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    Mommy Needs a Margarita

    July 19, 2008

    Last night we had the party at Ruby Something. I can’t remember but isn’t Ruby Tuesdays so we were good.

    Hi, my name is Kristen and I am OLD.

    The party was in this club. A club. Did I mention I was in a club? I think the last time I was in a club was when I lived on a Caribbean island and I drank more Heineken than any one person should ever consume. The music started to pump and I’ll be honest, I thought my ear drums were going to burst. I walked by Chris and said, “Hey.” She yelled back, “WHAT???????” Just like that. Her voice carries well. I had an entire conversation with Elaine before we realized that we were having two very separate conversations. Kinda like someone is talking about dinner plans and the other person is pouring their heart out about today being the anniversary of the death of their childhood pet.

    Do you know those episodes in CSI when the music is pumping and there are 40 eighteen year old girls gyrating on the dance floor and then they flash to someone getting stabbed in the bathroom but you can’t hear them scream because all you can hear is the “BUMBUMBUM” from the bass? Then they flash back to the dance floor? Then the stabbing? Then the dance floor? And two people are trying to talk at the bar and they have to resort to sign language to have a conversation? It was CSI. I did NOT go to the bathroom.

    Then I went to Maggie’s party with Lindsay where we sat on a couch because I was tired because it was already 10:00 p.m. until Krystyn made us dance. Excessively. Like prom. The only thing missing was Def Leppard. Maggie is brilliant. All the food was orange. Parties will come and go but years from now we will say, and remember that time we went to Maggie Mason’s party and all the food was orange? I mean it was really fun, but there was even candy corn. Which is a food violation as you are only allowed to eat candy corn between October 1 and the 31st. Maybe on November 1, but probably not. Seriously.

    I was the person whose hands looked like this. Covered in PBS Supersisters swag. Each color is a different super power (the brilliantly creative idea of Supersisters Patience). According to Zug’s picture, I apparently I have ALL the superpowers.

    Mood Rings

    But the big news is, lots of new stuff went up on Baby Brewing last night, thanks to the amazing Heather Sanders. Daddy Needs a Beer

    This shirt is timely. It’s timely because I called my house this morning and my husband is having a nervous breakdown. He said those words I have been longing to hear.

    “I bought you a brand new car and got the air conditioner in the house fixed.’

    No, wait. That’s my fantasy. He did one even better.

    “You were right.”


    “This job is ALL THE TIME.”

    Bless his heart. And I mean that in the nice Southern way. Apparently there was this incident involving biting and furniture and a rumble and my husband remembers, yet again, why this shirt means so much to me….

    Mommy Needs a Margarita

    Don’t forget we are having a big sale at Just use the code blogher08 to get 25% off your entire order. If you are around Blogher today, I’ll be at the swap meet selling my wears for INSANELY reduced prices. Then I’ll be speaking at the There’s More to Monetization than Advertising panel with several other amazing women, where I’ll be talking about ALL OF YOU AND HOW YOU TURNED THIS BUSINESS INTO A COMMUNITY. I’ll be recycling my purple club dress from last night because it was so fantastic, it must be worn again. And that necklace, Miss America/Cake Lady? I had two fashion editors compliment me on it. I have officially arrived.

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    I think I hear the world’s tiniest violin playing

    June 11, 2008

    So you guys are so awesome. After I published that post I went back and reread it. Wah, wah, wah. The Cake Lady told me she doesn’t think the tree falling counts since it didn’t fall on my house. I think she is probably right. LOL. Don’t say anything mean about her because she was just trying to lighten the mood. She agrees that my life is horrible. Although from the thunder last night, it’s only a matter of time. I shall try all of your car-related suggestions.

    I’m speaking at Blogher. How ridiculous is that? You have one picture with this man and suddenly people think you are going places.

    it doesn't get bigger than Mr. Big

    But what I really want to do is to submit my funniest blog post for that reading they are having. So I thought I would get your suggestions. I don’t have a short list. I don’t even remember what I wrote. But if you have a suggestion, just leave it in the comments. Jen, you don’t have to leave yours. I know the red bra story is your favorite.

    I’m doing a Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party in Allentown, PA tomorrow night (Thursday). It’s at the cousin’s house. I’m sure she won’t mind if you wanna come. You should totally come. Email me and I’ll let you know where to be. And if you want to see how messy my workshop was before Susie Sunshine showed up and straightened my ass out, head on over to Work it, Mom and Mommy Needs a Business. Leave me a comment telling me if my clutter exceeded your every expectation!

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    The crash that is the end of your steroids cycle

    April 22, 2008

    I have been wondering for the last 4 days if a side effect of steroids is insomnia.  Do you think it would kill me to read the pamphlet?  Yes.  Yes, it would.  I firmly believe that if I opened up that piece of paper folded 700 times so that it fits in the palm of The Baby’s hand, it would kill me.  So feel free to flood the comments with your knowledge.

    I ask about this insomnia because last night I didn’t have it.  The only problem?  I had two kids that got up.  The Boy got up because he apparently hadn’t reached his 50,000 word count for the day yet, or maybe he was getting a jump on today?

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I’m thirsty.

    If I lie here very still, maybe he’ll go away.

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I want some water.  ACTUALLY, I want some milk.

    Possom isn’t working for me.  He’s still standing there, approximately 2 inches from my face.

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I really NEED some water.

    Do you know what I have to say about this?  You can see it coming.  If you can make an entire dinner for your family of four, to include making homemade pasta and sauce, explain to me why I need to get up from a deep sleep and get you a damn glass of water?  Seriously?  You have been getting your own water since you were 18 months old.  It’s like the only “test” you have passed at school.  You really don’t need me.  Even remotely.  But I got up to get the water.  He finished, climbed into my bed and settled himself in for the long haul.  Except I am so over sharing the bed with The Toaster Oven Who Sleeps In the Middle But Doesn’t Want Any Covers To Touch Him So He Kicks Everything To The Bottom of The Bed So Everyone Else Is Cold. 

    K:  Um, this isn’t your bed.  OUT.
    TB:  OH-kay, mom.

    We trudged down the hall to his room because you know he can’t go to bed by himself so now I have to lie there until he falls asleep or I cover his head with a pillow.  KIDDING!  Then The Baby starts to cry because all the kid wants is a little peace and quiet and his brother is YELLING about the situation with the covers and sheet on his bed and would it really kill HIM to use an indoor voice at 2 a.m?  Apparently, yes.  Yes, it would kill him.  So I go in to soothe The Baby because he is moaning “Mamamamamamamamama” and then The Boy cries because I have left him.  45 minutes later and I am thinking that I have finally kicked the insomnia because now I am pretty sure I am falling asleep standing straight up. 

    Did I mention I’m in the basement right now? About to crawl into the bed that was mine before I commenced this lifelong journey we like to call Love, Marriage and Motherhood? The bastion of my singlehood. MY bed.

    Gotta fall asleep quick because it’s only a matter of time before someone finds me. I give it an hour.

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    If you wanted to rob a house in the hood, tonight would be a good night.

    January 26, 2008

    Tonight was the Home Owner’s Association meeting for the neighborhood.  Coming from living in a condo at one point, I LAUGH at the anticipated trepidation that everyone approaches these meetings.  I mean, short of being part of a HOA for a condo in FLORIDA, I’ve seen it all.  Really.

    Except the problem here is that the rules all changed right before we moved.  And frankly, The Husband is a little cranky about it.  So, hi, ho, hi, ho, it’s off to the meeting we go.

    We took the kids.  Someone asked what we were going to do with the kids.  I said that we had thought about leaving them home alone but that is frowned upon by Protective Services.

    So we took the kids to one of the most pristine houses in our neighborhood.  Pristine.   Pristine.  Gorgeous decorated glass eggs on window sills.  Window sills that were approximately 8 inches off the ground.  The Boy was clever enough to take his shoes off when we showed up but once he realized his lovah Harrison was there, they ran around screaming like lunatics.  Two little Liberace’s on the piano.  The Baby?  Desperately trying to maim himself on the fireplace. Or climb the stairs, or maim himself on the fireplace. 

    So now I’m looking like the crappy mother because my children are out of control.  There are two kids, and apparently two parents are not enough for two kids. But I’m too busy making new drinking friends, gossiping and speaking ill of Hollywood stars who have their assistant pick up the free stuff because they are too tired to come into the gifting suite to get the free stuff they are getting.  The Husband keeps handing me The Baby and I keep putting The Baby on the floor.  This goes over as well as expected.  The Boy is eating chocolate cake (WTH?????????????) with a spoon which means that there is more chocolate cake on the floor than in his mouth.  Me?  Talking about drinking.  Good Lord.

    I finally took the kids and came home.  I left Danyelle to babysit the husband.  As I was leaving, I passed Mr. Cranky Pants “Your Fence Is Ugly and I Don’t Want it to be Associated With My Property Line.”  I waved hello and gave The Husband the look of death.  I then told Danyelle that if she let The Husband speak, I would never speak to her again.

    I figure we’ll be outcasts in, oh, about another 45 minutes.  I’m gonna go to bed now.

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    Mommy Needs a Night in Jail

    January 17, 2008

    I got the text message yesterday. 

    “They are going to swear out a warrant if we don’t pay the parking ticket today.”

    Swear out a warrant?  On the Toyota?  Does the Toyota get to hear his rights first?  I pulled out the registration papers.  Yep, in both our names.  I call him up.

    K:  What the hell?
    D:  You didn’t pay it.
    K:  First I didn’t pay it because I just assumed I had 30 days.  Then I realized that I only had 5 days so I went online to pay it but they don’t have an online option.  Then I thought I would wait until the “You’d better pay this” reminder showed up.  Who the hell doesn’t have an online payment option?  The last check I wrote was to the plumber. 
    D:  I know.  I tried to pay it while you were gone.  Where’s the checkbook?
    K:  I could not tell you if my life depended on it. You know where a stamp is?
    D:  Nope.  Well, the reminder says they are going to “swear out a warrant.”
    K:  On who?  Both of us?  For what?  Not paying a $20 parking ticket?
    D:  I don’t know who they would arrest.

    This reminds me vaguely of the time I got caught exceeding the posted speed limit in Montana while on our cross country trip.  The cop very politely informed that I could “pay him now” and be on my way.  I thought he was joking.  I laughed.  He didn’t.  I mean my father used to tell stories about following the constable to see the magistrate, but come on.  That was the ’60’s.  Who has cash now?  If I can get an internet connection on my laptop, I’ll pay you your $27 via Paypal and print up a receipt on my handy dandy Canon portable printer? Thank God my husband is Mr. Responsibility and had $27 to keep me out of jail. And the cop was able to buy a round of donuts for his friends 20 minutes later. “The Little Lady was doing 17 over the speed limit.  Go on and get yourself some coffee too. WOOHOO!!”

    D: I figured you could just run into the police station and pay it after you drop The Boy off at school. It’s right there on the Avenue.
    K: No. No, it’s not. That’s the REAL police department. This is the City WITHIN the CITY police department.
    D: Where the hell is that?
    K: Lord if I know.

    It’s right across the street from the train station. The train station where The Husband got the ticket in the first place because he didn’t have his current registration sticker on the truck yet. It was November SECOND. They expired October 31. I believe we affectionately refer to this as “shooting fish in a barrel.”

    I decided to go over there and view my options. My friend Dana used to say that when the kids were little, she had visions of calling Protective Services and turning herself in on a Friday night. She figured she might be able to regain her sanity by Monday. I always thought that was very optimistic myself.

    It was the littlest building you have ever seen. Remember the jail cell in Capote? I could do two days in that. Assuming I could get an internet connection on my I-Phone….

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