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On the bright side, there’s no litter box.

Right now The Boy and I are trying to figure things out. Who goes where. And when. Big changes. For all of you who want to know details! details! details! here’s the plan to date.

Uh … I dunno.

The good news is we’re both on the same page.

So, MP and I are heading to Connecticut next week to stay for a month. There, I’m confident we’ll magically find the answer to all our questions, and come July there WILL be a plan. Rosie will be staying behind with Grammy and Poppy, because a round-trip DOG ticket costs as much now as a round-trip HUMAN ticket.

As for the other “pets,” I don’t know …

When I came back from my April visit, I brought back Sea Monkeys. (As far as MP knows, they’re the state animal.) Now they sit on the kitchen window sill — unbelievably, still alive — totally grossing me out. Contrary to the illustration on the box, they do NOT drive convertibles. The Boy says they’re brine shrimp. What ees this “Brine Shrimp” you speak of, Boy? Those floaty insect-things in that container full of dirty water? THIS is why I don’t do seafood. Shellfish. Nothin’ but BUGS. That hide under rocks. Yech.

FAKESeaMonkeys

REALSeaMonkeys

MP’s added them to her list of pets. There’s Rosie (the dog), the jar of earthworms (which sat in a closed coffee tin in a hot bathroom for a week. Unbeknown to me, MP was adding water each day “so they had something to drink.” Eventually, the stench was so unbearable, I was convinced there was a massive issue with the septic system. I was two steps from calling a plumber when I discovered the can. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat chicken noodle soup again.), the two ladybugs in her bug house that I’m pretty sure are dead, and now the creepy Sea Monkeys.

Plus, she scored a caterpillar at the zoo the other day. It’s keeping the ladybugs company in the bug house. She took it to school for Show and Tell today. And she insists on sleeping with it at night. I’m crossing my fingers it starts cocooning before it suffers the same fate as its roommates.

I do have to admit, we’re BOTH looking forward to seeing our first lightning bugs. I suspect that somehow, by the end of the trip, a few will be coming home with us.

Dead or alive.

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Because clearly, I’m a giant perv and have far too much available space in my head.

A few nights ago, after excruciating efforts to find the absolute BEST deal out there, the Boy and I bought two plane tickets (Over $1,000 for two people?? Okay … what? Mmm hmm … bend over?). MP and I will be heading to Connecticut in a few weeks and staying for about a month. The goal, of course, being slow acclimation, and to see how MP reacts to it all.

I’m gonna be honest. I LOATHE humidity. And the ginormous bugs that go along with it. And helluuu Lyme Disease. But I do love the beach. So, I’m optimistic that between the three, it’ll be a wash.

I HAVE to see The Boy SOON though, because seriously? I’m counting every hour. Mama needs some lovin’. This weekend’s Facebook banter only made the wait all that more excruciating.

I give you Friday afternoon’s status update: Totally okay with the box of cookies I just ate. Because I bought an EXERCISE BALL today. (Four-square anyone?)

Innocent enough, until Beej got into the act and the ball talk started: I have two exercise balls, and I often eat cake while playing with my balls. I like the way my balls feel under me.

(I love that crazy beyotch.)

I, of course, had to push the envelope. I give you the NEXT status update:  Telling you the dog’s licking the carpet, and opening it up for comments. I’m HANDING this one to you people. After the LAST status update’s comments, I know you have it in you.*

*That’s what she said.

Sadly, the participation in this one wasn’t as strong. Like, lead balloon. Cowards. The lot a ya.

The seed was planted though (ahem), and the rest of the weekend, any comment I thought to post had innuendo aaallll over it.

Rain is pouring through the cracks in the door and now the carpet is drenched. (Really happened.)

The back door, she’s gonna blow. (This? A little gross. I’m happy to report it didn’t happen.)

Playing tiddlywinks. (Really, truly. And I don’t know WHY this sounds dirty, it just does. Like code.)

Surfing the web wasn’t safe either.

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Nice mugshot. You think she knows she has a vagina on her face?

See?!? The s*x. It’s EVERYWHERE.

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Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law.

Last week, after four months and close to 1,000 members, I figured the time had come to get serious about Swap Mamas and open a bank account. Because I’m a crazy optimist, and I’m positive one of these days I WILL earn a buck or two.

Only, turns out I have to do a little more work setting up an actual business before I open an account. Am I a sole proprietership? Am I an LLC? Dude, don’t look at me.

So I e-mail my friend Queen Bee. Her father’s a lawyer. He knows about this stuff. I ask what his official title is, meaning, what area of law does he specialize in?

How much do I love that THIS is what she sends back?

My lawyer is a supah-hero.

That’s right. My. Lawyer.

Move over 12-year-old boy, I’m a big girl now.

KA-CHOW!

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Scenes from A Coffee Shop Musical.

There’s this hip little coffee shop downtown. The music’s a little louder. The crowd’s a little more animated. The joint pulses with energy. Because I’m a people watcher, it’s quickly become one of my favorite afternoon haunts these past few months. When I’m there, somehow, I’m more productive. More creative. More optimistic. I’m lighter.

So, it comes as no surprise that when “Walking in Memphis” comes on, I effortlessly slip into a “Mommypie, The Musical” dream sequence.

I’m dancing on the bar. Of significance — I also have really good, long hair. (Did I mention this coffee shop also serves beer and wine? Cool, huh?) Patrons leap and pirouette below me. And in my head I am the STAR.

musicalMP

And then I realize I am, in fact, singing. Aloud. A little too far above the acceptable non-lunatic singing to yourself level.

I nonchalantly glance around, clear my throat and settle into Act 2. Sussudio is playing. And I’m being eagerly pursued by The Boy. Who’s also the singing male lead. We strut around the shop, me feigning disinterest. Smiling over my shoulder. Typical. Musical Tease.

Act 3. Footloose. A cue for the tech geek hiding behind his laptop to throw off those glasses and start poppin’ old school.

Act 4. The Boy and I shimmy back and forth, then back to back, then forehead to forehead, while I sing “Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About” in Bonnie Raitt’s awesomely smoky voice.

Through picture windows that look out on Main Street, it begins to rain. And the musical comes to a dramatic close.

Act 5. Babe I’m leavin’ I must be on my way … please believe me, my heart is in your hand … I’ll be missing youuuu. You know it’s you Babe, whenever I get weary and I’ve had enough, feel like giving up, you know it’s you Babe, giving me the courage and the strength I need, please believe, that it’s youuuu … Babe I love you …

Aaand SCENE.

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Shout out to all the muthas this weekend.

M is for the moan and the miserable groan from the pain that she she felt when I was boan. ♫

Happy “Thank-God-I-Didn’t-Squeeze-Mr. T-Through-MY-Vagina” Day.

Love ya Mamas!

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Shave and a haircut, two bits.

Nothing beats being your own boss. The first month since stepping off that cliff has been phenomenal.

Liberating.

Empowering.

Economically … er … challenging.

Okay, I’m broke.

Which is fine. I may be your textbook eternal optimist, but I’m also a realist. I know it’ll take time before I turn a profit. (Hey you! Yes YOU, you attractive, smartly dressed and highly intelligent person, YOU! I gotta great new site! It’s called Swap Mamas! Wanna buy an ad?!?) Until then, a few things have been cut out of the budget.

Like dog grooming. Admittedly, I have a hard time justifying this expenditure ANYWAY. Seriously. How hard could it be? It’s a DOG. The only reason I give a flying fart about the length of her fur is because she’s so low to the ground, and I’m sick to death of washing her muddy arse every freakin’ day. (Love ya Rosie.)

Which leaves one option. Mommypie. Fur Artiste.

Rosie is a Shih Tzu. (Which, someone once told me is Japanese for “Eats Own Shit.” That … would be accurate.) Shih Tzus, as a breed, traditionally have fairly long holymattedmess coats. Yeah, we’ll have none of that.

Rosie before.

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rosiebefore1

Rosie during.

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Rosie after.

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Huh. Turns out she has a tiiiny leetle head. And a long skinny body. And kind of a big bootie. And EYES. Wow.

Aside from a few painful-looking pink spots where I cut it too close (yikes) she doesn’t look so bad …

Okay, this is actually a really good photo. In real life, she looks ridiculous. Which totally works for me because every time I look at those buggy eyes I crack up. That mug makes my day.

Not to be outdone, MP — for the SECOND time in a year — decided she also needed a haircut. Yeah. Remember THIS beauty shop moment? Thankfully, this time around it wasn’t as bad, just incredibly frustrating. We’re scheduled for a professional session with a local kick-ass photographer in two weeks, and as much as I loathe having my photo taken, I’ve really been looking forward to this.

I lost my temper. There were tears. She was sorry.

And 20 minutes later, there was this.

iheartu_mp0509

*sigh*

Okay, my scissor-drunk child. You’re forgiven.

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Adding to my colorful history with delivery men …

I’m completely MORTIFIED.

MORtified.

So, I’ve been sick going on three weeks now, right? After going back and forth between head cold/stomach flu/head cold/stomach flu, the bug has settled into a melon-splitting sinus infection which absolutely REFUSES to go away. Read, no health insurance at the moment. The constant pain between my eyes is excruciating. And now, MP has it — Booger Light with a side of cough and smoker’s voice.

So you get it. I’m exhausted. I haven’t showered in two days. I haven’t brushed my teeth all day. I’m a mess. Today, MP and I holed up and played hooky.

The Boy calls and I mention how good a Domino’s pizza sounds, but they don’t deliver to my house and sadly, there’s no way I’m going ANYWHERE looking like Danny Partridge. Keep in mind, The Boy’s 2,300 miles away, all the way across the country.

A few minutes later, I get a text. “Pizza’s on it’s way. Put on a hat!” I think, “Awww, how sweet! How romantic!” assuming he must have called a pizza place that DOES deliver. And now I don’t have to worry about making dinner! I’m in Heaven. I have the BEST fiance EVAH.

Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. I throw on a hat, grab a few bucks for tip, open the door, and standing there IS THE BOY’S FATHER. Holding a Domino’s pizza box.

And I want to DIE.

Remember, this IS The Boy’s hometown, so his family is still here. And now his dad, who I’ve spent limited time with, is on my doorstep, looking at me. And I’m looking at him.

I’m braless, I’m makeup-less. The house is a wreck, there are laundry piles everywhere, it’s 5 p.m. and I’m still in my PJs. I cover my mouth and hide my face, sure my breath will knock the poor man clear off the porch. MP comes to my side, also in her PJs. Which are stained with food from lunch. Did I mention she’s wearing plastic purple dress-up heels? And her hair hasn’t been combed all day?

We chat for a few minutes — I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m too busy trying to simultaneously obscure my face AND the view into the living room. I know I should invite him in, but can’t bear the thought. Better to appear rude than let him get TOO close a look at the state of my housekeeping skills. Or my face for that matter.

I know The Boy was being crazy thoughtful. But DUDE. I haven’t been THAT embarrassed since I greeted the UPS man at the door with my bare boob hanging out. Ah, the Newborn Breastfeeding Days …

The Boy’s goin’ DOWN.

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Rattled! A Memoir. A Pie House Giveaway.

A few weeks ago, Christine Coppa, the single mom blogger from Glamour Magazine’s Storked! blog emailed and asked if I’d be interested in guest blogging. 

Um, CHAH. Waddayouthink?

So, my guest post, it’ll be up tomorrow (Thursday). But don’t worry about that now, because I’ll definitely be reminding you again TOMORROW, APRIL 30. My guest post. Up tomorrow. At Glamour.com.

Right now, though, I have a groovy book giveaway to tell you about. It’s over at Swap Mamas — Oh hey … imagine that! All you have to do to enter is:

1. Join Swap Mamas. If you’re already a member, you’re ahead of the game.

2. Invite every single person you know to ALSO join Swap Mamas. Just click the INVITE tab at the top of the landing page.

3. Harass, intimidate, annoy, promise sexual favors — whatever you gotta do — until they actually DO join. Okay, maybe don’t harass or intimidate.

rattledcoverYou have a month to get as many friends to join as you can. Come June 1, if you’ve referred the most new members, you’ll win Christine’s fabulous new book, Rattled! A Memoir. Wait, I’ll up the odds … how about the top TWO referrers will each win a copy? Woot woot!

Here are a few reviews:

“Sex and the City crashes into reality at taxicab speed. Coppa is engaging, honest and, ultimately, inspiring.”
Louise Sloan, author oKnock Yourself Up: A Tell-all Guide to Becoming a Single Mom

“Neither fairy tale or cautionary tale, Rattled! is both a brave, bittersweet memoir about the life that happens when you’re busy making other plans and a hilarious, heartwarming love story about a mother and her son.” –Matt Sullivan, InTouch Weekly

Even if you’ve never found yourself single, pregnant and headed back home to the burbs, you will relate to this true story of life gone wrong-and then oh so right again.”
–Susan Goodall, Executive Managing Editor, Glamour

Oh, and my fave:

“Christine Coppa is a potty-mouthed, modern-day Holly Golightly. May she steal your heart as she’s stolen mine.”
Genevieve Field, co-founder, Nerve.com

A potty-mouthed, modern-day Holly Golightly. If I had a left nut, I’d totally give it to be described like that. However, I’m guessing if I suddenly DID have a left nut, I wouldn’t need much incentive to let it go. ‘Cause Mama ain’t givin’ up the skinny jeans. And I’m not into duct tape.

And THAT attractive visual, my friend, is on the house.

Oh yeah. All those peeps you’re going to send to Swap Mamas? Make sure they say YOU sent them. Otherwise, fun as it may have been, all your unseemly behavior will be for naught.

Good luck!

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Big changes brewing in Pie Town.

Okay, CLEARLY I’ve been in hiding. Kind of avoiding the poor old blog. Give me a sec and I’ll get you up to speed.

Last Monday I was laid off — for all intents and purposes, out of the blue — and rather than cry, my first reaction was YIPPEEE! Although I’ve made every effort not to vent about work here on da blog, my personal sanctuary, no doubt you’ve heard a few rants about the nasty office stew I swam in every day. Sharks, jellyfish and more often than not, a rusty spear in the back. Treacherous waters.

So, when I was called into the board room at 4:30 and told I was being let go due to the “economy?” It was as though a 50 lb. toilet had been magically lifted from my shoulders. Forget about being unemployed … I was FREE! And just like that? I became my own boss.

I’ve made what could be a life changing decision, Doogs. I’ve decided not to panic — instead, choosing to take advantage of this amazing opportunity to devote full time to my passion, Swap Mamas. (Oh, and the blog, of course … no more slackin’.) It’s a bit scary, but more than anything, it’s EXHILARATING. I’m doing something I love and helping people in the process, and it’s all a bit heady. So what if I’m broke for awhile? I’ll survive. I know if I don’t take this chance, I’ll regret it.

Along with my declaration of independence however, came a bit of unexpected revelation. Call it Twitter Exuberance. Call it Facebook Diarrhea. Suffice it to say, I’m out of the Blog Closet in my hometown, and that has caused a bit of internal … turmoil. Now that people in the bubble know I have a second identity … well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?

So there you go. Big week. Big dreams. Big change.

It’s all good.

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Winners and Losers

In the Book of Mommypie, there’s the fantastic … and there’s the sucktastic.

This week’s WINNER:

YOGOS for their savvy marketing. Instead of offering a pain-in-the-ass mail in coupon or crap toy, they offer a chance to win CASH. IN THE BOX. And guess what? WE WON!

And although I have to admit, I’m really sick of companies shamelessly trying to sell me stuff when they know (they KNOW!!), everyone’s hurtin’ — this is one company who actually put some thought into what consumers might want during this little economic ‘situation’ we’re going through.

Honestly, I never would’ve picked the box off the shelf were it not for MP, who grabbed it, waved it over her head, and told me we HAD to get it BECAUSE THERE’S A SPECIAL CODE INSIDE, MAMA! Not surprisingly, I was preoccupied — two aisles ahead of myself — and had no idea what she was talking about. I told her to put it in the cart. Once home, she ripped into the box, squealed when she found a small envelope and passed it to me. I was a little more than surprised to find it contained a $5 cash card.

In my humble opinion, five bucks puts the secret decoder ring to shame.

This week’s LOSER:

The guy who sent me THIS tweet after I took a minute to send him a Direct Message when he followed me on Twitter. Which just happened to be the FIRST time I’d ever done that. He was just a local fellow single parent blogger and I thought I’d extend a hand.

“I am no longer following you: http://turnthisthingoff.com/”

Man, we’re a jaded lot.

Just for the record, I’m actually with him — I LOATHE the auto-responders, and had this link not been directed toward me I would’ve totally loved it.

Now I just think it’s rude.

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