Category Archives: Confessional

Escapism, my middle name.

Admittedly, I’m a complete sucker for chick flicks. Six years of film school and they never did manage to beat the romantic comedy outta me.

And back when college was still a recent memory, the question I dreaded more than anything was, “What’s your favorite movie?” I always felt like I should have been answering Citizen Kane or something pretentious and iconic. At least something a bit more lofty than, um … Valley Girl.

Which really IS my favorite.

Well, it’s probably changed since then, but you get the picture.

Considering the amount of time I spend alone lately, holed up in my PJs at night, watching Boy get Girl, Boy lose Girl, Boy get Girl back, yadda yadda, I suppose I SHOULD know what the new fave is. However, as with most things in my life, I’m very … forgiving. How do you pick just one? (You do NOT want to see me in Baskin-Robbins.) I love ‘em all.

Except tonight’s rental, Leap Year. What a STINKER. Seriously. Every freakin’ character annoyed me from the start. The girl was boring and whiny. The guy was hairy and dirty. Between the two there was about as much chemistry as you’d find in the DMV line. And? They get married at the end. Wha? Bad, boring, stupid, bluch. I love mindless fluff like nobody’s business, but I gotta at least buy into the story a TINY bit.

Jump cut — tonight Poppy asked if I was okay. He thinks I need to get out more. To actually be with adults. I tend to agree. He even said they’d watch MP.

Perfect. Sex and the City 2 comes out May 27.

What?

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Here’s something different.

The laptop’s open. The page is blank. And the familiar late night drone of Poker After Dark fills the air. I watch the dog scoot across the carpet on her butt and try not to think too hard about it, completely resisting the urge to break out the steam cleaner. (At least tonight.) I’ll cut her some slack. She went to the groomer yesterday and came back with a Doggie Brazilian. Which, clearly itches.

All this blog fodder, and I got nothin’. To be honest, nothin’s been the case for a few weeks.

Mommypie is lost in thought.

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MP did this drawing of me last spring. She said it was “Mommy Thinking.” It’s especially apropos now. Mommy DOES have a lot on her mind. Well, ONE thing, to be more specific.

A boy.

Who’da thunk.

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But it kills 99.9% of bacteria in 15 seconds …

MP and I have been fighting off colds for a few days now. I am the color of cream of celery soup. MP is ASKING to go straight to bed after dinner. Somethin’ ain’t right, and I don’t understand it.

Especially in light of the fact we’ve been wiping our hands and faces with THESE bad boys.

Which, in my defense, look suspiciously similar to THESE.

But, to cut costs, I went the Tarzhay brand way, bought the generic, left them in the car, and have been using them on MP and myself every day for the past few weeks. Only after a few days of using them as Kleenex and blowing my NOSE into them, did I notice they left my membranes horribly dry. Drippy, but dry. And smelling like an institution.

Upon closer inspection …

Which I failed to notice. The only thing I saw was:

Kills the common flu virus!

Kills 99.9% of bacteria in 15 seconds!

Alcohol-free!

Bleach-free!

Crap. I guess this means disinfecting the dog’s poo-face is out of the question.

I’m goin’ to bed.

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Stupid choices and dumb luck.

Look at this little douche.

He’s SMILING. It’s after 3 a.m. Saturday morning. He’s just been in a major collision. He’s flipped his truck after allegedly making a left turn in front of an oncoming car. According to sources, he’s being charged with misdemeanor DUI. Misdemeanor, because his female passenger and the driver of the other car miraculously suffered only minor bumps and bruises. Because it wasn’t THAT bad.

And he’s SMILING.

Shia LaBeouf, I like you. But I swear to God, given the opportunity right now, I’d smack that grin right off your stupid ass face. Because you’re an idiot.

I know of what I speak. My father’s had two DUIs. One when I was a kid; the other when I was in high school. My brother’s had one. I was LIVID with each of them. SO incredibly pissed off.

I was hit by a drunk driver in college, as a friend and I drove to the movies. One minute things were fine, the next, the back seat of my ’76 Honda Civic no longer existed. Had the collision taken place a split second earlier, the outcome would have, most likely, been very different.

And yet, with all that history, I’m ashamed to admit, back in the day, I myself got behind the wheel WAY too many times when I absolutely shouldn’t have. I have a hard time thinking about what could have happened.

But now, as a mother, I imagine my MP riding shotgun beside a boy like Shia some day. Or worse, doing exactly as I did, driving a little loaded and not giving it a second thought. And I’m livid once more.

The outrage I feel when I look at that stupid smirking mug shot is multiplied by the recognition of my own youthful stupidity. Because if I’m being judgmental — and I am — understand that first and foremost, I’m judging my past self. I’m owning the idiocy. I’m admitting a complete and utter disregard for the safety of myself, or more importantly others, that could have so easily turned tragic.

I think of all the others that will make equally stupid choices and am compelled to pray for the safety of my child.

And I’m pissed.

Image borrowed from these guys.

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The crazy woman in the drive-thru lane … that would be me.

In the name of all that’s blogholy, I can now admit, I’ve completely lost touch with reality. I just asked the order-taker-guy at the drive-thru window if I could TAKE HIS PICTURE.

Me: “I need to get your picture … ” (holding up camera phone)

Him: “Why is that?”

Me: “Uh … to send it to my friend.”

Him: “What?”

Me: “She really loooves Taco Time.”

Him: “I see.”

Me: “And she doesn’t live here.”

Him: “I see.”

(click)

Me: “Mkay, thanks!”

(drives off)

Douche.

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Five, Not Six, Things About Me

I was tagged last week … yikes, maybe it was two weeks ago … by The Queen Chimes In to do a Six Things About Me meme. I did a Confessional meme awhile back, which I suspect is the same one making it’s way across the blogosphere, but I’m game for another round if you are … I am after all, chock full of, er … things. (This one is a bit less scandalous than the previous.)

1. I spent a year and a half in the 90s working graveyard shift (no joke) in the Organ Donation industry, triaging potential donors across the country over the phone. I LOVE this very worthy cause.

Mkay, so, right here, I went on and on and on, got a little too zealous and long-winded, thought better of it and deleted. Instead, I’ll narrow it down to the two most important things everyone should know.

a. Doctor’s will NEVER let you die simply for your organs. This is an absolute urban myth. There’s a whole battery of tests the patient must go through to declare brain death.

b. Most importantly: Convey your wishes, whatever they are, to your loved ones. Just talk about it. Because in the event of your death, they will be the ones to make the call. Even if your license is marked “Donor,” they can negate it. Or vice versa. It happens.

2. I worked my way through college as a bartender. I had the closing shift five nights a week. With those hours, it took me six years to make it through school, so there was plenty of time to hone valuable Bottle Spinning, Show-Offing skills.

I gave away a lot of drinks. Hence, I had a lot of friends. More than anything I loved listening to everyone’s stories. It’s true what they say — people DO really tell bartenders everything.

Oooh, the tales I could tell. Some even involve celebrities. One involves a certain male celeb with the initials RL, and a little pregnancy test. (NO, not mine, PEOPLE.) And another even involves the Couch-Jumping Lunatic himself. Must remember to post about this.

3. I am a terrible cook. We had pancakes and sausage for dinner last night. And the night before. Biiigg fans of breakfast for dinner at the Pie House. We’ve been on a roll.

What?

4. I always enter the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweeps. Hey, someone has to win.

5. I had an ulcer at age eight. I was scared of the dark. I was scared of spooks. And burglars. And the Night Stalker. I was a child who worried. A LOT.

So there you go … more fascinating Mommypie factoids.

And I changed it to FIVE things, btw. I’m so not a fan of the number six. OCD thing.

(But I suppose THAT right there could count as six …)

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Improvisation

noun A skill practiced by single mothers confined with a sick child and no toilet paper.

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The Rest of the Story

Remember last Friday’s walk? We found a baby osprey in it’s nest, we took a little hike, we played kickball?

There was a charming little sequence I neglected to include in the post. I didn’t include the next four photos because they’re a teensy bit horrifying and I didn’t want to tarnish any image you all may have of me. (HA)

After much deliberation, I’m posting the missing photos. Because if you’re new, and you read that ‘Friday Walk’ post, there’s a good chance you may now be under the impression we fart peppermint at the Pie House.

Let me preface this by saying, MP and I make it a habit to pick up trash on our walks and bike rides. She’s still young enough to think of it as a game, and she’s great at spotting litter. Now that I think about it, this little civic duty lesson may have something to do with her bag lady leanings … But I digress.

Another thing to keep in mind is that I was zoomed in from a distance. And I’m nearsighted. Am I justifying enough?

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I’m so all over this photo op. What’s she got there? A rock?

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Whatcha got there, Honey? Did you find some garbage? Let’s see!

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I can’t see that far Honey. The camera seems to be affixed to my face. Bring it here Sweetie …

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Oooh, a bottle!

A … liquor bottle.

A GLASS liquor bottle.

Oh, look. A BROKEN glass liquor bottle.

So that peppermint fart thing? I think this cleared things up nicely.

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Confessional Tag Train

Looks like I’ve been tagged by San Diego Momma (who was tagged by Matter of Fact Mommy) to come up with seven confessions. (My first tag – I’m giddy!) I have no idea how to top their lists (and you must go read them), but I’m giving it my best shot.

YOU ASKED FOR IT

7. I have to wash my feet every night before I go to bed.

6. I buy gossip rags.

5. I once offered my little brother a dime to lick the bottom of my shoe heel to toe. He did it. I reveled in the grossness.

4. I blog at work.

3. In college, I was caught on a Conoco’s surveillance tape with three friends, drunkenly stuffing hot dogs inside my coat. And howling with laughter. (I don’t make a very good shoplifter.) Long story short, we were identified and had to go in the next day, pay for the hot dogs and apologize to the owner. One of the most humiliating moments in my life.

2. In high school, I tried to light a fart. Along with my five BFFs. Only one of us succeeded and it wasn’t me (damn!) — you would not BELIEVE the size of the blue flame that came out of her butt (and burned a hole through her hot pink long johns) … It’s a small town. You have to find ways to entertain yourself. One of the funniest moments in my life.

1. I slept with my #2 BFF’s younger brother. With my #1 BFF passed out next to us. Brazen Hussy.

Shameful. And while I’m exposing myself … although not nearly as scandalous, I might as well point you to the tab at the top of the page for (even more) TMI.

So, since it IS almost Easter, and we are all ginormous sinners, let’s keep this Confessional going, eh? I’m being an extrovert and tagging three gals I don’t know very well, but would love to know more about. I’m betting they’ll have some gooders … Sarah at OK Where Was I?, Jen at Absolutely Bananas and Restless Housewife, consider your yourselves tagged!

And anyone else who wants to join in the fun and purge their conscience of their own dirty little secrets, let me know and I’ll link to your post for my HYUGE (ha!) readership to see!

It’s on.

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Monday Morning Confessional

This box of 53 was supposed to go to MP’s class for shared snack this week.

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I know.

Mama’s gotta find a man. Or something.

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