Gorillabuns

it's a bad sign when - the sunday morning paper beats you home

bret, his camera and some 'ho.

if this picture didn't scare you first thing this morning - nothing will.

my stomach (can you say, strawberry margarita machine? that i drank about 40 cups from? because it was there and it was free?), my hair (i think the picture pretty much shows why) and my feet ($7.99 4 inch wedges from hot topic, baby! and yes, i screamed this sentence all night with a foot kick in the air) will never be the same after this halloween party.

don't look at the home remodel shit on the right side - the ugly blue fireplace will forever be ugly and blue. yes, this is the t-shirt that started it all.

after looking at pics of me from saturday night i've decided that i look like a man in drag - not at all rocker-ish.

i also realized that i should have practiced more poses than the confused "rock on"/hook 'em longhorns hand sign - combined with the bad pout.

no words available on how shitty/scary i look here. also, did you know that one size fits all on lips rings, is not entirely correct?

little red riding hood and the big bad wolf showed up to party with....

a passed out king,

bank robbers and a pink bunny. for some reason, the bunny turned me on a little.

a guest that didn't show was a porn star. literally. i'm slightly amazed that a) a porn queen would live in oklahoma and b) my friends have movies with her in them and can look her in the eye when conversing.

the world is very strange, very strange indeed.

case in point.

i think i'm concentrating too hard on the plumbing

i've been told, i was around 1 1/2 when i was potty trained. while i find this hard to believe that i was that smart of a monkey to learn from the constant ringing of a bell and the flashing of a glaring red light, i have no memory of such a feat. i don't remember my stern, irish, catholic babysitter withholding chocolate pudding from me because i didn't poop on the throne or beating me into submission because i peed on the ground. HOWEVER, i do remember her withholding chocolate pudding because i didn't dare touch the corn beef and cabbage luncheon fare (WTF? who feeds this shit to 4 years olds?) and the one beating i received for ruining her wood floors (semi deserved it) and i most definitely remember throwing up a lot. i was a massive puker. all over her daughter's bed, spare beds, the floor, my clothes. man, she had to clean up massive amounts of puke from me over the five years she watched me. whoa... digress much? basically, i don't remember having many accidents when it came to the plumbing machine.

reality for me now is completely different.

rich's mother would say he was potty trained at 11 months, 9 months and sometimes 13 months. who knows the true answer to this question but really, 9 months? i couldn't get my kids to sleep through the night at nine months - much less pee on demand.  when asked if he remembers accomplishing this rite of passage, he replies in the like, "no, but i do remember my first erection."

it's amazing what your brain dumps when it has truly too much useless info crammed into it. i guess some of the things to go first are names of the guys you slept with, multivariate statistical design, the years you've been dating/married to your husband and how you actually learned sitting on the throne with skill and ease. doing the do that you do, so well.

celia mastered the toilet after two years and 10 packages of princess underwear. TWO YEARS PEOPLE!!! way too long but then again, i have a stubborn older child.

so, where is moira in this adventure? she's half way there and before yesterday, i would've said she was 3/4 of a way there in progression. yesterday, she had her first accident.

i would link my first foray into public humiliation with celia peeing underneath a set of  nice posh bunk beds in a boutique but sadly, i deleted this post due to some disparaging comments i may have/or not made about family members. i have since realized, some things are best left unsaid. well, at the very least - not written.

i somehow survived this episode and have managed to laugh with the ladies every time i walk into the store. they didn't make me feel like shit that i might or might not be white trash. you know why? because they are mothers and maybe even grandmothers.

the uniform shop in which moira leaked the mississippi river in? - they (the workers) were how do you say? apathetic.  most likely, childless college students.  the clientele? snobby assholes who have nannies that take care of that sort of "icky" thing.

why couldn't one of my kids just once have this kind of issue in walmart? isn't that were you would expect a kid to pee and no one would notice?

while i cleaned up the mess  with baby wipes and utilizing a target bag from my car because, HELLO! YES! I'M TALKING TO YOU!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY PAPER TOWELS HERE? WHAT??? ARE YOU IGNORING ME TO GET THE PHONE? OH, YES, GO RIGHT AHEAD, THE QUESTION OF IF YOU HAVE A SIZE 8 KHAKI PANT IS WAY MORE IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!!! WAY MORE IMPORTANT THAN THIS HAZARDOUS ISSUE IN THE ENTRY OF YOUR STORE!!!!! amazingly enough, i didn't lose my shit.

man, i must be growing up or maybe, i'm just becoming numb from parenting.

i calmly, took the kids out of the store and changed moira in the trunk of the car. buckle everyone in and dig in my pocket for my car keys. only to find, i was wearing pants without pockets. a slight rise in my color, breathing and respiration occurred while i frantically tore my car apart.

under NO circumstances what.so.ever, was i going to go back inside to ask if they had seen my keys. you know? in a pool of pee, perhaps?

finally, i found them. underneath moira wet clothes. so in essence, yes, they were hidden in a pool of pee.

amazingly enough, i was still calm. i silently congratulated myself in my "new and mature" way of parenting and handling the stressful situation - not the crazed, maniacal, screamer i usually turn into. i turned on the dvd player, looked in my rear-view mirror to make sure they were engrossed in their movie, drove off and quietly cried. just a little. because, DAMN!!! sometimes, this gig is just WAAYY TOO HARD!!!

my little sweet nugget

in the beginning, b.k. (before kids) i had a strong stomach. i could handle observing a 7:30am colonoscopy, cheerfully walk out of the procedure room, proceed to heartily eating a bagel loaded with cream cheese all without the fear of upchucking from my morning experience. my senses knew no bounds of disgust and shame.

when i became pregnant with celia - well actually, before i knew i was pregnant with celia - my snoot became VERY aware of the off-putting smell of banana candy. the smell of coffee sent me into orbit and fajitas? well, i wanted to vomit every time i smelled the burning flesh-like smell. come to think of it, i still do. hate the smell of burnt flesh and fajitas.

when i became pregnant with moira, i simply stopped living life as we know it and handed over the changing of celia's poop diapers all together. rich was tired of me vomiting in mouth during each exercise so, he agreed to take over this funky chore. nothing says, sexy mama, when the hurl sound is echoing throughout the house.

in short, through two pregnancies my olfactory senses have stayed uber hyper-aware and they don't seem to want to revert back to the b.k. way of living life.

fast forward on to the present. we happen to be the lucky household on the block to "play" at being in the later stages of potty-training moira. i have found poop is ALWAYS (wait, the one kid i potty trained. so, yes, this DOES make me an expert, even though nocturnal issues still exist) the last thing to be trained to commandeer the toilet - actually, this might be a stubborn streak in my kids and their need to control their 'business.'  yes, the females in this family have MAJOR control issues.

man! can i EVER stay on track?

anyway, the other evening, rich and i were relishing in our 2.5 hours without kids. as we sat down in our bed to watch a very entertaining episode of "it's always sunny in philadelphia" (which happens to be my most favorite show of the last year. RUN!! don't walk to your nearest netflix to watch the back episodes) on our hospital t.v. set-up, rich got up to go to the bathroom. when he returned, he found a strange, sweet, little nugget nesting between our line of division.

mister picked up the little surprise and marveled in it's wonder of nesting in our bed, "honey, have the kids been eating chocolate in our bed again?"

"umm, no. we don't have any chocolate in the house."

the procession of bringing the nugget to his nose, released a yowl! 

first you should know, i feed moira these because of her awesome ability to poop like a rabbit. one could see why this snack could quite possibly be mistaken for a poop surprise. needless to say, the nugget was not a substance that one should be rolling around in your hand for close inspection.

me? my reaction was that of ambivalence. i rolled over in bed and proceeded to act deaf, dumb and blind to the possibility of sleeping in poop. i didn't dare pull back the covers to see what other gifts hid in waiting.

suddenly,  i am cured of my aversion to poop.

or i am just lazy.

and i have yet to check to see if something else lies in wait.

or maybe, i just don't give a shit anymore.

more cowbell

halloween is drawing near and the anticipation of upcoming festivities is slightly intense. while this is considered a child's holiday, i strongly beg to differ. really, this is the time for ghoulish decorations to scare the bejesus out of passers-by, copious amounts of halloween candy to add 10lbs on stale parent's asses and the planning of the most excellent original costumes.

did you think i was talking about the kids costumes?

ah...no. their costumes are easy-peasy, imagination need-not-apply there. i'm talking about the elder buns in the house.

if you are a newbie to this site, you have no idea of the lengths we will go to transform our mundane existence into something different. a character that is NOT store bought because, really, does the world need another slutty angel/devil/nun/nurse, etc.......?????

familiarize yourself with exhibit a:

**and no, those aren't my real boobs. just in case you were asking**

and well the not-so-distant past.....

anyway, where was I? oh, yeah, trying to come up with a costume for this year's extravaganza. while perusing the "old" t-shirt drawer, i found the perfect shirt for this year's costume.  a shirt that MOST would be quite embarrassed to own. a shirt that happens to be a gift from my husband one christmas. a shirt that you would probably kick your husband's ass for giving as a christmas gift! a shirt that one would say, the thrill is gone.

except for one thing..... i LOVE this t-shirt! but then again, i love all that is camp. as in campy. not as in camping, in which that sucks.

i guess you will have to wait and tune back for the unveiling in a couple of weeks but let's get back on topic (as if there ever really is a topic going on in these posts.) as i dug through the mountain of old t-shirts that haven't been worn in years, i found quite a few gems.

exhibit b (because a. was taken above):

this t-shirt is circa 1977. my great-aunt gave this to me and for some reason, i would sit and stare at this shirt in the mirror for HOURS. maybe, because it's slightly creepy or maybe, it's because i don't like to be awake in the morning and i could totally identify with this scene at the tender age of 8.

tell me - who keeps shit from 1977? (that would be 30 years later for the severely math challenged.)

exhibit c:

let me guess, i'm the only one who owns a t-shirt from the "cry baby" movie. actually, i didn't buy or win this promo shirt, i just so happened to sleep with a local bartender with a very notorious rep of being a male 'ho. sadly, i didn't realize this minor/major fact until it was way too late. in the end, all i got from this crappy relationship was his t-shirt from a post walk-of-shame home.

exhibit d:

one of the perks of working for drug companies is the simple fact - they love to spend unnecessary money on sending reps to stupid conventions where you are supposed to hawk your wares while the doctors play an exciting game of cat and mouse.

on one such occasion i was sent to new york. i decided i just had to do the whole "today" show gig, complete with waking up at 4am, standing like a damn fool in the cold to get my prime t.v. spot and gaze at matt lauer.  someone whizzed by me, throwing out t-shirts to the stage-divers. i just so happened to acquire one in my firm frozen grip. really, who doesn't like free shit? upon further inspection, a double-take made me freak out.

"judgement day?"

was there something creepy going to happen and no one felt the need to inform me first?  was i going to be judged for all my sins? was this IT? D-DAY? and WHY WAS I BEING TOLD THROUGH A CRAPPY T-SHIRT?

it turns out, this t-shirt was an ad for nike. i've thought i should donate this shirt but have often thought, how appropriate it would be to have a homeless man wear this shirt while standing on a street corner, holding up some heretic sign about how were are all going to die.

but then again, i could shove it back into the drawer of shame.

exhibit e & f:

you know you are quickly becoming a fossilized has-been when a kid asks your husband at the local paint store, "dude, was that like, the original lollapoloza? man, like that was when i was 10 years old." rich skulked out.

it's official - we are the 'those people.' you know, the people who think they are still living back in the day circa the early 80's while donning on their sweetest blue oyster cult t-shirt - cranking up their special mix of classic rock.

yep, aging is such a bitch.

and consider yourself spared that i didn't share my rick springfield t-shirt because yes, i own one of those too.  i know you are soo envious.

chill

one might think it's to time to live life differently and learn to become more zen-like if:

you start every vehicle excursion with your children by screaming, "hurry, hurry, HURRY!!! we are going to be late! I THINK WE ARE LATE! Dude, we are so late!"

exclaim "for the love of pete! can't you drive AND TALK on your cell phone simultaneously? PEOPLE!!! the speed limit is 70!" okay, well... MAYBE, the speed limit is usually around 45, but most of the time, i have a deep, overwhelming and all consuming need for some righteous speed.

i interrupt everyone's quite descriptive and verbose stories with..."wait! can you give me just the cliff notes version?"

you are apathetic while exhibiting not one remorseful bone in your body for bitching out a local fast food worker for "not moving fast enough! RUN! FOREST RUN! I'M GOING TO BE LATE in dropping my child off at school!!!"