Embarrassing Memory Lane

The following entry was written especially for Mommybloggers.com when they so kindly asked to profile me a while back. I was reminded of it when Plain Jane Mom asked for people’s most embarrassing stories (go check out her contest) and I thought it might make a good re-post over here since I have been too busy (making up for doing absolutely nothing about the holidays for the better part of December) to tend to my poor neglected blog. As I write this she’s wearing a five day old post. That’s just sad. And so, because of my Lazy McSlackerass ways, I’m double-dipping and licking my fingers, just like that nasty Paula Deen on the Food Network.

Enjoy :)

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I was reading a post tonight that got me thinking about a really embarrassing moment that I experienced about 10 years ago. Of course it didn’t feel like a moment. It felt like an hour. An excruciating, in-slow-motion hour that still makes me cringe to this day.I cordially invite you to share in a little skate down embarrassing memory lane…

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The boyfriend I had before I married my husband was an ass. Why I stayed with him for four years is mostly a mystery to me. I mean I understood that he manipulated me and guilt-tripped me into staying so many times when I was already out the door. But I never understood how anyone, even a guilt-inducing master manipulator could convince me to stay in a relationship that had become so totally dysfunctional and unsatisfying…but he always did.

Until one day when I walked out and never came back. We never really settled anything or hashed anything out. It was just over. Like that. And within a couple weeks, he had another girl living with him. It was then that I realized it wasn’t me that he had needed all those years. It could have been anyone. He just needed a warm body nearby because he hated to be alone. And that made me really angry with him for wasting four years of my life. And my pride was a little bruised. But I swallowed all that and moved on with my new boyfriend/future husband (who I happened to have met from the ex…nyah nyah!)

Fast forward a couple years. The huz and I are happily married. We’re doing great. Except me, forever hallucinating that I was fat (HA! I was about 25 lbs lighter than I am now), decide I need to get more exercise and conclude that the rollerblading craze that was sweeping the nation was the perfect way to achieve this. I nag the huz until he gets himself a pair of rollerblades, too, so we can do it together.

It’s gonna be GREAT FUN! Never mind that we are NOT exercising-fresh air-rollerblading kind of people. We’re doing it anyway, dammit!

So one day, I suggest that we rollerblade to our friend’s apartment and stop for a visit. I put on a halter top and a pair of stretchy bike shorts (it’s reallllly hot out) and we proceed with the plan. We skate for a while and finally reach my friend’s apartment building but we don‘t see his car. He’s not home. Oh well…we turn around and start to go back the way we came.

As I’m crossing the road, I look to my right and I see it. The green VW bus that I knew so well is chugging down the street. It’s about a block away and coming right at me.

It’s HIM.

The ex.

I hustle to get out of the street, hoping against hope that we can get out of there without any interaction. I’m stiff yet spaghetti limbed and I feel like I’m in total slow motion. And before I can do anything to stop it, I wipe out RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! On my ass!

I look at him through the windshield and our eyes meet. I’m positive he recognizes me despite my braid and sunglasses. I turn away so I don’t have to see his reaction. I can’t bear it.

I make it to the side of the street, clomp up on the grass and skate away on the sidewalk as fast as I possibly can. I don’t wait for my husband. I don’t stop to inspect my numerous bleeding wounds, including some pretty bad road rash on my upper thigh right below my butt. I just want to disappear before I die of embarrassment.

Once we were out of sight, I asked my husband if he thought there was a chance he didn’t recognize us. Please say yes!

“Uh no…I’m pretty sure he did,” said the huz, just before he broke into gales of laughter while trying hard to bite his lip and look somber out of respect for my beaten and bludgeoned ego.

To this day, he is not allowed to speak of the incident under penalty of divorce.

I’m Sorry… Was I Boring You?

Last night, while flipping through catalogs trying to figure out what to do about Christmas gifts for the kids (haven’t done ANYTHING) I start getting upset (hello PMS) and talking to the Huz about all the guilt I’m feeling lately for not being Super Mom or even her distant cousin Mediocre Mom. I continue on, covering the following bulletpoints of guilt for:

• not doing the same things for my son that I did for my daughter.

• not being as motivated to get out with him and, you know, expand his horizons.

• not spending more one-on-one time with TQ.

• staying up too late, too often and then being so tired the next day that my primary and only goal for the day is to have a nap as soon as P goes down for his nap.

Yeah, I spilled my guts and told him about all the rationalizations I’ve been making and all the lazyass shortcuts I’ve been taking; all the ways in which I am sucking at my job as a stay-at-home mom lately, so forth and so on.

I finally take a breath after my self-inflicted diatribe of guilty confessions and criticism, I and look over at him for some sort of reaction and HE’S FUCKING ASLEEP!

But NOT deeply asleep, he insists, after I screech at him to wake up.

Says he heard MOST of what I said.

Oh, REALLY? Did you miss the part about my fatal disease? That I only have ten days to live? Hmmm? Yeah…that’ll learn ya!

Meh. He doesn’t care that I’m dying. He just tells me I’m being too tough on myself and that two kids are harder than one and you can’t do it all, all the time.

Well. He sure knocked the wind out my pissy missy sails, didn’t he? Who the hell does he think he is being all wise like that? Fucking Deepak Chopra? Hmmmph.

(Note to self: MUST REMEMBER to send address to Devra to claim my Mommy Guilt book)

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We’re giving away fabulous Method products over at Props and Pans! It’s super easy and someone has to win. Why not you?

Has a product disapppointed you? Had some lousy customer service? We want to hear all about it! We’re soliciting contributions from people who have product and/or service pans and want to share with the rest of us. Drop us an email for more info.

We Got Your Funny Right Here!

Cristina and I would like to congratulate all the winners of November’s ROFL Awards! Thanks for keeping us laughing :)

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I awarded Yvonne from Joy Unexpected for her post that took me straight back to high school and it must have been a really good one because The Journey also awarded Yvonne for the same post. Congrats, Yvonne! We always knew you were funny. Now it’s official!

Mommy off the Record awarded Steven Novak
Jack’s Raging Mommy awarded The Sarcastic Journalist
The Silent I awarded Metro Dad
Oh the Joys awarded Chucheria
Halushki awarded AlmostQuintessence
Red Stapler awarded Jonniker
Crankmama awarded One Weird Mother
Girl Plus Two awarded Oh the Joys
Island Life awarded Gone to Plaid
Girl Con Queso awarded Jenny from Mama Drama
Scribbit awarded Days to Come
Eva Las Vegas awarded Susie Sunshine
Much More than a Mom awarded A Simple Country Girl’s Dream
Momish awarded Jenny from Mama Drama
Radioactive Girl awarded Mothergoosemouse

The Little Queen’s English

When TQ was two and three and used to say “toten” for elephant, “fips” for crayons, “bembo” for elbow, and “mizry” for a cross or crucifix, it was both terribly cute, as well as mystifying. We had no idea where these came from or how they became a part of her personal verbal repertoire; especially “mizry” because we had no crosses in the house and had never discussed them with her.

I lament that TQ has, sadly, left her toddler language behind and has been saying the correct words for the aforementioned nouns for a few years now but every so often she’ll throw us a curve ball to keep us on our toes, lest we become too complacent with the status quo.

For example, last night at dinner, I learned a new word courtesy of TQ; one that I am certain I’ve not yet heard ’round these parts. We were sitting at the table eating when my husband animatedly exclaimed that something we were discussing was “bullshit!” And with that, TQ declared for all to hear that Daddy was a “bullshithead”

Yep. And after I got over my initial urge to laugh, followed by a conflicting feeling of obligation to be a “responsible parent” and show her the error of her ways, I pondered the word and decided I like it. It’s both versatile and direct. Allow me to demonstrate:

You, Mr. Federline, are a bullshithead!

No mincing of words there, eh? So yeah, while I’m not going to glorify TQ’s misdeed by telling her I like the word, I fully intend to keep it in my pocket to use as I see fit. Plus it’s fun to say!

Bullshithead! Bullshithead! Bullshithead! Bullshithead! Bullshithead! Weeeee!!!!

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An now, a few news blurbs you might be interested in…

Starting December 13th, I am participating in Her Bad Auction, an event to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association of Canada in the name of Tanner who is the nephew of our friend and fellow blogger Catherine Conner and is afflicted with this cruelly debilitating and life-shortening disease.

First let me explain that it’s not really an auction but rather a raffle where you buy tickets for drawings of prizes. Tickets are $1 and $5 depending on the prize and I urge you to go see what prizes are being offered because there are some fabulous things to be had at a bargain price. I have donated a banner and template design with a retail value of $90 so if you were in the market for a blog makeover, this is one way to do a good deed and possibly save some major cashola on a fresh new look for the old blog. Go check it out!

WTF Wednesday 1.2

One never knows what will turn up here on WTF Wednesdays and this week is no different! My first find is someting no fan should be without… The Celebrity Buttplug! Yes, they really exist. No, I’m not kidding. They have these mildy amusing names like Parass Hilton and George Dubya Tush but frankly, they don’t look very comfortable. I guess sitting on the President’s head is an acquired taste…

Now, I’m not making fun of the ‘roids because seriously, I’ve never quite recovered from the ones I got giving birth but this stuff is just too damn funny. Hemo Roll is toilet paper for hemhorroids, whether you have them or “as a preventive measure.” Huh? You can prevent the ‘roids by using a special toilet paper? Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me this 18 months ago????

In any case, your guests will no doubt be thanking you profusely for stocking your powder room with this stuff. And guys? I can assure you the ladies will be swooning when they see that you care enough to buy them Hemo Roll, with an “herb micro-layer of an extract from oak bark, marigold and common yarrow, with easeful effects on rectum”. Mmmmhmm.

And that concludes your WTF Wednesday update. But do you remember when I mentioned going out for drinks the other night with Sarah, Wendy, Bridgette and Becky?

Here are a few pix of the blessed event:

No, I cannot keep my tongue in my mouth.
If you went to BlogHer ‘06, you may already know this :)