Summertime is officially here! Wa-HOOO! No more pencils, no more books and no more HOMEWORK to deal with. Ahhh yes - summer has begun and Busy Momma is very happy! And with summer comes the last few episodes of my FAVORITE trashy tv show - The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Has anyone else been watching this season? It has been an eye-opener.
So, if you know me, you know that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Theresa Guidice. Theresa is the over-the-top housewife who famously flipped the table at the end of the first season. She is loud, brash, tacky and has a set of ca-hones on her that would rival ...well.....anyone's! She and her husband Joe spent the entire first season of the show spending ooo-gobs of money on their new palatial home. This house has more marble and crystal and other expensive touches than the Vatican. It's just like Theresa - 100% Italian, beautiful and completely over-the-top. And unfortunately, it is also a home that the Guidice family could not afford. Hence their legal and finacial troubles that have been splashed all over every newspaper on the East Coast. Theresa and Joe had to declare bankruptcy, there was talk of Joe serving a prison sentence and there were reports of an incredible auction where all of Theresa's finery would be available to the highest bidder.
This season, we see a very different Theresa and Joe. Gone are the shopping sprees, lavish parties and the wads of cash. Theresa is bringing home the bacon, writing cookbooks, making appearances and sitting at book signings. And Joe? Well, sadly, Joe is flipping pizzas at a local pizza place to make ends meet. And while, I'm sure, many people are LOVING watching how the mighty have fallen - it just makes me really sad.
I'm not sad that they had to declare bankruptcy - they made mistakes and now they are paying for them. What makes me sad is how Theresa is dealing with her troubles...or more to the point - NOT dealing with them. She seems to be in complete denial about her current reality. Her MO seems to be Deny, Deny, Deny. No - there is NO auction...No we are NOT in foreclosure...No No No...nothing to see here... Meanwhile, every newspaper seems to tell quite a different story.
And then there is the family fued she is having with her crazy brother Joe. Is it me, or is Joe's wife Melissa enjoying Theresa's money troubles a bit too much? She seems to glean pure joy out of talking about Theresa's downfall and her money woes. I understand that there are two sides to every story, and I'm sure Theresa has not been polishing her halo for the past several years...but isn't this a time when your family should gather around you and HELP you? I mean, OK - Theresa DID throw Melissa's store-bought sprinkle cookies in the garbage can...not classy. However - Joe and Melissa seem to be enjoying watching Theresa and Joe suffer. And that is just heartbreaking to watch.
I don't know why I love Theresa as much as I do. Maybe it's the passion she has for her family, her babies, her husband and her friends. Maybe Theresa is representative of the inner Jersey Girl that STILL lives deep inside of me...the girl who longs to be Bling-ier and Show-ier. Maybe it's because she makes up words like Bubbies, Sang-which or my personal favorite: Cleanse-ey. Or maybe it's because she has the balls to say what she says and flip tables. Who knows...all I know is that my Sunday evenings are much more interesting when I'm watching Theresa and her crew!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
So...How ARE you doing?
So, I'm not linking this post to FB, because once again, it's just not a typical happy-go-lucky Busy Momma. So - if you're not up for a bit of a downer...STOP READING NOW. Go and watch Glee or something... But I have found that writing about my grief is the only cathartic way for me to move through it - so here it is.
So, there is a monster living under my bed. A real monster, with huge pointy teeth and razor sharp claws and he likes to come out at night when everyone else is sleeping. He is different than your average monster in that he also likes to stage sneak attacks in the middle of the day - where everyone and anyone can see him! He has no shame. And his name is grief. I like to call him the Grief Monster. And he is one ugly sonofabitch. He's not cute like Elmo. He's demented. He's like Elmo the crack-whore.
Even though it's been four months and 6 days, he has still NOT left my house, although he has quieted down a bit. But he's a foxy little bastard. Right when he's nice and quiet and tamed and you think he is sleeping soundly in the little box that you have crafted out of tears, and bits and pieces of your heart - he roars back to life with a bellow that is so powerful, it just knocks the wind right out of your sails.
I was doing well - really, really well. I was having good days, great days and even ok days that were pretty close to good. Days without tears. And then those days turned into WEEKS without tears - hurrah!!! I was even able to walk right past baby stores where the windows were filled with baby things without crying. HUGE victory over the grief monster - HUGE. I was able to look at babies - especially baby boys without feeling a piece of me dying inside. And then one day - whappo. The Grief Monster decided to wake up and come to life and attack. And unfortunately, I was caught in traffic in the middle of the Harbor Tunnel when he made his move.
I don't know what prompted it, honestly I don't. I don't listen to sad songs, I don't listen to sad stories on the radio and I avoid any and all Oprah-type books on tape these days. So, I definitely take my preventive measures to ward him off. Just like someone tries to ward off a vampire with garlic - I tried to ward off the Grief Monster by listening to Tina Fey or Betthany Frankle's new books on CD. And it really was working beautifully. But as my due date steadily approached, the grief monster just got more and more powerful. It was like the more I did to push him away and block the doors and black out the windows, the more powerful he became. It was almost like he was feeding off of my frantic attempts to keep him at bay. And damn if he didn't catch me. In the tunnel, at rush hour, of all places.
I just started to cry. The reality of how different my life would be if the word "triploidy" had never been introduced into our vocabulary struck me. I wouldn't have been sitting in traffic at that moment. I would have been home, probably stressing about every kick and pain and ache and wondering if labor was starting, wondering if this time would be quicker, slower, more or less stressful. But instead, I was in the car, stuck in traffic, crying the ugly cry for all the world to see. And I couldn't stop. I just cried and cried and cried.
And I kept crying. And the dreaded due date arrived. And I kept telling myself that like everything that had happened so far, the reality wouldn't be half as bad as the anticipation of it happening. And in this case - I was wrong. It was worse than I imagined. I cried all day. It was a beautiful, beautiful day. Big, puffy white clouds in a beautiful blue sky. It would have been such a beautiful day to be born. When I was working as a doula, when I would meet my clients at the hospital - I would always greet them with "Today is a BEAUTIFUL day to be born!" And May 9th was a truly beautiful day. But instead of sitting in the hospital and pushing, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10...and relax and again 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,910...and relax....I sat at the cemetary. PC sat at my side, just as he would have sat at my side in labor and delivery. The problem being, in L&D they literally deliver you from the pain. Except when your baby dies. Then, they deliver the pain...and it doesn't go away. And there is no one at the cemetary to sit there and count you through the steps to escape the pain. There is no death doula.
Thankfully, the next day dawned. We made it through the terrible dreaded day. We all had our moments. Bella was hyper-aware of the day - but she was a real trooper. She made it through the whole day at school and then lost it when she got home. Jack was typical Jack - he told us that he was sad about Aiden dying and that he wanted him back. He cried a bit and then went outside to play. I was struck, once again, by how resilient kids are and how fortunate we are to have our two living kids to come home to. My heart breaks for parents who go through what we went through and are forced to come home to an empty house.
And as the day fades, mercifully away, the grief monster still haunts me. I'm perplexed by this. He went to sleep for a while, and now he is different. He snoozes, sometimes sleeps through the night, but he's always there. It's like when the dog is alseep in your room - he's asleep, but he snores, so you are always aware of his presence. I can't ignore him - no matter how much I try. I'm beginning to think of him as a giant tatoo over my heart that I can hide under my shirt for only so long - but then he comes to life and I have no control over him. He's pretty well behaved in front of others. He really is. I am actually able to have socially appropriate conversations with others about babies, and pregnancies and expected grand babies. I really am. If you just met me, you'd never know. And I consider that a victory. But at night, when everyone is asleep, I think about how old he would be...a month old tomorrow. I wonder if he's be sleeping through the night at this point like his sister was, or if he'd be more like his brother and be awake a few times per night. I wonder if breastfeeding would have been more successful this time, I wonder what his little baby feet would look like, what he would look like, what his cry would sound like. I wonder if he's be laughing yet. And then I force myself to stop. Because it makes me so sad.
I ran into someone I went to college with today and she asked me how many kids I had. And I paused because I didn't know what to say. I said "two". And I'm beating myself up about it. Because I had three children. I gave birth to three children, but only 2 survived. But you can't say that. It's uncomfortable and impolite. Saying that would make the other person uncomfortable. As Xena often says - "No one wants to hang with Debbie Downer all of the time". And she is right. She used to say that about herself and her situation - and I would always tell her how ridiculous she was for saying that. But she is right. So - if someone asks me how I am - I say "great" or "doing fine" or "hanging in". And many, many days I am. And then there are other days that I'm just "hanging on". There are still days that the sight of a new baby in a baby bucket makes me feel like my eyeballs are on fire. Catching a glimpse of those fat baby legs and chubby baby toes hanging out of that stupid Graco infant carrier kills me. And don't get me started talking about babies in baby Bjorn carriers and Piggysaks. Because that's where my baby would be for 90% of his waking hours.
But, it's no use thinking about that. It doesn't help me, it just mires me in this place. This place of being fine on the outside and still plastering over and repairing all of the cracks on the inside. There is one positive thing that has come out of this whole mess...this "ordeal" as Bella so elegantly calls it. And it is this: Now, I say what I mean and I mean what I say.
What is that all about? Well here it is: I told someone off recently. Someone who has been in desperate need of a good "Come to Jesus", if you will, for YEARS. Someone who was beyond deserving of hearing how his or her actions have affected my family for YEARS. And someone close to this person had the sheer and utter audacity to blame my words on my "grief". And suggested that I needed to "get help" and also not so subtely suggested that I was, in fact, not REALLY a "grieving mother".
Oh yes, the bitch went there.
Well Peeps, here's the 411. The Busy Momma who is slowly emerging from this shroud of grief is not, in fact, a kinder, gentler lady. I am no longer the girl and/ or woman who longed to be "liked" and to "fit in" and to be "accepted" by you and yours. I no longer CARE if you like me, love me, accept me or if I fit in with your gang. I know who I am, I know that I am a hell of a lot stronger and tougher than I ever thought that I was. And even though I might still cry in the car, race past the baby aisles in Target, walk 2 miles out of my way to avoid a mommy with a newbie in a stroller, I am OK. Meaning this: if I tell you something - especially if I actually have the audacity to say "Hey, what you just did or said wasn't cool and it hurt me/my kids/PC" it's probably NOT the Grief Monster talking. It's ME talking. It's ME not taking BULLSHIT from anyone any more. Shocking, huh? See while the Grief Monster can and does kick my ass on a regular basis, he doesn't speak for me anymore. My filter is back. I take 100% responsibility for my words and my actions. If I tell you off, call you a Jackhole or a douchebag - It's ME talking. If I call you a Jackhole - it's because you, indeed, ARE a Jackhole. It's not that I'm beside myself with grief and sorrow. Sorry to break it to you.
And to the person who implied that somehow I am not really a grieving mother: There is no word in the English language to describe what you are. Jackhole and douchebag are way too kind. I can only imagine that you feel that I don't deserve to sit in the same pew as other women who have lost children because my child died in utero? That somehow, because he was not yet born that he was somehow "less than" your children? Yes, you are correct, he was stillborn...but he was still born. It doesn't matter that my beautiful boy wasn't even a pound or that his footprints were as big as the first joint on my thumb...exactly. He was my baby - our baby. A baby that we had hopes and dreams and big plans for. He was wanted and loved and cherished. He was read to and sung to and talked to every day. And then he died. And yes, I am incredibly sad about that. But I am not out of my mind. I am perfectly able to function in society. I've just decided that the bullshit I've turned a blind eye to for years is, in fact unacceptable in the new world I inhabit. And I told you. You didn't like it. That's cool. But getting back at me by blaming my "grief" - a grief that you could not possibly ever understand - was a low, low blow. Even for you. And I always expected low from you...but this is a new, reptilian level of low.
So, there is a monster living under my bed. A real monster, with huge pointy teeth and razor sharp claws and he likes to come out at night when everyone else is sleeping. He is different than your average monster in that he also likes to stage sneak attacks in the middle of the day - where everyone and anyone can see him! He has no shame. And his name is grief. I like to call him the Grief Monster. And he is one ugly sonofabitch. He's not cute like Elmo. He's demented. He's like Elmo the crack-whore.
Even though it's been four months and 6 days, he has still NOT left my house, although he has quieted down a bit. But he's a foxy little bastard. Right when he's nice and quiet and tamed and you think he is sleeping soundly in the little box that you have crafted out of tears, and bits and pieces of your heart - he roars back to life with a bellow that is so powerful, it just knocks the wind right out of your sails.
I was doing well - really, really well. I was having good days, great days and even ok days that were pretty close to good. Days without tears. And then those days turned into WEEKS without tears - hurrah!!! I was even able to walk right past baby stores where the windows were filled with baby things without crying. HUGE victory over the grief monster - HUGE. I was able to look at babies - especially baby boys without feeling a piece of me dying inside. And then one day - whappo. The Grief Monster decided to wake up and come to life and attack. And unfortunately, I was caught in traffic in the middle of the Harbor Tunnel when he made his move.
I don't know what prompted it, honestly I don't. I don't listen to sad songs, I don't listen to sad stories on the radio and I avoid any and all Oprah-type books on tape these days. So, I definitely take my preventive measures to ward him off. Just like someone tries to ward off a vampire with garlic - I tried to ward off the Grief Monster by listening to Tina Fey or Betthany Frankle's new books on CD. And it really was working beautifully. But as my due date steadily approached, the grief monster just got more and more powerful. It was like the more I did to push him away and block the doors and black out the windows, the more powerful he became. It was almost like he was feeding off of my frantic attempts to keep him at bay. And damn if he didn't catch me. In the tunnel, at rush hour, of all places.
I just started to cry. The reality of how different my life would be if the word "triploidy" had never been introduced into our vocabulary struck me. I wouldn't have been sitting in traffic at that moment. I would have been home, probably stressing about every kick and pain and ache and wondering if labor was starting, wondering if this time would be quicker, slower, more or less stressful. But instead, I was in the car, stuck in traffic, crying the ugly cry for all the world to see. And I couldn't stop. I just cried and cried and cried.
And I kept crying. And the dreaded due date arrived. And I kept telling myself that like everything that had happened so far, the reality wouldn't be half as bad as the anticipation of it happening. And in this case - I was wrong. It was worse than I imagined. I cried all day. It was a beautiful, beautiful day. Big, puffy white clouds in a beautiful blue sky. It would have been such a beautiful day to be born. When I was working as a doula, when I would meet my clients at the hospital - I would always greet them with "Today is a BEAUTIFUL day to be born!" And May 9th was a truly beautiful day. But instead of sitting in the hospital and pushing, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10...and relax and again 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,910...and relax....I sat at the cemetary. PC sat at my side, just as he would have sat at my side in labor and delivery. The problem being, in L&D they literally deliver you from the pain. Except when your baby dies. Then, they deliver the pain...and it doesn't go away. And there is no one at the cemetary to sit there and count you through the steps to escape the pain. There is no death doula.
Thankfully, the next day dawned. We made it through the terrible dreaded day. We all had our moments. Bella was hyper-aware of the day - but she was a real trooper. She made it through the whole day at school and then lost it when she got home. Jack was typical Jack - he told us that he was sad about Aiden dying and that he wanted him back. He cried a bit and then went outside to play. I was struck, once again, by how resilient kids are and how fortunate we are to have our two living kids to come home to. My heart breaks for parents who go through what we went through and are forced to come home to an empty house.
And as the day fades, mercifully away, the grief monster still haunts me. I'm perplexed by this. He went to sleep for a while, and now he is different. He snoozes, sometimes sleeps through the night, but he's always there. It's like when the dog is alseep in your room - he's asleep, but he snores, so you are always aware of his presence. I can't ignore him - no matter how much I try. I'm beginning to think of him as a giant tatoo over my heart that I can hide under my shirt for only so long - but then he comes to life and I have no control over him. He's pretty well behaved in front of others. He really is. I am actually able to have socially appropriate conversations with others about babies, and pregnancies and expected grand babies. I really am. If you just met me, you'd never know. And I consider that a victory. But at night, when everyone is asleep, I think about how old he would be...a month old tomorrow. I wonder if he's be sleeping through the night at this point like his sister was, or if he'd be more like his brother and be awake a few times per night. I wonder if breastfeeding would have been more successful this time, I wonder what his little baby feet would look like, what he would look like, what his cry would sound like. I wonder if he's be laughing yet. And then I force myself to stop. Because it makes me so sad.
I ran into someone I went to college with today and she asked me how many kids I had. And I paused because I didn't know what to say. I said "two". And I'm beating myself up about it. Because I had three children. I gave birth to three children, but only 2 survived. But you can't say that. It's uncomfortable and impolite. Saying that would make the other person uncomfortable. As Xena often says - "No one wants to hang with Debbie Downer all of the time". And she is right. She used to say that about herself and her situation - and I would always tell her how ridiculous she was for saying that. But she is right. So - if someone asks me how I am - I say "great" or "doing fine" or "hanging in". And many, many days I am. And then there are other days that I'm just "hanging on". There are still days that the sight of a new baby in a baby bucket makes me feel like my eyeballs are on fire. Catching a glimpse of those fat baby legs and chubby baby toes hanging out of that stupid Graco infant carrier kills me. And don't get me started talking about babies in baby Bjorn carriers and Piggysaks. Because that's where my baby would be for 90% of his waking hours.
But, it's no use thinking about that. It doesn't help me, it just mires me in this place. This place of being fine on the outside and still plastering over and repairing all of the cracks on the inside. There is one positive thing that has come out of this whole mess...this "ordeal" as Bella so elegantly calls it. And it is this: Now, I say what I mean and I mean what I say.
What is that all about? Well here it is: I told someone off recently. Someone who has been in desperate need of a good "Come to Jesus", if you will, for YEARS. Someone who was beyond deserving of hearing how his or her actions have affected my family for YEARS. And someone close to this person had the sheer and utter audacity to blame my words on my "grief". And suggested that I needed to "get help" and also not so subtely suggested that I was, in fact, not REALLY a "grieving mother".
Oh yes, the bitch went there.
Well Peeps, here's the 411. The Busy Momma who is slowly emerging from this shroud of grief is not, in fact, a kinder, gentler lady. I am no longer the girl and/ or woman who longed to be "liked" and to "fit in" and to be "accepted" by you and yours. I no longer CARE if you like me, love me, accept me or if I fit in with your gang. I know who I am, I know that I am a hell of a lot stronger and tougher than I ever thought that I was. And even though I might still cry in the car, race past the baby aisles in Target, walk 2 miles out of my way to avoid a mommy with a newbie in a stroller, I am OK. Meaning this: if I tell you something - especially if I actually have the audacity to say "Hey, what you just did or said wasn't cool and it hurt me/my kids/PC" it's probably NOT the Grief Monster talking. It's ME talking. It's ME not taking BULLSHIT from anyone any more. Shocking, huh? See while the Grief Monster can and does kick my ass on a regular basis, he doesn't speak for me anymore. My filter is back. I take 100% responsibility for my words and my actions. If I tell you off, call you a Jackhole or a douchebag - It's ME talking. If I call you a Jackhole - it's because you, indeed, ARE a Jackhole. It's not that I'm beside myself with grief and sorrow. Sorry to break it to you.
And to the person who implied that somehow I am not really a grieving mother: There is no word in the English language to describe what you are. Jackhole and douchebag are way too kind. I can only imagine that you feel that I don't deserve to sit in the same pew as other women who have lost children because my child died in utero? That somehow, because he was not yet born that he was somehow "less than" your children? Yes, you are correct, he was stillborn...but he was still born. It doesn't matter that my beautiful boy wasn't even a pound or that his footprints were as big as the first joint on my thumb...exactly. He was my baby - our baby. A baby that we had hopes and dreams and big plans for. He was wanted and loved and cherished. He was read to and sung to and talked to every day. And then he died. And yes, I am incredibly sad about that. But I am not out of my mind. I am perfectly able to function in society. I've just decided that the bullshit I've turned a blind eye to for years is, in fact unacceptable in the new world I inhabit. And I told you. You didn't like it. That's cool. But getting back at me by blaming my "grief" - a grief that you could not possibly ever understand - was a low, low blow. Even for you. And I always expected low from you...but this is a new, reptilian level of low.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
My Prayer to God re: Sarah Palin
Dear Lord:
It's me - Busy Momma. Well butter your buns and call you a biscut - I'm back. Now look - You and I have to chat. We haven't exactly been on speaking terms since December 30th. You know why. You really screwed me over - in a big way. I'm working thru that, but to be honest...I need a few laughs.
Not that Bella and Jack don't provide daily laughs - they do. PC and I especially enjoyed Bella's demented, tearful rant the other night about how her face looks exactly like the face of an antelope. That was pretty funny. Demented - but funny. (And by the way - if you can wipe the idea that she has the face of an antelope and/or deer out of her mind - we'd appreciate it. Just augment her memory of the event - the way Hermione wipes all memories of her from her parents' minds by saying the spell "obliterate". )
That being said - I need bigger laughs. Now, I thought you were providing a little bit of sunshine when Donald Trump announced that he was considering a presidential run and immediately went ape-shit and started in on Barak's birth certificate. But, then all of my hopes were dashed when he announced that he was, in fact, not running.
Now, we have her highness, the Queen of the Gaffe, Sarah " If I only had a Brain" Palin "considering" a run for office. And now You and I have to have a "Come to Jesus'".
(Pardon the phrase)
Listen up, Big Guy - you OWE me this one - OK? I know it seems pretty ballsy of me to be telling you what you owe me. I get it. But, again - hate to bring this up - you did really screw me over back in December. I mean, I was going about my business and whap-o you changed the whole game on me amd mine. So the way I see it - you owe me one.
I want...no - I NEED her to run. I NEED to tune in to the evening news and laugh until I need Poise Pads as she says something OUTRAGEOUSLY stupid. I need her to continue to talk about American heroes like Paul Revere who - according to Palin "warned the BRITISH"... that we were gonna be keepin' our freedom and arms. Warned the British - that's the type of stuff that I need. I NEED to laugh hysterically as Sookie has mini strokes over the thought that this lobotomized idiot MIGHT be president. I NEED to listen to Her Awesomeness RANT AND RAVE over this woman...I NEED it like I need oxygen right now.
So here is what I am asking: inspire her to announce her candidacy...but in a BRILLIANT fashion. Perhaps she could announce on Thanksgiving, while on a family vacation to Plymouth, MA. And maybe, just maybe she could have Piper and Tripp dressed as little Indians - complete with little tomahawks. And maybe, just maybe she could say something like "I announce my candidacy here, on Plymouth Rock, where Christopher Columbus landed long ago and discovered America and made life better for all Native Americans. "
Or
Maybe she could announce at Pearl Harbor, on Dec. 7th, 2011 and say something like: " I stand here before you on this day - a very special day in the history of America - the anniversary of the day that great Americans discovered the pearl and named this beautiful body of water after it to announce my candidacy."
Or
Let's say - for shits and giggles, inspire her to announce at sunrise over the Grand Canyon with something akin to: "I stand here before you, awe-struck by the ingenuity of my fellow Americans as we watch the sun rise over this big canyon that good, honest, hard working Americans - like you and me- dug out of these here rocks behind me to announce my candidacy."
It's me - Busy Momma. Well butter your buns and call you a biscut - I'm back. Now look - You and I have to chat. We haven't exactly been on speaking terms since December 30th. You know why. You really screwed me over - in a big way. I'm working thru that, but to be honest...I need a few laughs.
Not that Bella and Jack don't provide daily laughs - they do. PC and I especially enjoyed Bella's demented, tearful rant the other night about how her face looks exactly like the face of an antelope. That was pretty funny. Demented - but funny. (And by the way - if you can wipe the idea that she has the face of an antelope and/or deer out of her mind - we'd appreciate it. Just augment her memory of the event - the way Hermione wipes all memories of her from her parents' minds by saying the spell "obliterate". )
That being said - I need bigger laughs. Now, I thought you were providing a little bit of sunshine when Donald Trump announced that he was considering a presidential run and immediately went ape-shit and started in on Barak's birth certificate. But, then all of my hopes were dashed when he announced that he was, in fact, not running.
Now, we have her highness, the Queen of the Gaffe, Sarah " If I only had a Brain" Palin "considering" a run for office. And now You and I have to have a "Come to Jesus'".
(Pardon the phrase)
Listen up, Big Guy - you OWE me this one - OK? I know it seems pretty ballsy of me to be telling you what you owe me. I get it. But, again - hate to bring this up - you did really screw me over back in December. I mean, I was going about my business and whap-o you changed the whole game on me amd mine. So the way I see it - you owe me one.
I want...no - I NEED her to run. I NEED to tune in to the evening news and laugh until I need Poise Pads as she says something OUTRAGEOUSLY stupid. I need her to continue to talk about American heroes like Paul Revere who - according to Palin "warned the BRITISH"... that we were gonna be keepin' our freedom and arms. Warned the British - that's the type of stuff that I need. I NEED to laugh hysterically as Sookie has mini strokes over the thought that this lobotomized idiot MIGHT be president. I NEED to listen to Her Awesomeness RANT AND RAVE over this woman...I NEED it like I need oxygen right now.
So here is what I am asking: inspire her to announce her candidacy...but in a BRILLIANT fashion. Perhaps she could announce on Thanksgiving, while on a family vacation to Plymouth, MA. And maybe, just maybe she could have Piper and Tripp dressed as little Indians - complete with little tomahawks. And maybe, just maybe she could say something like "I announce my candidacy here, on Plymouth Rock, where Christopher Columbus landed long ago and discovered America and made life better for all Native Americans. "
Or
Maybe she could announce at Pearl Harbor, on Dec. 7th, 2011 and say something like: " I stand here before you on this day - a very special day in the history of America - the anniversary of the day that great Americans discovered the pearl and named this beautiful body of water after it to announce my candidacy."
Or
Let's say - for shits and giggles, inspire her to announce at sunrise over the Grand Canyon with something akin to: "I stand here before you, awe-struck by the ingenuity of my fellow Americans as we watch the sun rise over this big canyon that good, honest, hard working Americans - like you and me- dug out of these here rocks behind me to announce my candidacy."
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Reflections on the Recent Visit to The House of Mouse
Hey Peeps - well, I guess we all survived the Rapture. Damn it - I was really hoping to score big in the "Post-Rapture" looting too. Oh well - I guess we will all have to wait until October.
Ok - so as many of you know, Busy Momma and her crew just returned from the "Happiest Place on Earth" - aka Walt Disney World. And our trip was SPECTACULAR!!! We had a WONDERFUL time. And although PC and I returned quite exhausted -and in need of a vacation from our vacation - all in all it was just what the doctor ordered for our little family. We were able to do all of the "big kid stuff" that we couldn't do last time - The Tower of Terror, The Rockin Roller Coaster, Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, Mission Space...and all of the other vomit-inducing attractions that we all find thrilling. We saw the Hoop-De-Doo Revue at Fort Wilderness, The Spirit of Hawaii Luau at The Polynesian, we actually saw the fireworks at every park, swam at the hotel when the parks shut down - fun was had by all.
And because the kids are older and were able to entertain and take care of themselves - PC and I were able to notice different things on this trip. Things that never registered when the kids were little. On our first trip to the House of Mouse we were so focused on getting the stroller on and off the bus and not loosing either kid, that we really didn't pay attention to anything happening around us. But this time, we did...and we made some very interesting observations.
First of all, we noticed that Disney visitors, by and large fall into one of four categories:
1. Dapper Dan and family: Dapper Dan is married to Preppy Polly. These people arrive at the park dressed to the nines. He is wearing a polo shirt, either with a Brooks Brothers logo, or a polo pony on the front. He is also wearing either madras plaid shorts, dark pink , navy blue or light green shorts. His hair is what PC would call "Movie Star Hair" - lush, well cut and just beautiful.He covers said movie star hair with a baseball cap or sun visor that tastefully advertises a country club or a golf course. His wife, Preppy Polly is dressed as if she is going golfing herself.She might be wearing a sundress and she will NOT be wearing protective spanx underneath so that her inner thighs don't rub together...because- the bitch's thighs don't EVER rub together. 'Nuff said. Their children are what I like to call "Bow Heads". They either have 2 perfect little girls in hand-smocked, matching outfits and these tow-headed angels are sporting BIG matching bows in their PERFECTLY coiffed and cut hair. OR - should they have spawned a boy - he is a miniature version of his Dad. These people would NEVER allow their kids to wear Phineas and Ferb Tee shirts, their kids NEVER spill ice cream or pizza sauce on their clothes and they NEVER, EVER misbehave in public. We HATE these people.
2. Whole Hog Hanna and family: It is VERY easy to spot Whole Hog Hanna. She is accompanied by the little girl in full Disney Princess regalia, FULL makeup, hair, manicured nails AND this little girl is wearing a sash - Miss America style - that says "Bippitty Bopiddy Boutique". Now, what seperates Whole Hog Hanna from your average bear - you know, the mom who wanted her kid to have a FUN experience is this: Whole Hog Hanna FORCES her child to walk around ALL DAY in 90 degree Florida heat, in the itchy princess dress and full make up. She then YELLS and SCREAMS at her "little princess" when the child collapses in a heat-stroke induced temper tantrum.
3. Patty Planner and family: (OK - in the interest of full disclosure - I am a Patty Planner) Patty Planner is the mom who read and researched EVERY POSSIBLE fun fact about Disney for MONTHS before her trip. She has MULTIPLE dinner reservations made for each night, has MULTIPLE schedules mapped out for each day and has planned for every possible contingency known to man and beast. She knows which attraction to hit first at each park, she knows when to fast pass which rides, she even knows that Tom Sawyer leaves a certain number of paint brushes on Tom Sawyer Island AND if you are there early enough to FIND one of these paint brushes and turn it into a cast member - you will receive a fast pass for one of the attractions in Adventure Land. (Oh yes - I am THAT good y'all.) Her children call her backpack a "Magic Carpetbag" because it contains a first aid kit, maps of each park, rain slickers for each member of the family, extra socks, an umbrella, blister stick, anti bacterial wipes, sunscreen, lip balm, bug spray, Pepto, Immodium, Advil AND an extra tee shirt incase of unattractive spills.
4. Kenny the Cop and crew: (First of all - Kenny the cop is interchangeable with Frank the Firefighter.) Kenny is also VERY easy to spot. Kenny is always wearing a tee shirt that proudly displays his profession - it might have his division or unit number, firehouse number - something that says loud and proud: "I am a cop/firefighter". Oh - and Kenny is ALWAYS from New York or North Jersey. Kenny is also always pushing a stroller and wrangling a gaggle of kids. Kenny is the NICEST guy you'd EVER want to meet. He will strike up a conversation with you as you both are waiting in line at the Buzz Lightyear Mega Spinny Ridiculously Long Lined attraction. He will give you tips on how to get really wet on the rapids ride at Animal Kingdom, or when the best time to ride the Yetti ride might be. He has all of the inside info on where the best place is to sit on the parade route or where the fireworks are best viewed. His kids are always carrying some sort of weapon - a sword, a light saber - and it always lights up or flashes. (No kidding - this fact is true about 98% of the time.) In short, PC and I hope to ride the monorail with Kenny and crew because we know: a. we will be safe and b. we will probably have a nice conversation with a cool guy.
Here is the other thing we REALLY noticed this time around: Disney World is one hell of a well run machine. Not that that fact is earth-shattering - but Holy Heck. That place is SO well run - we were SHOCKED to hear a semi-cranky word from a cast member on the last day of our visit. And I mean SHOCKED - like mouths open, eyes wide because someone said "Excuse me but I'm talking here" because everyone in the room was YELLING while this guy was trying to explain where we were all to go and what we were to do in a moment or so. By our reaction - you would have thought that this guy had just recited a Chris Rock monlogue at a preschool graduation.
We NEVER saw a piece of litter - ANYWHERE - ever. Every "cast member" was smiling - all of the time. Every request was granted. I think if I walked into the lobby at 2am and asked for a porcupine on a stick, dipped in gold and covered in rainbow sprinkles, someone at The Wilderness Lodge would have found it, wrapped it in Mickey Mouse tissue paper and delivered it to my room on a silver platter. And then apologized for not having it sooner for me. No kidding. I have NEVER, EVER felt like I got what I paid for on any other vacation. This time I did - I really did.
So - here is my goal...I'd really like my LIFE to run like a Disney vacation. No stress, every wish granted, no request too big, too complicated...all in all I'd like to LIVE in "The Happiest Place on Earth."
Then again...I guess if EVERY day was like that we would never appreciate the REAL Magic of Disney - would we?
Ok - so as many of you know, Busy Momma and her crew just returned from the "Happiest Place on Earth" - aka Walt Disney World. And our trip was SPECTACULAR!!! We had a WONDERFUL time. And although PC and I returned quite exhausted -and in need of a vacation from our vacation - all in all it was just what the doctor ordered for our little family. We were able to do all of the "big kid stuff" that we couldn't do last time - The Tower of Terror, The Rockin Roller Coaster, Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, Mission Space...and all of the other vomit-inducing attractions that we all find thrilling. We saw the Hoop-De-Doo Revue at Fort Wilderness, The Spirit of Hawaii Luau at The Polynesian, we actually saw the fireworks at every park, swam at the hotel when the parks shut down - fun was had by all.
And because the kids are older and were able to entertain and take care of themselves - PC and I were able to notice different things on this trip. Things that never registered when the kids were little. On our first trip to the House of Mouse we were so focused on getting the stroller on and off the bus and not loosing either kid, that we really didn't pay attention to anything happening around us. But this time, we did...and we made some very interesting observations.
First of all, we noticed that Disney visitors, by and large fall into one of four categories:
1. Dapper Dan and family: Dapper Dan is married to Preppy Polly. These people arrive at the park dressed to the nines. He is wearing a polo shirt, either with a Brooks Brothers logo, or a polo pony on the front. He is also wearing either madras plaid shorts, dark pink , navy blue or light green shorts. His hair is what PC would call "Movie Star Hair" - lush, well cut and just beautiful.He covers said movie star hair with a baseball cap or sun visor that tastefully advertises a country club or a golf course. His wife, Preppy Polly is dressed as if she is going golfing herself.She might be wearing a sundress and she will NOT be wearing protective spanx underneath so that her inner thighs don't rub together...because- the bitch's thighs don't EVER rub together. 'Nuff said. Their children are what I like to call "Bow Heads". They either have 2 perfect little girls in hand-smocked, matching outfits and these tow-headed angels are sporting BIG matching bows in their PERFECTLY coiffed and cut hair. OR - should they have spawned a boy - he is a miniature version of his Dad. These people would NEVER allow their kids to wear Phineas and Ferb Tee shirts, their kids NEVER spill ice cream or pizza sauce on their clothes and they NEVER, EVER misbehave in public. We HATE these people.
2. Whole Hog Hanna and family: It is VERY easy to spot Whole Hog Hanna. She is accompanied by the little girl in full Disney Princess regalia, FULL makeup, hair, manicured nails AND this little girl is wearing a sash - Miss America style - that says "Bippitty Bopiddy Boutique". Now, what seperates Whole Hog Hanna from your average bear - you know, the mom who wanted her kid to have a FUN experience is this: Whole Hog Hanna FORCES her child to walk around ALL DAY in 90 degree Florida heat, in the itchy princess dress and full make up. She then YELLS and SCREAMS at her "little princess" when the child collapses in a heat-stroke induced temper tantrum.
3. Patty Planner and family: (OK - in the interest of full disclosure - I am a Patty Planner) Patty Planner is the mom who read and researched EVERY POSSIBLE fun fact about Disney for MONTHS before her trip. She has MULTIPLE dinner reservations made for each night, has MULTIPLE schedules mapped out for each day and has planned for every possible contingency known to man and beast. She knows which attraction to hit first at each park, she knows when to fast pass which rides, she even knows that Tom Sawyer leaves a certain number of paint brushes on Tom Sawyer Island AND if you are there early enough to FIND one of these paint brushes and turn it into a cast member - you will receive a fast pass for one of the attractions in Adventure Land. (Oh yes - I am THAT good y'all.) Her children call her backpack a "Magic Carpetbag" because it contains a first aid kit, maps of each park, rain slickers for each member of the family, extra socks, an umbrella, blister stick, anti bacterial wipes, sunscreen, lip balm, bug spray, Pepto, Immodium, Advil AND an extra tee shirt incase of unattractive spills.
4. Kenny the Cop and crew: (First of all - Kenny the cop is interchangeable with Frank the Firefighter.) Kenny is also VERY easy to spot. Kenny is always wearing a tee shirt that proudly displays his profession - it might have his division or unit number, firehouse number - something that says loud and proud: "I am a cop/firefighter". Oh - and Kenny is ALWAYS from New York or North Jersey. Kenny is also always pushing a stroller and wrangling a gaggle of kids. Kenny is the NICEST guy you'd EVER want to meet. He will strike up a conversation with you as you both are waiting in line at the Buzz Lightyear Mega Spinny Ridiculously Long Lined attraction. He will give you tips on how to get really wet on the rapids ride at Animal Kingdom, or when the best time to ride the Yetti ride might be. He has all of the inside info on where the best place is to sit on the parade route or where the fireworks are best viewed. His kids are always carrying some sort of weapon - a sword, a light saber - and it always lights up or flashes. (No kidding - this fact is true about 98% of the time.) In short, PC and I hope to ride the monorail with Kenny and crew because we know: a. we will be safe and b. we will probably have a nice conversation with a cool guy.
Here is the other thing we REALLY noticed this time around: Disney World is one hell of a well run machine. Not that that fact is earth-shattering - but Holy Heck. That place is SO well run - we were SHOCKED to hear a semi-cranky word from a cast member on the last day of our visit. And I mean SHOCKED - like mouths open, eyes wide because someone said "Excuse me but I'm talking here" because everyone in the room was YELLING while this guy was trying to explain where we were all to go and what we were to do in a moment or so. By our reaction - you would have thought that this guy had just recited a Chris Rock monlogue at a preschool graduation.
We NEVER saw a piece of litter - ANYWHERE - ever. Every "cast member" was smiling - all of the time. Every request was granted. I think if I walked into the lobby at 2am and asked for a porcupine on a stick, dipped in gold and covered in rainbow sprinkles, someone at The Wilderness Lodge would have found it, wrapped it in Mickey Mouse tissue paper and delivered it to my room on a silver platter. And then apologized for not having it sooner for me. No kidding. I have NEVER, EVER felt like I got what I paid for on any other vacation. This time I did - I really did.
So - here is my goal...I'd really like my LIFE to run like a Disney vacation. No stress, every wish granted, no request too big, too complicated...all in all I'd like to LIVE in "The Happiest Place on Earth."
Then again...I guess if EVERY day was like that we would never appreciate the REAL Magic of Disney - would we?
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