I don’t take
good care of myself. I mean I shower, brush my teeth, keep my hemroids at bay, and wear clean clothing…so don’t start looking at me cross eyed and be thankful the internet doesn’t have a “smell” option. I don’t stink and I can’t imagine kissing me is a horrible experience I keep my halotosis at bay.
out of sheer boredom and I have the occasional cigarette because I was overly bored ; *ducks to avoid a shoe flying at my head* so my liver and lungs obviously hate me. I’ve let my midsection start to resemble bread dough and last month my mother accused me of now having her calves that match so nicely with my thighs. My back fat is starting to resemble fairy wings my daughter might actually be amused with this if she noticed, my boobs threaten to smother me in my sleep, and my ass have formed a close connection with the backs of my legs. I have caterpillars growing above my upper lip and eyebrows, and little volcano sprouts growing from my moles. My grey hair is coming in so fast it glimmers like silver thread in the sun people are actually noticing it from a distance. I have to admit that I wasn’t overly concerned about all the physical appearance stuff with the exception of the bread dough belly until last week. Last week when I went to the nail salon.
Know this, I have a deep fear of nail salons. The way
too many men feel about spiders is how I feel about nail salons. Let me explain, nail salons are typically run by Asians. There is a reason the cities throughout Asia are large, bustling, and progressive. The reason is that those people don’t back down. they know what they want, how to get it, and make money doing it. Put that into the world of nail salons. Women hate themselves, truly. We bash our bodies, starve ourselves, and cry to our friends about how our nipples don’t point straight ahead anymore. The people running these salons know this, they exploit it! You go in for a simple manicure or pedicure and end up with gel nails, french tipped toes, eye brow waxing, and on a bad day a Brazilian. They get into your head, manipulate you, and make you feel as if your life will be shit if they can’t change every possible thing about your outward appearance that they can. If they could perform lypo in the back room…..they would.
With that being said, I’m not sure what came over me the other day and caused me to go inside. Maybe it was the sudden quest for the perfect running shoes
because I’m obviously a runner *coughs* or maybe it was the sudden realization that there really is no such thing as the perfect running shoe for me. As I found myself leaving the store of shoes, I looked to my right and there it was…calling me… Luxury Nails! “I’m getting a pedicure!” <= famous last words. It was almost as if my deep laden fear of nails salons was magically whisked away in the 95 degree summer heat or perhaps I was delusional due to dehydration. All memory of the beaten ego, vanished. I was strong. I was brave. I could take on these nail salon people, and come out a whole person! I had confidence, damn it!
Through the strip mall door I walk, “I want a pedicure!”
“Pick a color. Sit. Wait,” and so it began…the downward spiral.
I started questioning myself. Is this the right color? Is it trendy? Shit! Am I going to look like every other set of toes on the street? Fuck! My feet look horrendous! They’re filthy! My heals are cracked!
These people are going to HATE me!
If I were the type to hyperventilate, this is when I would have done so. Just as I was about to get up and walk out the door I was called the a chair. I sat and immediately felt the need to announce, like a sinner at confession, that it had been almost three years since my last pedicure….to the entire salon. Then I realized just how hairy my legs were, reminding myself that I hadn’t shaved anything else for a few days either…and I was wearing a skirt. What’s happened to me??? Hair, bread dough belly, homicidal boobs, fairy winged back fat, more grey hair than your average 34 year old? Why on Earth would anyone, especially Steve, want to be with me? In another month or two, chances are, there was a slight possibility I could
easily be twice the size of Steve and looking more like side show attraction! I actually let motherhood get the better of me! Shit! These people were going to eat me alive in here! I was going to come out looking like a skinned cat with pretty nails. My life was over.
I tried to contain my fear as the poor woman at my feet
tore filed off layers of callus and dead skin. The calf massage didn’t even feel good due to the sharp barbs of hair protruding out of my legs. As she finished I waited. Waited for her to start sucking me into her vortex of “beauty refinement”. Then it happened, she looked up at me with her evil eyes and asked if I wanted a manicure to go with it. “No, thank you.” I said.
To my surprise that was the end of her inquiry. She didn’t add on the usual questions and statements. Are you sure? Your nails look horrible. When was the last time you cut your cuticles? How about your eye brows? Men don’t like hairy eyebrows that big, and your mustache, it needs to go. No third degree. No feeling like a tarnished garden statue. Just a look of disappointment. Those I can handle.
I’m a mom, my kids give me that look every day. Somehow I ended up walking out of the nail salon with only a pedicure and a bruised ego pertaining to my split heals, leg hair, and talon toe nails.
All this, however, did make me realize that I had let the Motherhood get the better of me. I had stumbled into the rabbit hole, and had been chasing the white rabbit to imminent doom. The Motherhood can be an evil bitch, and will take control of your life. It will turn you into something you don’t even recognize, a crumbled shell of what you used to be before children. As your kids beat you down from the outside, the Motherhood eats away at you from the inside. Just because you’re a mom doesn’t mean you can’t look nice and have nice things. In fact, it means you should try even harder to look nice and have nice things. We’re not raising unkempt grub worms who don’t know what a button up shirt looks like, we’re raising the future pillars of our society! They are looking to US for guidance! Ok, so maybe we
and our kids don’t have to dress like something straight out of NY Fashion week, or send our kids to school looking like their name should be Chancy, but we also can’t let the Motherhood get the better of us.
I went home that night, shaved my legs, shaved my lady bits
special gift for Steve, waxed my eyebrows, tamed the mustache, and dyed the hair on my head. I even trimmed the mole hair special gift for myself. I went through my wardrobe and tossed anything that didn’t fit right, and made myself promise to do better at taking care of myself. Making myself a better person means that I am making myself a better mother for my children. I’m saying fuck you to the Motherhood, and headed down a one way road to MILF-dom with a few pitstops and wrong way turns along the way!!!
Ok, here’s the deal. I don’t really give a shit what kind of woman you claim to be, or the ‘pedigree’ you come from. The fact of the matter is, at least one time in your life
, you have become a psychotic bitch. By saying “at least one time in your life” what I really mean is during times such as menopause, menstruation, divorce, breakups, PPD, deaths of friends and family, the series finale of Desperate Housewives, and vodka driven nights….you know “those” times.
It’s these times where we, as women, find ourselves thinking we’re acting completely rational when in fact the word “rational” is so far from what we have become the word “irrational” can’t even begin to describe us. Some of us turn into blubbering idiots *points at self* while others would be better off in a straight jacket. Hundreds of men’s vehicles have met the ends of car keys and thousands of women’s belly pooch have been grabbed and shaken in the horrified eyes of their partners during these times. We lash out at the closest person to us
preferably those of the opposite sex and spurt off all the ways they have been fucking up because its obvious we are perfect or all the ways our bodies can’t compare to the size zero woman you saw on the street earlier who hasn’t come face to face with a cheese burger in 5 years and cries herself to sleep each night because of it.
For those of you who are sitting there reading this saying to yourself, “oh, that’s never been me”, fuck off. You’re lying, please walk away from this blog immediately. It’s part of our nature. We HAVE to turn into psychotic bitches every now and then. This isn’t only to keep men
and lesbians on their toes. No, its purpose is much greater than that. If we didn’t have these breakdowns on a regular basis at least once a month men and lesbians would think they’re doing something wrong. This would most likely result in numerous calls to Homeland Security about suspicious behavior in the general vicinity of your house.
The world as we know it would indeed stop. Flower shops across the country would go out of business and greeting card companies would suddenly lose their market in the “I’m Sorry” section. Gift card sales to day spas would plummet and children would be left wondering why mommy is actually laughing all the time. This is the cycle of life. Forget birth and death and that whole mother nature blah blah blah thing. THIS is what drives society. THIS is what keeps card and chocolate shops in business. THIS is why there is such a high demand for spas, nail salons, and $6.99/dozen roses at the gas station down the street.
So ladies, the next time you feel the urge to completely lose your shit…..go for it! Break down. Sob like a banshee and throw a dish or 2
just not directly at people so as to avoid jail time. You deserve it! And the American economy is counting on YOU to guilt encourage your significant other into buying you gifts you wouldn’t necessarily need otherwise. This is why you have such a collection of knick knacks and shoes. Go. Do it. Break down. You deserve it! Going through menopause? Why do you think designer handbag companies and high end jewelry stores do so well during the non holiday season? That’s right my friend, you and your random acts of psychotic bitchiness.
So go ahead ladies, let the tears and dishes fly! If your significant other doesn’t like it, just tell them the American economy
and child laborers in third world countries are relying on you to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. You’re an American, this is your duty.
I have 2 friends expected to give birth quite early in the New Year so I feel that I have to follow up my Pregnancy Survival Guide . Those of you who have been through it know, it sucks. Honestly, even those ‘in touch with themselves’ hippy types (referring to myself) will tell you that there are certain parts of childbirth that flat out suck. Yes, you just made a tiny human in your own little incubator and then pushed it out with every last bit of energy. Yes you just made a new life with the man you love…or hate…or don’t even know…or at a party…or through other means so that you and your partner can enjoy the love of parenting..or whatever. The fact is, you’re about to give birth to a tiny human who will end up calling you mommy and demand every last bit of patience you built up in your entire lifetime.
So here’s what I feel you need to know before you push that tiny human out.
*DISCLAIMER: I know that everyone’s childbirth experience is different. If you are upset, offended, pissed off that mine was so short, or disagree with my experience please feel free to write your own blog about it and I will gladly let you guest blog here for my friends to see.*
So that’s about it. The rest you’ll have to learn on your own. It’s such an amazing experience and, like you losing your virginity, the first time only ever happens once. It’s hard to believe while its happening that you’ll ever love the actual act of giving birth, but you’ll see. Every time you look into the eyes of that beautiful baby you’ll be forever grateful for everything you just went through because it was 100% worth it.
Please remember that if you experience postpartum depression, you are not alone. Countless numbers of us have been through the same thing. Some of us twice. It’s not easy looking at your baby and feeling the feelings you feel with PPD. Just know that those of us who have been through it are here to help you and that there are support groups for it. Talk to your doctor and get help as soon as possible. Your baby deserves 100% of you. And to the other halves, you don’t nessesarily need to ‘understand’ PPD but you do need to support her through it. Just remember that this too shall pass. Your perfectly planned family is right there waiting for you.
Good luck to all the new mommys and daddys this year!
The Reset Button
All of the electronics in your house have one.
Most cars have one.
And believe it or not, you have one too.
And when someone presses it, you feel AMAZING! It’s like you have a new leash on the madness going on around you. It’s better than coffee damn it! It’s what you need, you crave it.
More than sex? Eh, doubtful.
I dare say that despite the absolute craziness that goes on around BF and I we have a pretty good life. Those of you that know us personally are thinking to yourselves, really? “I wouldn’t trade my life for theirs even if they offered it on a silver platter!” Our exs give us problems daily and we are both complete lunatics. I OVER think everything and he UNDER thinks everything. He farts on me, and I burp in his face. I want life to revolve around comical satire while he wants life to revolve around patriotism. He’s Garth Brookes to my Miranda Lambert. And that’s how we go about our days. Our friend Nicole even dared to say that we are “The most real couple she knows.” Oh Nicole, if only you knew sweetheart, if only you knew!
How does this happen? How do BF and I continue life in our happy little bubble, as we call it, with all our differences and craziness? Two words: Reset Button. Somehow, despite some of our extreme differences, we ended up with the same button. It’s called Pemaquid, Maine, also known as my hometown. It’s nestled up in John’s Bay about halfway up the coast. When we’re up there we are surrounded by water and trees, as well as a no-longer-working demolition derby car and enough lobster traps to build a small house.
And we’re lucky enough to have a free place to stay
benefit of staying with my parents that also comes with babysitters another benefit of my parents. Not that going out is top of our list while we’re there. I mean, who needs to go out when you can sit and have a beer with a view like that? Not to mention the ‘open air’ bathroom at the opposite end of the deck, aka: where no one can see you pee. On our visits BF is usually put to work clamming, lobstering yes on an actual boat, or weed wacking.
All the while BF has a huge shit eating grin on his face as he intently goes about whatever task is thrown at him because he knows that at the end of the day, whatever he is doing is going to have great reward at the end. Maybe it means the freshest steamed clams you’ve ever tasted, or as much lobster as your belly can hold. Or maybe even something as simple as sitting by the water in the early evening with an ice cold beer watching the sun set over the tree tops.
And this is where BF and I press our reset buttons and rediscover the wonders of life and each other. Where our worries melt away as our minds are refreshed with the scent of the salt air and bug spray and the mouth watering taste of fresh off the boat seafood.
This morning at 8am, as we drove up Rt 27 listening to the local Ford dealership on the radio encourage people to come trade in their old manure spreaders for a brand new F150, our reset buttons were pressed. We laughed until we cried as BF did his best Main-ah impression. We were officially in Maine. Vacationland: ‘The Way Life Should Be’. And now, as we sit on the deck watching the tide roll out and dodging humming birds
we were sitting too close to their feeder I say to you this: If you don’t yet have a reset button, go find one. And reset it often; because beneath all the chaos and drama of life is harmony, and it’s closer than you think. Cheers.
Today I found out that some friends *we will call them M and J* are expecting their first
critter baby in January. As I stood there looking at the excitement and horror on M’s face I couldn’t control myself and blurted out, “I see my birth control blog didn’t work for you.” And I said it to J as well when she called not too long after. She laughed…she’s obviously so overcome with pregnancy hormones that she has no idea what I really said.
I should clue you in to the fact that J is an avid reader of this blog. I thought that by now I would have scared her away from ever procreating, I guess I was wrong. Maybe what I should have been blogging about was all the fun and exciting things that happen during that make you want to
gouge your eyes out and have your baby daddy imprisoned for trickery do it over and over again! However, its a little too late. Instead I have decided to make a bit of a survival guide for M and J. So sit back and relax you two crazy kids, you’re in for the ride of your life!
So J, here are some things your mother didn’t tell you:
Now for you M! Please pay close attention and make sure J does NOT read past this sentence…..
Seriously J, you need to go feed the cats or something. It’s not that I don’t love you, but M and I need to have a little chat.
Is she gone yet? Good.
M, you only have to remember one thing, and one thing only:
Right now she is completely bat shit crazy!!! Her body has been hijacked by an alien that will come out disguised as your baby in January. There is absolutely nothing you can say that will make anything better or make her feel good. You need to start a savings account that will only go towards ‘I’m Sorry Flowers’
even though you know you were right and whatever food she is craving that week. Now, more than ever, when she says jump you say ‘How high….and for how long?” I promise you that you will have your wonderful sweet wife back in about a year (after the pregnancy and post partum hormones wear off). Please hang on and know you are not the only man to experience the poltergeist version of their wife. You have a masters degree…..you can do this!
(She can come back into the room now)
So that’s it my friends. Life as you know it has only just begun. Your hearts are about to grow 5 times bigger, your cheeks are going to hurt from smiling, and your eyes will hurt from crying. It’s the best and worst of times, and the first baby only happens once. J, enjoy how your body grows and changes with each day and how beautiful every pregnant woman is. Remember, you are BOTH pregnant, it is a wild ride for both of you. I can’t imagine a baby more blessed than this one to get 2 amazing people as parents. I wish you both the best of luck, joy, and happiness. So amazingly happy for you both. Congratulations.