Thursday, April 28, 2011

Bewitched or Bebitched?

My house is an absolute, heaven-forsaken mess.  We all have been sick and nothing has gotten done.  To all those that hate me:  Now is a good time to call Childrens' Services on me.  My kids will be taken away for sure.

I was just sitting here thinking that I wish I could just twitch my nose and it would all be clean.  Then I started thinking about "Bewitched".  I watched it because it was the only thing besides the "Money Movie" (and what kid wants to watch a 20 year-old non-Disney movie?) , that was on at 4:30 after school.

(Plus, it was on after "Gilligan's Island" and everyone knows that was the best kid show EVER!!!  I am Ginger, btw, and I had a huge crush on the Professor.)

Anyway, back to "Bewitched".  That show always bothered me, and I never knew why.  Now, after ruminating a few minutes on it, I think I know some of the reasons:

1. Jealousy.  Soooo my style. I wanted to be able to twitch my nose and be done with school and have my room clean and have all the cool clothes I wanted.

2.  Darrin (both the cute one and the ugly one) and Samantha were both idiots. He was an idiot for making her conform to his lifestyle, and she was an idiot for doing it.  I would have told him to shove his mortality where the Sun don't shine.  (Well, maybe...I don't recall that Darrin ever had an affair and Samantha kept him around.  Or maybe he did, and she just had the good sense, which I obviously don't have, to keep her private life private.)

3.  Darrin wasn't just an idiot, he was THE BIGGEST IDIOT ON EARTH!!!  Who wouldn't want to be married to someone who could twitch her nose and make you the owner and CEO of the Stephens Advertsing Agency, give you gazillions of dollars, and give you everything else you could ever dream of, monetarily and otherwise?  But nooooo...Darrin had to do it the sucky mortal way and let Larry Tate walk all over him. Jackass.

4.  Could sweet Aunt Clara possibly ever have arrived in some way other than destroying the hall closet or ending up on the roof?  Really? 

Sure, it was entertaining, but why were ALL the women so weak, and/or stereotypically bitchy?

Take Serena, for example.  She was the stereotypical bitchy, slutty hippy trying to get her cousin's lame husband. WTH??  She knew he was an idiot and Serena only wanted him because Samantha had him.  Bitch. Slut.

And we can't forget Endora.  Could there be a better example of the stereotypical bitchy mother-in-law?  NEWSFLASH:  NOT ALL MOTHERS-IN-LAW ARE BITCHES.  Or so I've heard.  My mother-in-law happens to make Endora look like bumbling Aunt Clara, but I've heard stories of great mothers-in-law.

And what about silly Mrs. Kravitz spying on the neighbors (and she was ALWAYS right, btw, but her husband always made excuses for her and took her home), or Darrin's mother and her "sick headaches"?  Weak and weaker.

Aunt Hagatha and Aunt Enchantra were bitches too.  Don't ask me for any examples; just trust me on that one.

So there you have it:  I couldn't stand "Bewitched" because I was an eight year-old feminist.

DAMN!  I just twitched my nose and the house is STILL a mess!  Not being Samantha (sans idiocy) really sucks!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Carrie Underwood: My Alter Ego

I had a meeting with the Green-Eyed Monster again last night.

Did anyone else watch last night's CMA's Girls' Night Out:  Salute to Women of Country?  We're not really big country music fans, but the performers were so outstanding, we just couldn't change the channel.

You would think that I would appreciate the beauty of their craft.  I actually do, but appreciation or awe weren't the overwhelming feelings I had.  You know me better than that.

It was jealousy; I could actually feel it coursing through my veins!

At one point, I said to Danny,  "Wouldn't it be nice to have a talent?"  He agreed.  We are the most talentless couple on earth.  If you can name it, we can't do it.  Drawing?  No.  Playing the guitar, piano, flute, organ, or even spoons?  Not this couple.  Paint-by-numbers?  Dream on!

I would take any talent, but I really want to sing.  I love to sing, but I'm tone-deaf (I think; I don't really know what that means exactly).

And I'm traumatized by it going back to my childhood.  I was forced to take chorus in 5th and 6th grade, and I was FORCED to audition privately with the teacher for seventh-grade chorus.  I'll never forget Mrs. Price's saying to me,  "Missy, do you really think that's how 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' sounds?"  Biii-oootch, of course I did:  I was AUDITIONING for Heaven's sake!

And my father played his part in the trauma too.  I love to sing, despite my lack of talent, and I especially love to sing in the car.  My father  listened to me as long as he could.  Then I  noticed that he started getting agitated about little things, and he began shifting around in the driver's seat.  Finally,  he said with frustration in his voice, "Honey, please stop singing.  You couldn't carry a tune in a dump truck."

Was he kidding me?!!  He's my father!  He's supposed to think everything that came out of my mouth was on the wings of angels.  In retrospect, thirty years later, I feel sorry for the poor guy having to listen to me.  At least my rough and gruff father tried to soften the insult by calling me, "Honey".

But none of this stops me today from REALLY belting it out in the car.  My current favorite song is "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", and I really get into that one.  Every time I sing the word "low" I move my body down in the seat.

(Someone shoot me.  This is getting really embarrassing!)

And I scream out the song, with the windows of the car down, complete with hand gestures and body movements, every time I play the song--OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

(OMGoodness, this is SO embarrassing.  I have to stop!)

All I ask is that when you see me in the car, or hear me from the car, don't look over.  Just keep on driving, and try not to flip me the bird.

Linda Medrano, I just want to let you know that I'm having trouble commenting on your blog, but I'm still reading, and I'm so very sorry for your loss.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Linky Love

I'll start out with the self-love and tell you that there is a new post on my other blog, The Bank Burglar's Daughter.

Now onto the selflessness...You have to go to Kellie's place.  Her writing is poignant and so REAL.  I defy you not to fall in love with Kellie and her blog!

I have a seven year-old's birthday party to work on, so I must run.  I'll be back to tell you how it goes.  (How do you think it's going to go?!)

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Love My Life Day

I am officially declaring today "Love My Life Day".  (And I am quite official, so this is binding in the most serious way!)

How many times do you see "fml" on something?  I'm not criticizing at all here; believe me, I know the feeling.  (Oh, I SOOOO know the feeling!)  I'm just one of those people that believes negative energy brings on negative things (but I don't always practice what I preach), so:

Let's all think and write "lml" today and see what happens.  "Love My Life Day" might be a huge flop, but, really, can it be worse than thinking "fml"?  What do we have to lose, except a negative attitude?

(Confession:  I love Amy's take on fml.  Please go read it here.  And if you don't already read Amy, add her to your list.  She is hilarious--and an outstanding human being!!)

Don't forget to leave a comment and let me know what you think!

(As you can tell, my anti-depressants are kicking in full-force today!)

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

My Forever Friend

I'm not a very good friend. 

It's not that I'm a bad friend.  I don't sleep with a sistah's husband and I would never, ever let anyone talk smack about one of my friends.

It's just that I'm not a good friend.  A good friend who intended to write a birthday post about her friend would make sure that she actually wrote the post on or before her friend's birthday.

This post is two days late, and I haven't heard that my friend, Lisa, is dead, so I will go ahead and write my better-late-than-never post about her.

Lisa and I met at church when we were teenagers.  As I struggle to pull up memories from the cobwebs in my gray matter, I remember my first impression of Lisa as one of someone highly intelligent and articulate.  I can remember speaking with her about some misfortune in the world and saying, "I was soooo freaked out by that!"  Her response illustrates what I mean:  "Yes, when something like that happens, it certainly does make one acutely aware of one's blessings."

Acutely aware?!!!  WTH?!!!  I was soooo freaked out by that response!!!

Anyway, in addition to being super-smart, Lisa is also a devout Christian, of the Mormon variety.  And she is serious about it:  She doesn't just talk the talk; she walks the walk as well.  She truly would do anything for someone in need, and she rarely (unless she's really mad) says anything bad about anyone (and when she does, she feels guilty about it and repents after she calms down.)

Lisa is the type of woman who never, ever swears, and would never write in her blog anything like "...I don't sleep with a sistah's husband,"  or "WTH?!!!"  But she totally doesn't mind if others do it and she doesn't judge them because of it.  And she expects it from me.

(Lisa is laughing now.)

But here's the really cool thing about Lisa:  She loves me.

She thinks I am just the best, even when I so clearly am not.

(Lisa is crying now.)

Lisa doesn't just love me:  Lisa loves me the way I am.

(I am crying now.)

Whenever anything bad happens in my life, I know just e-mailing Lisa will make it better.  She has such insight to my soul that it just freaks me out!!!

(Lisa is laughing now.)

I could go on and on and on about the wonders of Lisa, but you get the point.  She is the real deal:  a genuine follower of Christ and the truest friend a girl could ever have.

So, Lisa, when you read this (and I know she will read this because she thinks I'm a fantastic writer and she checks my blogs regularly), know that you are one of the greatest blessings in my life and I LOVE YOU!!

And...oh yeah...happy birthday!

So, tell me, who is the Lisa in your life?

Friday, April 8, 2011


One of my very first memories in life is of the FBI searching our house in June of 1972. I was three years-old.

My eighteen year-old sister, Debbie, was there and my two year-old sister, Amie, was there. Our maternal grandmother, who helped raise us, was there. Her son, Chuck Mulligan, was part of my father's crew. He had already been arrested and was in the Los Angeles County Jail. My mother was in California with him. My father was a fugitive.

To my three year-old eyes, it seemed like a hundred federal agents swarmed my home. They weren't mean to us at all, but were very stern and made us all stay in one room. We all sat in the living room, speechless for the most part, and watched while every centimeter of our once secure home was invaded.

I don't know how long it took them to search the house, but it seemed like we sat in one spot all day.

When the search was over and the feds were leaving, they turned to my grandmother and told her they found a $20 bill from the burglarized United California Bank in her purse. She was silent.

The FBI left our home and my grandmother said, "I better go get dressed. They'll be back to arrest me."

Grandma wasn't quite ready when the feds were back with an arrest warrant for her. She asked them if she could put on her pantyhose, and they allowed her to go back to her room to accomplish that last detail.

She came back into the living room and said to the agents, "Okay, we can go now."

Then Amie started screaming. Grandma was her security, the person she loved most in the world, and she was afraid she would never see her again.

Debbie held Amie and tried to comfort her. Grandma, from across the room, explained to Amie that everything would be alright and that she would be back soon.

When Amie had calmed down, the two agents and my grandmother walked towards the front door. Before they walked out the door, Grandma turned, looked at Debbie, and said, "You tell everyone to keep their mouths shut because I can handle anything the FBI can do to me."

I sat on the couch, motionless and speechless, throughout the whole event, and just watched it unfold.

My mother called a few hours later and I answered the phone. The first words out of my three year-old mouth were, "Mommy, the FBI arrested Grandma."

My mother's response, like the rest of the day's events, is burned in my memory: "I know, Honey. We got her a bondsman and she'll be home tonight." I didn't know what a bondsman was, but I knew Grandma would be home.

And Grandma was home that night. Eventually, the charges against her were dismissed.

Grandma was an incredibly strong woman and her arrest and time spent in the holding cell of the Mahoning County Jail didn't upset her one bit. In fact, until the day Alzheimer's Disease took that memory from her, it remained one of the highlights of her life.

(This post was originally written on January 7, 2011, on my other blog, "The Bank Burglar's Daughter".I am re-posting it today as part of a writing meme at "The Red Dress Club.")

Thursday, April 7, 2011


Attention Facebook-ers!  I need you to please help my niece and nephew win a wedding album.  Here's what you can do:

1.  Log in to your Facebook account.

2.  Go to.!/album.php?aid=285444&id=285300677400

3.  Then click on the Like button at the top of the page.

4.  Then click on picture 31, Shane and Nicole, and comment under it.  A one-word comment will do.

And that's it!

I really, really want this for them, so please help!

Thank you so much to my Internet "family"!!!!


Monday, April 4, 2011

Prisoner Number 30826-138

I'm really surprised I'm not writing this from the slammer.

Thinking back on Delaney's childhood, I've realized that there's absolutely no reason I shouldn't be sitting in the Big House right now.

Not only has Delaney always been a drama queen, but she also has always done her best (I like to tell myself it was inadvertently) to make people think I was a horrible mother.

Take, for example, when we were flying to Las Vegas.  Delaney was about six years old and, somehow, our tickets had her seated two rows behind me.  Naturally, I thought she would want to be by her mommy during such a long trip, so I very politely asked a kind-looking gentleman if he would mind switching seats with me.

Delaney started screaming, "Noooooo!  Don't do it!  Don't make me sit next to her!" 

The somewhat flabberghasted man looked at her and said, "When I was your age, I would've loved to sit next to my mom."

Delaney wasn't fazed.  She looked him dead in the eye and said,  "Yeah, that's great.  But I don't want to sit next to her."

I was so embarrassed I wanted to pull a D. B. Cooper and jump right out of the back of the airplane!

Then there was the time Delaney got on the school bus instead of waiting for me to pick her up at school.  When I got to the school and she wasn't there and no one could find her, I panicked.  I ran through the school yelling her name and looking in all the rooms.  Remember the scene in "Fatal Attraction" where the bunny-boiler stole the kid from school and the mother was frantically looking for her child?  Yeah, that's exactly what it was like.

Finally, they found her on the school bus en route to our house.

I was so mad!!!!

I waited for her at the bus stop and the second she saw me, she started screaming, "Kill me!  Please kill me!  I deserve for you to kill me!"  And she wouldn't stop!  She just kept yelling it over and over and over again, despite the fact that I told her I really would kill her if she said it one more time.

Keep in mind, we were in our neighbors' front yards in a somewhat affluent area in the middle of the day.  There's no doubt that we pretty much confirmed everyone's suspicions that we were the trash of the neighborhood.

Those were good, but the best one she ever did to me was at our local mall.  The mall has a huge, amusement park carousel in it, and I promised Delaney that if she was good, she could ride the carousel.  Well, she was an absolute monster that day and I told her well in advance of our leaving that she wasn't riding the carousel.

She must not have believed me.

She started screaming and crying and throwing the biggest fit you ever saw in your life when I tried to get her out of the mall without her carousel ride.

Then it happened:

Delaney screamed, at the top of her lungs, "Someone help me, please! I'm being kidnapped!!!"

The more I think about it, the more I think I should've just taken my chances with the hoosegow.


If you need a good laugh--and what kind of a freak are you if you don't--go to LOL.


And I lost 2 followers!!!  WTH?  Please click the "Follow" button on the top of the sidebar so I don't have to personally track down those two miscreants!  Seriously, I obsess over things like that.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

A Crazy Lady And A Baby

I guess it's because I'm infertile, but I get an extra strong tug at my heartstrings whenever I see a newborn.

I guess it's because I have a memory that the tug is a quick one.

My last baby was born when I was 35, and I certainly was not prepared for it, although I thought I was.  When I had my first child 11 years earlier, everything was breezy and blissful.  I didn't have an ache or pain, I only gained 12 pounds, and those first few weeks at home with her were exhilerating.

I figured things would be the same with the next baby.WRONG!!!

Every single thing was different with my last baby.  I swear, from the moment of conception, my back hurt, I puked in every toilet in town, my feet were swollen, I couldn't breathe, I got rashes on my neck and face, and I didn't sleep more than an hour total for nine months.

And I gained 55 pounds!!! 

And the hormones!  Oh, the hormones!  I went to Babies R Us to buy a carseat, whereupon I found out that they didn't sell carseats anymore.  They sold "travel systems" with the stroller and the carseat combined. WTH?

I bought the floor model because it was the only one not plaid and I hate plaid.  So I rolled it out to my car and the real fun started:  I had no idea how to get it into the car!!!

I pushed every button I could find to get the thing apart; I tried ripping it apart; and then I tried putting the whole, ginormous thing in my car just the way it was.  Nothing worked, so I did the only thing a 35 year-old, nine-months pregnant woman in this situation could do:

I threw my body up against my car and wailed.  Rather loudly, as I recall.

Finally, a young boy who worked for Babies R Us came up to me and said, "Ma'am, are you alright?"

You should've seen the look on this kid's face when I blathered through my tears, "No, I'm not alright!  Everyone was right when they said I was too old to have a baby!  I should have listened to them!  Everything is swollen, I'm gaining a pound a day and I can't get this damn thing into my car!"

I'm sure it was partially because he worked at the store and partially because he didn't want to see me kill myself right in front of him, but he took the "travel system" apart, folded it up, and put it in my car for me.  Bless his heart, whatever his motivation.

Then the baby came and the hormones really kicked in.

People, I never believed it before, but post-partum depression is real.  That shiznit will put you right out of your mind.   I didn't want to harm my children, but I told my doctor, "Listen, you have to put me on something or I AM TELLING YOU, either Danny or I will DIE!"  (Incidentally, while I was in the doctor's waiting room, I was bawling my eyes out at the soap opera I HAD NEVER SEEN BEFORE that was on his t.v.)

(I didn't pull the Marie Osmond and leave my kids and drive off to a hotel room in California, but I TOTALLY get that now!)

So, after a few weeks on Prozac, everything was fine again.

Now that I remember all that, I think my infertility is a good thing, because I don't think a strong enough drug has been made for me to have a baby in my 40's.