of build up in my pipes (that's what she said), and this problem could not have been avoided. Oh, and I had to replace the shower head too.

Really, I think this is why I should get married. While I handled everything, it would have been much easier to pass it on to my husband so I could watch TV uninterrupted.

An Open Letter To Miley Cyrus (and her parents)...

Ok, Miley. Your little pole dancing routine at the Teen Choice Awards, NOT COOL. You think you get a pass because your parents have had you paying their bills for a long time and won't to say no to their little money tree, but you don't get a pass. I don't have a little girl, so it really makes no difference to me, but I do have a young son and you have been banned in my house for a long time and always will be. Ever since your Vanity Fair photo shoot last year, I knew neither you nor your parents had sound decision making abilities. Pretty much every thing you do and wear is inappropriate for someone your age who is, God knows why, a role model for young girls.

While I get that you are young and make mistakes, you don't have the luxury of people forgetting about it. And that's too bad, but it's the price you pay for the money you make.

I'm not sure if you've ever heard of a few girls called Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, or Mischa Barton, but those girls are hot messes, and it appears to be where you're headed.

It's time for you to get it together and it's time for your parents to be your parents. Enough is enough, Billy Ray. You can sing your Achy Breaky Heart out and let your little girl be a little girl. One that doesn't writhe on stage, dance on poles, make fun of Asians, and do risque photo shoots. And if she does, maybe if she goes away for a while, no one will care.

My Happy Place

The other day during a particularly trying day at work, images of Disney World kept flashing in my head. I mean, I could visually picture it. I wondered why this kept happening and then I realized, this is my Happy Place. It must be my mind's way of calming me down and saying "Look, you've had some good times too!" I like that when I think back to our trip to Disney World, I don't remember the lines, the extreme heat, the aching feet, the cost of it all, but I think of one of the happiest times of my life. Wow, who knew!

When you go with a guy like this....

How could it not be?

For the Birds

Let me say for the record, I DO NOT LIKE BIRDS. They are gross, I do not find them cute, and their chirping is like nails on a chalk board to me. So, it's no surprise that birds have launched an all out assault on me and my house.

It started earlier this summer with a little bird poo here, a little bird poo there. Now it's as if they've cased my patio, finding out where I like to sit, and poo exclusively on my chaise lounge, which is pretty much the only place to sit on my patio. They also once targeted my garbage can because, of course, the chair wasn't enough. They're sneaky little bastards. It's not like it happens once a week. It happens every single day. I clean it, they poo again. I even put a towel down one night, because I was too lazy to clean it, and the next day they pooed on the towel.

Then, I was in my basement doing laundry, minding my own business, when I hear little scratches and a chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp....a bird was in the exhaust pipe from my hot water heater to my chimney. This happened once before, and I didn't take it personally, but now I do. I'm not into killing animals, but there's really no way to get the stupid bird out without letting it loose in my basement, so this intruder sealed his fate when he entered my premises uninvited. So the only option is to crank up the hot water and the exhaust kills the bird. He's still sitting dead in the pipe waiting for my dad to return from his 900th vacation this summer. It doesn't stink at all, so I think it may have totally evaporated.

I was telling one of my friends that I didn't even want to talk about birds (not like we were) and he told me a story much worse than my own. Two almost hatched bird eggs fell on his car, so he had two dead fetus birds on his car sitting in the sun roasting. He said the smell was absolutely disgusting. Isn't that one of the grossest stories ever? Ugh!

I think the birds know I'm talking about them, because I Tweeted about the bird poo and the attacks seem to have intensified since then. As I was getting ready to pull out of the garage the other day, I turned my head to look behind me and there it was. One of their bravest soldiers sitting on the window sill of my car. Right there three feet away from me, ready to attack, as his leaders had sent him to do. I let out a scream and he flew away (not very well trained, huh!). As it turns out, I was never in any real danger because my window wasn't even open.

The last kick in the shorts happened when I was riding with my mom in her car. I'm playing DJ (because I have control issues) and I'm skipping around with her CD's when all of a sudden I hear chirping. I started looking around to find the bird stalker that had followed me into the car when my mom asked what I was doing. I told her there was a bird in her car and she laughed and told me that she had a CD of birds. Chirping. WTF. 1) Who sells that, 2) who (other than my crazy mom) buys that?

I feel like Elmer Fudd with Bugs Bunny.

Extravagant Tastes on a Shoestring Budget

It's no secret that being a single mom requires some creativity in the money department. While we are never super duper broke, we come very close some months. It's a balancing act that I haven't even come close to mastering. The summer is especially difficult, with day care and back- to-school expenses, and I'm about to lose my penny saving mind. Even though there's definitely some areas that I could cut back on, I won't. You know why? Because then I would feel poor and I think that's one of the worst feelings in the world.

Now let me point out that reality and I have never been friends (unless we're talking reality TV). I have things in my mind one way and I don't like to face how things really are. This is why I close my eyes when I step on the scale at the doctor's office (and tell the nurse that I don't want to know, just in case they decide to announce it) and sometimes, I just go to urgent care where I never have to step on a scale. So, this is why I choose to do my grocery shopping at Target (and not Aldi), and why I have cable and TiVO, and why we go out to eat as much as we can. We go most movies that we want (children's movies of course) AND buy popcorn. Because even though we don't have tons of money, I still don't want to feel poor. And even though my son knows money doesn't grow on trees, I don't ever want him to feel like he went without.

This is not to say that I don't make sacrifices. I don't do that much for myself, aside from the occasional girls night out and of course my annual girls trip. And I don't buy clothes or shoes very often (and if I do, you can bet they come from Target or Old Navy - oh and I don't like going through sales racks, because that also makes me feel poor). I've had two pedicures in the past eight years and no manicures. I sacrificed my monthly massages when I bought my house. I use coupons when I go grocery shopping and stock up when things are on sale. So don't judge me for having a few extravagances (that most people probably wouldn't even consider extravagances).

Now, just because these things make me feel poor, please don't take that as me judging those who do those things. More power to you; I admire you.

This is all about me.

Movies Alone: Yes or No?

A few weeks ago, I went to the movies by myself for the first time in my 31 years. William was off with my parents and I decided to treat myself to a movie. It was awesome! I didn't have to share my popcorn with anyone. I didn't have to accompany a certain 8-year-old to the bathroom. I just sat and watched Phelam 123 and enjoyed the hell out of it.

This week, William's been with my sister all week, so I decided to try again. This time, it was Bruno...and it didn't go as well. It was totally obvious that I was by myself. Usually, when you walk into the theater, the lights are off, so it's no big deal to be sitting by yourself. However this time, the lights were on and it seemed like there was a spotlight directly on me. Not to mention, I had a contraband cookie and diet coke that I wanted to bust out. Did I mention I was the first one in the theater, so I was kind of the center of attention before other people started filing in. But, when the lights when down, so did my crazy hyper-sensitivity and I was able to sit back and enjoy one of the best, most disturbing movies I've seen in a long time.

Other than being crazy and assuming that everyone is talking about me, the only other thing I don't like is that you don't have anyone to discuss the movie with after it's over. I guess I'm becoming a little more self-confident if I'm able to go to the movies by myself and not really care what people think (matinees only though, of course).

Have you ever been to the movies by yourself? Do you feel like everyone's talking about you? Am I crazy? (don't answer that)

My Hot Dog Problem

I took William to our local waterpark last Friday, as I was off for the 4th. We had a blast and around 3:00 we thought it was snack time, so we headed over to the snack area (I recommend putting your flip flops on) and stood in line to fill our tummies. First of all, they don't have Diet Coke, they have Diet Rite. I said "Ewwwww" and the cashier said "Sorry" very sincerely. William got some shaved ice and I decided a hot dog sounded good. For those of you who know me, I try to avoid pork at all costs, but a hot dog just sounded good. I ate the hot dog and went on about my day. By nightfall, I was totally dizzy and sick. While I never actually barfed, the thought of "hds", as I'm now calling them, makes me sooooo nauseous. Even as I'm writing this, I'm feeling sick.

So, do you think I could avoid hds? Nope. On Bridezillas, all the one girl could talk about....hds. On the Bachelorette, hds. On the radio, "You've seen the professionals eat hds, now it's your turn!" On an old movie, I just happened to want to watch again, Fools Rush In, hds. They're everywhere. I'm going to a baseball game this weekend, I bet I'll hear the words or see the food itself. That will probably put me over the edge.

The madness must stop.