Because It's Turkey Week...Stuff I'm Thankful For

Because It's Turkey Week...Stuff I'm Thankful For

1. I am Thankful that Susan Boyle lives in another country, across a large body of sharkey water. I Dreamed a Dream that she would stay there.
2. I am Thankful for wine. And beer. And margaritas. As well as the fact that I can drink them all legally, because drinking them illegally was such a pain in the butt.
3. I am Thankful for my wonderful housekeeper. Especially now that Senorita Roomba has gone rogue and is acting like a little bitch.
4. I am Thankful that JLo fell down at the VMA's while singing a song about how hot she is in her fancy shoes and while wearing said fancy shoes. It just doesn't get much better than that.
5. I am Thankful for Mexican food, and I think that if the Government would just relax and have a nice Taco Fiesta Night at the White House, they may just loosen up on this whole immigration laws thing.
6. Spanx
7. I am Thankful for hair color. Not that I use it or anything, but I have lots of friends who do, so I am thankful on their behalf.
8. I am Thankful for Paul Rudd. I would be even more thankful if I could make out with him just a little bit.
9. I am Thankful that Steve is good at the maths. If I had married any of my other boyfriends, we would've been in a heap of trouble.
10. I am Thankful that my family is full of total weirdos. It makes life much more interesting.
11. I am Thankful for The Real Housewives of Orange County. Not only because it is must-watch reality television at it's finest, but because after each episode I feel so much better about myself.
12. I am Thankful for PEZ. I just can't imagine a world without them.
13. Spanx
14. I am Thankful for the Arctic Monkeys, because no matter how tired or crabby I feel they make me want to dance.
15. I am Thankful for "Cougar's" because although they think they are hot, they actually look ridiculous in their teenager clothing, heavy make-up and puffy lips. I am lucky enough to see them on a regular basis and they never cease to make me laugh.
16. I am Thankful I get to smell the following smells: Vanilla, Cinnamon, Plumeria and Lemon Verbena.
17. I am Thankful that I no longer have to smell the following smells: Poopy diapers, spit-up, and my sister Lindsy's feet.
18. I am Thankful for my washer and dryer. If I had lived in the olden times when you had to wash your clothes in the river and beat them on a rock, I would have been one dirty, smelly pioneer woman.
19. I am thankful for Tivo because without it I wouldn't have time to watch ANYTHING, and also, I wouldn't be able to fast-forward through all those damn Brooke Shields commercials.
20. I am Thankful for our dry cleaning service, because not only do I not have to wash and iron all Steve's dumb shirts, but I don't even have to drive them to the cleaner's. Oh, the life of a housewife.
21. I am Thankful that my OBGYN looks EXACTLY like Baby's dad, Dr. Houseman from Dirty Dancing, because getting to say things like "Nobody puts Patti in the stirrups" makes an office visit so much more bearable.
22.I am Thankful that Steve has the ability to tune me out, because if he heard every weird thing that comes out of my mouth, he would probably realize he's made a huge mistake, and he might try and run away.
23. Spanx
24. I am Thankful for my flat iron, because without it I would look like Roseanne Roseannadanna. Well, maybe just a touch flatter.
25. I am Thankful that Ethan likes to make up songs and sing all day long, just like his mom.
26. I am Thankful that there exists in this world, amazing individuals called "Massage Therapists" who will rub all over me in exchange for money. You make the world go 'round.
27. I am Thankful that my Mother-In-law speaks French, because today my car started yelling at me in French for no reason, and it wouldn't shut up, and I am hoping that my M.I.L. can translate. Let's keep our fingers crossed that it's saying something friendly. I've seen "Christine" way too many times.
28. I am Thankful for the wonderfully relaxing combination of Midol and Merlot, because not only is this week PMS week, but it is also Thanksgiving week, and my house is about to be overtaken by family. Family + Lots of cooking + PMS = The Perfect Storm.

And one more Thanks to all of you for reading this nonsense. Have a great Thanksgiving!

It's Not My Potty And I'll Cry If I Want To

It's Not My Potty And I'll Cry If I Want To

I am not a fan of public restrooms. As a matter of fact, if it was socially acceptable, I would rather drop trou in a parking lot, between cars or behind a big cart or something. Very rarely have I seen a public restroom that did not completely disgust me, and believe you me, I have seen some restrooms. While I have always had pretty strict policy about peeing in public potties, when I was potty training Ethan, I had no choice but to venture into hundreds of them. I know that one of the pluses of having a boy, is that you can oftentimes skip the whole bathroom thing and let them go wherever and whenever the mood strikes. Unfortunately, when you are potty training, they need to go in an actual potty. If I had let him go just anywhere, instead of being potty trained he would have ended up bush trained, alley trained or empty water bottle trained. While all of those options are easier, I'm afraid they might be frowned upon by the general public.

This arduous training period lasted long enough for me to see nearly every bathroom in not only Houston, but in most of it's suburbs. By my intensive and highly technical mathematical calculations, for every hour of an outing, we went into at least 30 restrooms. Office Max? Yep. Kohl's? Of course. Sam's Club? You betcha! Wal-Mart? You don't even want to know what I saw in there once. It seemed to me that my son wasn't happy with having ruined my 2-pack-abs and my REM sleep, now he wanted to ruin my No Public Potty Policy as well.

Before I gave birth to the Pee Pee King of Texas, I not only had buns of steel, but a bladder of steel. I usually made it through a whole day of school without ever having to use the bathroom. Although I asked my teacher's for bathroom passes so often I'm sure they thought I had a severe bladder disease, I was never actually in the bathroom, but just wandering the halls, sometimes popping into other classrooms for an impromptu visit or whatever. My point is, I would hold it all day just to avoid using a public restroom. Don't even get me started on Porta Potties, or, Lord help me, airplane bathrooms, which you have to be under 100 lbs to fit into, and even if you manage to squeeze yourself in, it's like trying to pee in a thimble while riding a galloping horse. By the time you're done, you've not only touched every surface in there, but you most likely have a concussion as well. I once made it all the way to Hawaii with my legs crossed and my window shade closed so I couldn't see the big, wet ocean. I arrived on the Garden Isle uncomfortable and cranky, but dry as a bone. That Hawaii trip taught me three things: #1) I hate poi, #2) Sadly, my dream trip to Australia will forever remain just a dream, at least until we can afford our own private jet with life-size bathroom, and #3) If you sit with your legs crossed for 6 hours it is nearly impossible to uncross them.

Because I think that my bathroom phobias are completely and utterly logical, I cannot for the life of me, understand people who go through life all willy-nilly, just using the toilet everywhere they go. When worse comes to worst, I at the very least, do an in-depth sweep of the facilities before making any final decisions. My checklist includes, but is not limited to the following: Seat covers, toilet paper, hand soap, a freshly-cleaned scent, and paper towels. Air dryers are not only annoying, but are also completely unusable unless you have a doorless bathroom, due to the fact that the paper towel serves the dual purpose of drying your hands and allowing you to open the door without touching the handle, which is without a doubt one of the most popular rides at the e coli amusement park.

What boggles my mind the most, is what some people think is acceptable to do in a public restroom. I have witnessed some life-changing stuff, my friends. Some life-changing stuff indeed...And what I always wonder is, "Are you homeless? Is this your only access to a bathroom?" Because that is the only logical explanation I can come up with for why someone would choose to take what should be their MOST private potty time (you know what I'm talkin' about) and make it public. There are just some things that should be taken care of at home. There is no reason to inflict your most personal moments onto an innocent bystander who is just trying to follow the Swine Flu Prevention Guidelines and wash her hands in the bathroom at Macy's. Yeah, I'm talking to you, "lady" in the 3rd stall from the door.

So, to sum up this long and rambling post, I would like to remind you all of a few things: (1)Three-year-olds are cute,but not when they are in a stall with the door wide open not only making a #2, but describing it in great detail. Close the doors, people, I don't wanna see it and I don't wanna hear it. (2) Treat the restrooms well. If you don't want someone doing it in your bathroom, do not do it in the public bathroom. Would you go to Nana's house a write "Cathy is a b*tch" on her wall or throw your toilet paper on the floor? I don't think so. (3)Flush, flush, flush. I am begging you. (4)Wash your hands. For the love of Pete, people. We can all see you going straight from stall to door.

As we all now know, the Houston Police really love their hidden cameras, and I for one, would like to see some sort of "Disgusting, Germ-Spreader, Non-Handwasher Cameras." I think we should start a Pee Pee Task force. If the cops are too busy reviewing Red Light Camera footage to help, we can handle this ourselves. Most of our cell phones have video, so I think we should record the non-hand-washers and post them on You Tube. If shame is what is takes, I am all for it. Who's with me?

Did The Mayan's Know About Leg Warmers?

Did The Mayan's Know About Leg Warmers?

I've witnessed it. The first sign of the Apocalypse. That movie "2012" has everyone all in a twist about the stupid Mayan Calendar and the end of the world, but I'm here to tell you that the end is coming much sooner than 2012. Oh yes, people. I have seen the sign and thy name is Acid-Wash. And then I saw a few follow-up signs which you can file under the name's Shoulder Pads, Jelly Shoes, Flashdance Sweatshirts and no matter how painful it is for me to say this, it's still true... Parachute Pants.

As most of you know, I recently had a very confusing visit to Hollister, or what I have come to think of as the dark, cologne-drenched closet of a horny frat boy. One minute, you're walking through the bright, cheery mall, and the next thing you know you feel like you're about to get felt-up or puked on. After that disturbing trip to the mall, I had to take a mall break to get my bearings back. Last week I finally decided it was time to face my fears. My friend Jennifer went with me, because although I felt ready to go back, there was no way I was going there alone.

As we walked through the mall, we quickly realized something: somehow, our mall has turned into Teen World. All of the employees are teens and the stores seem to only offer items for teens. If your acne days are over and you have a full set of boobies, there's not much merchandise there for you. In theory, this should make me feel old, but what is does instead, is make me feel like I'm a teenager again (At least until I try something on and realize that generally, teenager hips are a different width than mom hips). See, what's happened is that all of the things that we teenager's of the 80's used to wear, are back in style. I definitely have mixed feelings about this. While part of me enjoys looking at these clothes and reminiscing (Look! That's exactly the same sweater I wore the night John told me I was the coolest girl in school!), the more sane part realizes that this is a terrible, terrible thing. These clothes should have never come back. When I was 13 I set my legwarmers free. You know the story (you probably wrote it on your Trapper-Keeper at some point): If you love something let it go, if comes back it's yours, if it doesn't it never was. Well, I was hoping my leg warmers would fall into the "never was" category, but since the end of days is obviously upon us, they have come back.

Instead of a mall, Jennifer and I felt like we were shopping at Goodwill, since everything was something we had previously owned. After a little bitching and moaning about the lack of clothing appropriate for those of us who actually have money, and a big old sandwich and fries from Steak Escape, we decided we would try to salvage our day by trying on some of these new (old), hip (dorky), stylish (tacky) clothes. For your enjoyment or horror, I have included a short
photo tour of our trip down memory lane. Turn up the Duran Duran, put on your toe socks, grab a can of Jolt, and go back in time:

Voguing in a puffy jacket and capri leggings, we have your Insane Mom, Patti. The jacket was flannel plaid, and contained lovely and oh-so-flattering shoulder pads, because what girl doesn't want to look like a Lumberjack Linebacker? No boy can resist you in this casual yet sexy ensemble. Throw on your blue Dr. Scholls and hit the town girl!

Next, we have Jennifer modeling a totally awesome sweater dress. She pumped up the volume with a gorgeous, red pleather belt. Wide may be BAD for butt's, but it's RAD for belts!! All the boys will be after her in this foxy outfit!

Here we have Patti again. This time she's sporting a pair of grey, peg-legged stretch jeans, which really make the purple swing top and scarf pop! She'll be feeling totally rad tonight at John's party. Didn't you hear? His parents are out of town and he's getting a keg!

Once again, we have Jennifer. This time, she looks smokin' hot in this plaid mini-dress over black leggings. Add a pair of slouchy ankle boots, and she'll be ready to Rock The Casbah!

Lastly, Patti models a totally bitchin' pair of acid wash stretch jeans, paired with a vintage-inspired "Thriller" t-shirt. After she tight rolls those pant legs and throws on her Jelly Shoes, you can forget about the zombie's, because it's the boy's who'll be chasing her tonight!

One Is The Loneliest Number...

One Is The Loneliest Number...

Okay people, listen up. I love you all. Even if I don't know you I still love you because you read my blog. And while that definitely means you are slightly unstable as far as your mental health status, it also means that you have a sense of humor that is pleasantly askew and you also have extremely good taste. These are qualities that are very important to me, and as far as I'm concerned, the whole of mankind. However, I do have one little gripe to make, which may be PMS or sugar-induced, but whatever the origin the gripe remains the same: I feel lonely on the blog. It's like some crappy movie I saw late at night once where some poor space dude is floating around in some ship up there all by himself. I need some companionship from my peeps. Underneath each and every eloquent blog entry, is a comment area. All you have to do is give it a click and tell me something. Anything! If you've had a similar experience to whatever wacked-out thing I'm writing about, share it. If you just want to tell me that I am the reason you get up in the morning, tell me that too. If you want to tell me that you think I'm an idiot, you can shut your pie hole and keep it to yourself. The point is, I need human companionship. My computer, although very attractive and knowledgeable, is not enough for me. Give and take, homies. Give and take.

Footnote: My friend, Lazy Mom Leslie, has brought it to my attention that my comment button wasn't working. I re-set some things and maybe it's working now? If you've tried and failed, please give it another go. Thanks!

How Meatloaf Can Save you When You're Driving Like A "Bat Out Of Hell." Allegedly.

How Meatloaf Can Save you When You're Driving Like A "Bat Out Of Hell." Allegedly.

A few years ago, when those "Red Light Cameras" had just started to go up, I found myself thinking "Hey! What a wonderful idea! Our poor police are so busy trying to protect and serve, and they sure could use some help out there on those mean streets of ours. Besides, those douchebags who are too busy yapping on their phones, yelling at their kids, putting on their make-up or eating a damn hamburger to notice when a light turns red, are just asking for trouble! I hope they get what they deserve!" This was a real breakthrough for me. A sure sign that I had grown up to be a mature and outstanding citizen. I thought that any day, a police officer would show up at my door to give me an honorary badge, because perhaps he's heard through the grapevine just how much I care about road safety. That all ended last week when my mailman delivered me a very special letter from the Houston Police Department.

When I saw the return address, what immediately ran through my mind was "Finally! It's my badge!" I mean, I was a little bit pissed that it wasn't being hand delivered, but I know that they are busy down at the precinct setting up prostitution stings and doing interrogations and stuff, and I decided to cut them some slack. So I settled in to open the mail, and I told Ethan, who at the moment wants to be a police officer when he grows up, that if he follows my lead and behaves as wonderfully and good-citizeny as his mommy does, someday his dream may come true. After choosing the spot on my shirt where I would pin my shiny new badge, I tore open my envelope and the first thing I saw was a picture of the back of my car. "Wow!" I thought, "The paparazzi are already stalking me." I've seen enough Barney Miller and Hill Street Blues to know that sometimes cops are "dirty", which instead of meaning they need a bath or like kinky things, means they don't follow the police man rules. I figured that someone desperate for my photo must have paid off this dirty cop, and I was being followed. This seemed like it may eventually become annoying, but for now I figured I could ride it out, at least until I get the urge to shave my head or beat someone up with his own camera.

The second thing I noticed, after the photo of my car, is that there was nothing else in the envelope. No badge, no certificate of good driving citizenship, nothing. Well, now I was starting to get a little ticked off. As I started to read all the annoying words that surrounded the picture of my car, I realized something. Red Light Cameras suck! Those lazy, donut-eating cops! Just who do they think they are? If you can't find the time in your busy schedule to actually hide behind a bush with your speed gun or whatever, you don't deserve to be giving out tickets! I mean, where were you when that stupid douchebag of a dad was flying down Highway 6 with 2 toddlers in the front seat of his convertible not even buckled in? And where are you every morning when I am taking Ethan to school and some moron is texting and cutting everyone off? Geesh!

Finally I took a deep breath because that is what Dr. Oz told me to do when I get stressed, and I began to settle down and clear my head. I read the date on the "violation" and then, like my Karaoke favorite, Meatloaf sang, "It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now. There were moments of gold and there were flashes of light. There were things I'd never do again but then they'd always seemed right. There were night's of endless pleasure, it was more than your laws allow! Baby, baby!" Ok, maybe there were no night's of endless pleasure involved, but the rest rings true. Anyway, it is all basically my mother-in-law's fault. She was in the car with me, and when someone is in the car with me, I may possibly have a habit of talking just a tad too much, therefore missing the existence of such things as lights and signs and stuff like that.

What really makes me mad about this whole thing, is that these cameras are so sneaky. I would much rather have an actual cop pull me over, because 9 times out of 10 I'm gonna get out of whatever trouble I've just gotten myself into. Exhibit A: I am 16 years old and my friend and I have just been pulled over for "suspicious driving", which in layman's terms means drinking too many Little Kings and thinking you can drive home, when in all actuality you are only 16 and can barely drive home after drinking a Dr. Pepper. The solution to this predicament? Turn on the water works. A few tears and nose blows later, we are back on our merry way. Exhibit B (there are many more exhibits between these two, but I am editing here): I get pulled over for going 15 mph over the speed limit in my hometown, just a year or so ago. I pretend I have never been there before and am visiting people, therefore I have no idea about the speed limits and I saw no sign. After getting a few laughs, a little shameless flirting, and relief that I was wearing a scoop neck top and a really good bra, I received not a ticket, but an invitation to go to a party at the river later that evening, and I was on my merry way.

What does all this mean? It means I miss the fuzz! I miss an actual person being in charge of my moving violations. At least with a person I have a shot at getting myself off the hook (although as I get older, that shot is dwindling). With a stupid camera I am just screwed! They even have the video "evidence" of my alleged "red light violation" on their website. I have watched it repeatedly, and I think I've found my way out. The video shows my car, but not who is driving it! The way I see it, I have 3 options: #1) throw my mother-in-law under the bus and say that she was driving, #2) claim that Ethan, during a Halloween candy-induced sugar high, took my car out for a joy ride, or #3) claim that my car is "KIT's" unstable and jealous sister, and I have no control over her actions. Or I guess I could just go to my court date and try to apologize through the magic of Meatloaf and Karaoke. "If you forgive me all this, If I forgive you all that, We forgive and forget , And it's all coming back to me now..."

Help! My iphone is Trying to Ruin My Life! (But it still rocks)

Help! My iphone is Trying to Ruin My Life! (But it still rocks)

Cell phones are an awesome invention. Heck, I will even insert a "freakin'" in there and say that cell phones are a freakin' awesome invention, and that is huge because I don't just hand out my freakin's left and right. I am now at the point where I don't know how anyone ever lived without a cell phone. Remember that episode of "Little House on the Prairie" where Laura was up on the mountain crying about her brother and Pa and Mr. Edwards were looking for her? A cell phone would have rocked in that situation. Or that time on "The Brady Bunch" where Cindy and Bobby were lost in the Grand Canyon? Ok, they probably wouldn't have been able to get a signal, but they could have at least had a shot! Nowadays I think of many situations that would suck if I didn't have my phone. What if your kid got sick at school and you weren't home? What if you were lost or your car broke down? What if your husband was running late and you were worried about him? (well, my husband hasn't figured this one out yet, but I do have faith that someday he will) I am also super-thankful that when Ethan is a teenager he will have a cell phone so I can keep tabs on him, and I am super-FREAKIN'-thankful that when I was a teenager I didn't, because I would not have gotten away with nearly as many things as I managed to get away with. So to sum up: Cell phone's are good. BUT, as you will soon learn, cell phones plus Patti are bad.

Every cell phone I have ever owned has gone bad. Not turned to a life of drugs and prostitution bad, but not-working-right bad. I can't even count how many I have had over the years, starting with the giant fore-arm sized phone with the 3-foot antennae circa 1994, but there have been many. Out of those many, each and every one of them has gone bad. A few of them have stopped ringing. A few have freaked out so I can hear my caller's voice but they can't hear me. Some have decided to constantly turn off whenever the heck they want to and refuse to turn back on. One decided to just start making a psychotic, fingernails on a chalkboard noise for no apparent reason, while just hanging out in my purse. One was constantly taking pictures of the inside of my purse, so that all day, wherever I went I just heard "clik! click! click" and my phone was full of photos of tampons and hand sanitizer. The list goes on and on.

This year my husband, in what was either a drug-induced moment of confusion or just a natural moment of complete and utter stupidity and memory loss, decided to surprise me with the new iphone (and this was just weeks after I lost the ipod he surprised me with the year before). The iphone is great. I can catch up on my email while in line at the grocery store. I can watch Dexter while in my doctor's waiting room. It works as an ipod as well, so I can listen to my tunes in the car. It also has some amazing apps. There is one that tells you how much any house is worth, so you can be a total busy body and talk about all your neighbors' estimated net worth. One tells you the artist and name of any song on the radio (which is how I found out the disturbing and life-altering news that I like a Lady Gaga song while innocently shopping in American Eagle). Unfortunately though, there is not one that opens your garage door. I can tell you this for sure because I stood in my driveway and tried for 5 long, profanity-filled minutes to get it to work, mainly because I am an admitted moron and I thought I had my opener in my hand. Oh yeah...I can make calls on it too! There is, however, one problem with my iphone. It calls people all by itself.

The first time this happened, I was hanging out with a girlfriend, on what was most-likely a PMS day for me. My husband was getting on my nerves, leaving underwear lying around, making man messes everywhere, etc... and I felt the need to vent, and she had her own man issues, so we went to town. We spent a long time discussing the pros and cons of husband's, and on that particular day, the pro column was pretty empty. Anyway, I got back to my house later, and noticed that my answering machine was blinking so I hit "play" and it was our entire conversation! Since my machine wasn't set for a time limit for messages, it filled the entire thing. Thankfully, I made it home before Steve did! I hit "erase" faster than you can say "men are smelly morons" and I saved myself from what could have been a highly unpleasant evening.

The next time this happened, I was at the movie watching "Inglorious Basterds". This particular night, my phone decided to call Steve's parents. Twice. They were not at home for either call, but when they did come home they had 2 interesting messages on their answering machine. Since this movie is totally psycho violent, I imagine that they thought we were being tortured or murdered and were trying to call them for help (which, thankfully we weren't, because they obviously care too much about going out to dinner than sitting home by the phone waiting for our distress calls).

The third time it happened (Yes, I am so stupid and helpless that it happened again), I was in the car driving Steve's parents to the airport. On this lovely day, my phone decided to call my mother. Yes, I know. Sooooooooooooo many things could go wrong here. I shudder to think . I mean, I seriously freakin' SHUDDER! But thankfully Karma was on my side, and I was only talking about my impending hair appointment. Of course my mom thought I was talking to her and couldn't understand why I wasn't answering her, so she got fed up and hung up. Then my iphone called her back. I was still talking about my hair ( I am obviously a bit long-winded), and she is on the other end yelling "What are you talking about? What's happening to your hair? Why won't you answer me? Stop calling me if you're not gonna answer me!" Then, hurt and confused, she hung up on me again.

All of these instances were annoying, but none has put as much fear into me as the call to my mother. Not that I ever talk badly about you mom (she is an ubscriber-say to this log-bay). I have absolutely no fear that she could ever hear me saying anything even remotely negative about her at all. No, no, no! I am afraid that she may hear me discussing all of the positive, wonderful, mothery things that she does, and all that adoration will embarrass her. She is easily embarrassed, and I, being an extremely sweet and loving daughter, would never want her to feel that way. Therefore I have finally decided to talk about my iphone problem, with the hope that someone out there can help me stop this crazy phone from constantly trying to ruin my relationships. I seriously think that this phone is out to get me. They say the iphone is smart, and I think they are right. It's freakin' smart alright, and it's got it in for me.