Friday, November 29, 2013

Scary Mommy guest post - Christmas wrap up.

The most coveted/sought after gifts of 2012...WHERE ARE THEY NOW.
Also, why I'm scared to vacuum upstairs:

No bright light, no water and don't
ever feed them after midnight.

Friday, November 15, 2013

The oldies station.

Recently I heard a story on the radio saying that the music that is most important to you, that will stick with you
for the rest of your life is the music you were listening to from the ages of ten to sixteen. 

I guess during this time frame your brain is hard wired to put the music and the memories together.
So long story short – whatever was on the radio for you during this time of your life is the music that will fill you up
with sticky sweet nostalgia.

For me my music touchstones run from around 1981 to 1987. This means I can hear “Hang Fire” by The Rolling Stones and see myself dancing like a fool singing all the words by myself at the middle school dance – good times.

I can also hear “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham! and see myself in my pink bedroom staring at a poster I had on my wall, willing a fingerless glove wearing George Michael to become my future husband.

I also had failed attempts at willing Michael Stipe, Joe Elliott, Mick Jagger and Morrissey to marry me while staring at magazines, posters and at endless hours of MTV. 

Music has always been a huge part of my life and hearing this little factoid made perfect sense to me.

I can hear “Centerfold” and see the video frame for frame in my head along with the song. I can do the same for “Rio” “Goody Two Shoes” “Start Me Up” “Video Killed the Radio Star” "Stand" and countless others. I can’t remember what I had for lunch or how much my sons weighed when they were born, but I pretty much got this stuff nailed down. 

I write for an 80’s website, obsess over my 80’s movies (especially anything involving John Hughes) and listen to a variety of 80’s stations on Pandora and in the car. I guess I now listen to "the oldies" which is great. 

As a kid I remember my father listening to his Motown/doo-wop stations while I sat in the backseat of the car and thinking UGH, YEESCH, WHY?!?! as any pre-teen/teenager would do.

I smiled the other day in my car realizing that I now do the same to my two boys, ages five and eight. 

While driving to school at 7:50 a.m. my five-year-old stated, “I like this song Mommy. I like how he says ‘warm my heart’ – that’s good.”

“Hold Me Now” by The Thompson Twins was on the radio and I have to say it brought a tear to my eye – holy crap that song is lovely and dramatic in a new wave 80’s kind of way and I LOVE IT and I LOVED that my son Sam was commenting on the lyrics. 

I started explaining how there were actually three people in the group, even though they called themselves The Thompson Twins, how they have other songs I think they’d like and a video for a song called “Lies” where their giant heads are coming at you when I realized I’d lost him, he didn’t care, the moment was over and he was back to the wonders of his cereal bar and how it was library day today.

My eight year old enjoys when “I Can’t Drive 55” comes on which I gotta say isn’t my cup of tea, but again it warms my heart that a song by Sammy Hagar is in his music repertoire.

I know they’re not at those all-important ages yet, the ten to sixteen bracket, but is it ever too early to put what I consider good music into their little brains? I think not. I figure the longer I can keep them into Taylor Dayne and away from Taylor Swift, the better.

So I’m pretty sure I’m doing exactly what my dad was doing by forcing the doo-wop on me. 

And now as a “grown-up” I now have a huge appreciation for Sam Cooke, Smokey Robinson and Little Anthony and the Imperials.
So see? It works. 
Just wait until age ten – it’s going to be non-stop
Duran Duran/Erasure/New Order/Rolling Stones/INXS/Thompson Twins dance party. 

Monday, November 11, 2013

Scary Mommy guest post - five ways my children are smarter than me.

Please enjoy reading about how I don't know how to operate my DVR or figure out where the hell the car is in the mall parking lot.

Me and the boys.

Friday, November 8, 2013

No strip down at the strip mall.

Mondays are my day off - away from work, away from kids (until 2:15) and away from the world.

I treasure these days and try my damnedest not to schedule anything unless it's something awesome like coffee/brunch/lunch with the girls, a hike by myself up at Mount Tabor or simply lying on the couch sipping coffee watching miserable Kathie Lee and Hoda.

Today I had acupuncture at 8:30, right after I dropped the boys off.

Sometimes during acupuncture I go into this other worldly state where I hallucinate or nod off. Today I did both. If you are able to start your day by falling back asleep, I highly recommend it.

While entering my other worldly state I remembered an e-mail in my in box that was offering me something FREE, something I NEEDED, and something I could use TODAY.

A free car wash?  No.
Buy one get one free at Ben & Jerry's??  Sadly, nuh-uh.
Free organic turkey bacon from Whole Foods???  No, I used that coupon earlier this week. (Seriously, free fancy bacon!)

It was an e-mail inviting me in for a complimentary wax at the European Wax Center.

In my dreamy, vegetable state - lying face down on a heated massage table, my brain told me this had to be done - immediately.

It was a treat. An activity. And it was free.
I called in a haze from the car and made my appointment.

You may recall this previous post where I took advantage of another offer from the European Wax Center - I had quite the interesting bikini wax experience.

I decided that today I would try out this new location and get a bikini wax because hey, why not?
No, I'm not getting in a bathing suit anytime soon or doing my usual underwear modeling for the Sears Christmas Catalogue.
But it's nice to feel all neat and tidy, isn't it? SURE IT IS!


That last "wax center" was conveniently located right next to a liquor store in a fancy
area of Northwest Portland. 

This wax center is located about fifteen minutes up the freeway in a strip mall next
to a Mr. Formal, Target and Jay's Wide Shoes.

As I got closer to the less swanky location I caught a glimpse of my brows in the rear view mirror and thought they could use a little clean up. A little free clean up. I hoped the wax center wouldn't mind my change of heart in getting an appetizer rather than the full meal deal. I sure wouldn't mind if a stranger wanted me to look at their face as opposed to their cookie at the last minute.

So the strip mall suburbanite wax center was way more friendly and welcoming:

Less stark and snooty.
Also less photos of hairless men and women plastered all over
the place like the other location:

This couple clearly enjoys a good wax.

My waxers name was Rory and she gladly gave me a very nice brow wax.

The receptionist was also very nice - she did take a minute to go over the insane wax packages they offer which I can't imagine anyone in the world ever needing or wanting.
I mean, I can think of a zillion other things I could do with 500 smackers a month - can't you?
People in Europe must be extra hairy and have a lot of extra cash lying around.

Math is hard - but even I can recognize this is a hell of a lot of wax cash.

Bottom line I got a free wax without a stranger seeing my bottom.
And instead of hitting the liquor store afterward I hit the Target and got some 70% off Halloween loot.

Because I need more Halloween shit.

Welax. They're waxperts.

Friday, November 1, 2013


For someone who loves Halloween as much as I do I tend to buy the shittiest Halloween candy possible to hand out to trick-or-treaters. I’m the house passing out the Good ‘n Plenty’s, stupid little rolls of Smarties, the Necco Wafers - who enjoys Necco Wafers? Maybe Old people? They seem so medicinal to me.

Why do I pass out miserable clove flavored candy?
Simple - I don’t like it. 

And come today November 1st, I don’t want or need a bunch of the good stuff (Milky Ways, Snickers, Rolos, basically anything with chocolate and caramel) hanging around my house.

I see people post things on Facebook about having to hide the Halloween candy because yikes! It’s too tempting and oh my God, how they ate four whole pieces and feel like a pig. 

And I laugh. Because I can relate. 
And I laugh. Because four pieces is like the appetizer to
the appetizer of my yearly candy binge.

Yup – here I go again, if you’re exhausted by the body image posts, like this one or this one or any of the countless other ones you may want to run screaming now.

Or you may want to settle in for another bumpy, bingey, sweaty, rotten ride.

The span between Halloween and Christmas is awesome and brutal for obvious reasons, but for an all-or-nothing type of gal like me, Halloween candy is the worst. And the best. And the worst.

As I type this, I’m thinking “all-or-nothing type of gal” is a kinder, more "cute" way to say BINGE EATER.

There was an amazing Halloween party at my moms work last Friday. Every year all the employees dress up, there is a flash mob dance number (if you haven’t seen a bunch of secretaries dance to "Thriller" I highly recommend it) and of course there is trick-or-treating.

So here’s what came home with me and my boys and is on my kitchen table RIGHT NOW:
Two GIANT buckets of the good stuff, no shit candy here, not a Necco in sight.

Of course I’ve eaten a bunch of it. Of course I’m trying to be all sneaky about it. Of course I’m fooling nobody, especially myself.

I mean the first Reese’s Peanut Butter cup is delicious – the ninth one is pretty revolting.

It’s such a vicious cycle, it’s such a drug. The high, the gut-ache, the hangover the next morning, the guilt, guilt, guilt.

Just when I think I have it under control I find myself at the end of every October wondering how I’m still here, in this same spot in my head - and same spot in my gut - and in my thighs.

It’s not the end of the world and I’m totally fine and I’m a lucky girl and I know that - in the big picture I don’t have any problems. My only problem today is that my skirt is tight and I’m bloated. Big fucking deal. 

I’m tired of being a broken record that skips in the same spot. And not a good record like Let it Bleed or Tattoo You.
I’m more like some bad album by Creed or the Forrest Gump soundtrack. 

And for that, I apologize not only to myself, but to everybody on the entire planet. 

Life is like a box of chocolate.
And a pumpkin head full of Reese's, Kit Kats, Twix, and caramel-filled eyeballs.
'Eff you Forrest Gump.