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Showing posts from November, 2007

Grosser than Gross

I think that we are at the point in our relationship where I can share things with you. Important things. Sacred things. And you won't judge me, right? Because that's how we roll. Yo.

One of these things is the reason why I will NOT drink white zinfandel. Ever. Again. I'd like to start off by acknowledging that white zin sucks. In fact, white zinfandel is kind of like ALL of my ex-boyfriends in that I cannot imagine what I EVER saw in them in the first place.

Many moons ago I invited my boyfriend to go to the Steeplechase with me in North Carolina. We packed a huge cooler full of food, beer and a 1.5 liter bottle of Sutter Home white zinfandel (Mmmm). My boyfriends' car was a 1976 Fiat Spider convertible which was really cool. That is until it broke down on the interstate 2 miles from where we needed to be.

Not easily dissuaded we picked up our ENORMOUS cooler and began to schlep it to the park. It was about 90 degree's and very humid as we began our trek down the int…

Thanksgiving in the South

I live in the South and, as most people know, Southerners are very fond of deep fried food. Chicken, okra (shudder), onions, and even pickles are all fried southern favorites. So it should come as no surprise that we also deep fry turkeys. We are southern imports (born and raised elsewhere) so when my husband first mentioned to me that he would like to spend one hundred dollars for an Official Turkey Fryer I thought that he was joking. Like we need one more way to consume too many calories on our favorite Thursday of the year. But he insisted that this would be a Good Purchase that would get Good Use every year. So we bought the damned thing.

The first year we had it I bought two turkeys. One for the oven and one to fuck up in the fryer. Mine took many hours in the oven. The one Don cooked was done in about 45 minutes. I still wasn't impressed. I hate fried chicken so I assumed that I would hate a big, greasy turkey that had been deep fried. But here is the thing - it wasn't gr…

Deck the Halls...A Cautionary Tale

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When Don and I were newlyweds we got jobs with a local catering company for weekend work. We enjoyed the extra income and it barely felt like we were working as we were spending time together (All together now - aawwwhhhh...).

One night we were employed to work at a very elegant company Christmas party at the Convention Center. The event was beautiful - everyone was in either a tux or a gown. There was a band, lots of beautifully displayed food and an open bar. Don and I were bartending and got to share a bar which was fun. Our bar had been decorated for us and was extremely festive with many votive candles, holly leaves and confetti. Just working there was putting me in the holiday mood.

There was a table of ten sitting close to our bar and they were rocking the margarita's this evening. Everyone was pretty shit faced. What can I say? I make a mean 'rita. Towards the end of the evening one of my margarita ladies stood up at her table and looked longingly towards me. Or past me.…

The Hand

Many years ago, when Amanda was around two, we had a very scary incident at the house. I had put her down for a nap and was trying to get some stuff done around the house. The hallway where our bedrooms are has a few creaky spots and the loudest spot is right outside of Amanda's bedroom. Through the years I've learned where they are and can, when necessary, avoid them by carefully stepping around them.

I needed to go to the other side of the house so I limbered up and began my Twister-esque maneuver to prevent squeaking the spot. I was getting ready to tip toe by her closed door and was VERY focused on not waking her up. As I was creeping by something caught my eye on the floor, so I looked down. There was an arm laying there. I stopped in my tracks, startled by it. Suddenly - the fingers jumped and began wiggling! I screamed and somehow threw myself backwards - in slow motion a la The Matrix - into the wall. Then I became aware of someone else screaming...the hand withdrew its…

Grammar Challenged (or should that be Grammatically Challenged?)

I know, I know. If you've been reading this blog with any regularity you've been wondering - just what kind of idiot AM I anyway?? Well, I'd like to tell you EXACTLY what kind of idiot I am. Where to begin...chronologically...alphabetically...it's a tough call.

What I can tell you is that I didn't want to call this blog the Blog of Bex. I wanted it to be Bex's Blog. But I couldn't remember if it was written like that or like Bex' Blog. Or Bexs' Blog. The saddest part of all that is I really thought long and hard about it. I didn't actually do any research or anything, but I was thinking about it. So The Blog of Bex I became. It sounded slightly better than (or is that 'then') The Blog Belonging To Bex.

BUT I do know how to tell someone in French to go and sodomize himself. So I have that going for me. And, for the record, that phrase comes in handy more times than you would think!

www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com

Don't Eat The Biscotti!

This morning I thought that I would take an hour or so to straighten up my house. This is something I don't normally do. I don't like doing it, I'm not good at it and I really look for just about any excuse to avoid it. But today...I decided to suck it up and give it my best shot. My son (who is almost 2) tried valiantly to undo me by following me and unfolding whatever had just been folded, pulling off of the shelf whatever had just been put on, etc. But I shouldered on.

Eventually Jax seemed to catch on and began to hand me things that were on the floor. To encourage this I would shower him with "Good BOY!!" comments. He handed me all sorts of things and I would finish what I was doing and then either throw away or put away his contribution. The last thing he handed me felt kind of funny. As I was caressing it with my fingers I noticed that its' texture was not unlike that of a biscotti. So I looked at it. Hmmm. It was brown with florescent specs throughout.…

Chuck E. Cheese, NOT the worst place! REALLY!!!

Yikes! My blog was just visited by someone from Chuck E. Cheese's headquarters! I can only assume that he or she did not come to read the boring dribble of a housewife on the edge and that the purpose of the visit was to inspect the comments I made on Friday about their establishment. I felt very defensive and immediately reread my entry in case I was unfair or too harsh in my assessment. As a result I've decided to make two positive comments about Chuck E. Cheese:
You are obviously no slouch, considering your lightning-speed inspection of Chuck E. Cheese related writings on the internet (I'll admit I was a little startled by it. But hey, you're just protecting your brand, right?)Chuck E. Cheese restaurants are loud and obnoxious places. But my kids love them. AND at least you have the decency to serve beer to the parents. You have no idea how much that means to us parents out here in the trenches. Seriously. Thanks for that.
So you are not the worst, Chuck E. Cheese! Pl…

Chuck E. Sucks!

I had a rough day today. Not as bad as many, but bad enough for me. I have a cold which has given me laryngitis which I, of course, HATE. Not having a voice is like...huh. I can't think of an analogy. It just sucks, that's all.

The worst thing that happened today occurred around 4 this afternoon. Jax, my little guy, had been playing with my daughters in their room.

I heard the girls gagging and yelling - apparently Jax had filled his diaper with an odiferous pile. I went upstairs and smelled IMMEDIATELY what they were upset about. And then I remembered, vaguely, that Jax had indeed had chili for dinner last night. That'll show me.

So I picked him up and put him on the diaper changer in his room. Peeling back his used diaper was as heroic as anything I've ever done in my life. Kind of like throwing myself on top of a land mine. At any rate, I did my duty and was about half way done scraping the shit off of him when he surprised me by dropping a Chuck E. Cheese coin into hi…

Clooney/Fabio-gate!

I just read an article that stated George Clooney and Fabio got in a heated argument on Friday night in a LA restaurant. What a couple of tools.

George thought that people at Fabio's table were taking pictures of George and his peeps so he flipped them off. Fabio went over to explain that George was, in fact, not the subject matter of the shot. Apparently they eventually had to be physically removed from each other. Clooney must not be aware of the reputation that Fabio has. Do you remember when he was on a roller coaster and a goose or something flew into his nose? It banged him all up and he was bleeding all over the place. My point is, the man can take a hit (in spite of his girly appearance)!

Do you suppose that when they woke up Saturday morning (each under his respective supermodel) that they felt good about what happened? "I really showed that asshole! He won't be messing with me again anytime soon!"

Men are funny creatures. Seriously.

Starbucks Confessional

I hate Starbucks coffee. It tastes like unfiltered, bitter sludge. Yet today I drove many miles out of my way to visit one. Even worse, I drove past 2 other Starbucks to go to this PARTICULAR one. And I am not very proud of the reason. It was the only one with a drive-through.

I blame my extraordinary laziness on the Nyquil I took last night. What the hell do they put in that stuff that just completely knocks me on my ass??! I thought that an expensive cup of tea handed to me through an open window of the car might help my recovery.

Anyway, I approach the store window and, when asked, I state that I would like the Venti Chai Latte made with whole milk. And the guy says, "Venti, Whole Milk Chai. Anything else?" They always change the order in which I said the words. Why is that? Did I order my tea wrong? Am I presenting myself as some kind of Tea Poser by the way I've requested it? I just know that tomorrow I'll ask for a Venti Whole Milk Chai and the guy will say, &q…

High School Musical, not Broadway, Silly. On ICE!

My daughter Amanda turned 8 the other day. We decided to invite a few of her favorite friends to go to Phillips Arena for Disney On Ice Presents...High School Musical!!! Yippee....

I piled them all into my car and put the movie soundtrack in my CD player. "Oooohhhh...turn it up! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!" I felt slightly nauseated as I complied. But hey, when I was their age I thought that Shaun Cassidy was the sexiest man EVER. So I decided to not judge TOO harshly. I did, however, make a comment under my breath to Amanda who, in turn, put her hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Mom, please try not to embarrass me today." WHAT?!!! I'm the cool mom! I mean, I have a tattoo on my ass for christs sake! I've danced on more bars than she'll (hopefully) ever get into!!! Ugh. I digress.

So there I was with 6 little girls at a giant Ice Capades show. It was the gayest thing ever. And by 'gay' I don't mean homosexuals spinning through the air (although they…

Questions...

Today is a day, it seems, that brings more questions than answers. For example, why do two year olds drool SO much? I have heard that it has to do with teething, but truthfully that doesn't make much sense to me.

Oh. And here is another question: Why is it that, after having three kids, I still don't seem to understand that when I am playing Airplane with a two year old that I should keep my mouth shut? If you've never played airplane before allow me to bring you up to speed. Essentially the "adult" lays on her back with her arms stretched out in front of her (a la Frankenstein). The child is suspended, with his face directly over your face, while you make plane noises and laugh. You know that the game is over when you feel cold and slimy drool go down your throat involuntarily.

I'm Still Here!

I couldn't help but notice that my site meter number has been creeping up which means that there is someone out there LISTENING. Wow. I had no idea.

Normally I try to post something at least every other day or so BUT some Sadist at the county education department has given my kids off TWO days - Monday AND Tuesday. Bastards!!!

I've found it very difficult to try to put a coherent sentence together with a chorus of the following:

Amanda: Mom! MOM! Allison put a booger on me!

Allison: Did not! DID NOT! Well, I pretended to put one on her because SHE sat on my bed! AFTER I MADE IT!!! She's SO mean!!!!!

Amanda: I sat on the bed because YOU punched me in the stomach because I said that Hannah Montana sings that song better than you!

Allison: SHE DOES NOT! I just forgot the words, that's all! I'm a GOOD singer!

Amanda: Bbpppptttttt...whatEVER.

Allison begins making murderous noises with the back of her throat and Amanda runs for the hills.

In the meantime, Jax (almost 2) spends …

Some day...

There will come a day - some day - when I only have to worry about myself. There will come a day when I will not have to change poopy diapers, wondering whether the substance under my nail is peanut butter or the shit of another person. There will come a day when I will look back nostalgically about getting an enthusiastic hug from a two year old, realizing afterwards that I have a sticky, green substance in my hair and on my shoulder to show for it.

There will come a day when I will laugh about the sweet child who just projectile vomited into my cleavage. That day is not today. Today is the kind of day when I will stare at the clock willing it to be cocktail hour. It's gotta be five o'clock somewhere!