My Love/Hate Relationship with Big Lots

Love:
-- Hearing such wonderfully strange comments from fellow shoppers such as, "Oh, that is cute! If it had a baby Jesus and a handcart on it you could wear it to the Pioneer Day Parade," and "Well, I've missed out on a lot of things; I've been in the basement for the past 10 years."
-- That they carry cheap toys and garden items.

Hate:
-- Feeling like I need to dip Paddy in antibacterial gel after he sits in one of their shopping carts.
-- That the person I parked next to decided not to leave me a note after they backed out and left some of their paint on my car.

Chatter: Dissect this

Her: What!? you never dissected a baby pig in biology?
Me: Hell no! I would've passed out! You did?
Her: Of course.
Me: Well, were you in Honors or AP Bio or something?
Her: *pause* Um, me? Are you serious? *walks away chuckling to herself*

Hey, I'm walkin' here!

Paddy is walking. Some days he's not so into it, but other day he really gets going and seems to enjoy it. Unless there's a basketball game on, then he loses focus. Like father, like son. Observe:

Starting Your Week Off Right!

Here's a sorry attempt to make your Monday a little brighter with a gratuitous Paddy photo:



Does it help? Or do you still want impale yourself on the receptionist's letter opener?

Paddy's first San Francisco visit

A few months ago when I learned that Matt had the opportunity to get some computer training right in the heart of San Francisco, Paddy and I jumped at the chance to tag along. After buying my plane ticket, I started making contact with our Bay Area friends and family and in no time we had big plans to meet-up and be touristy together! And by the grace of George Micheal it was not going to be Pride weekend while we were there. I mean, what with Paddy's several gay adoptive uncles, the poor kid is already headed for ample amounts of glitter, Broadway musicals, rainbows, Cher playlists and Sunday brunches. The last thing he needed was to spend his 15-month birthday sitting in his stroller staring at the back of men wearing assless leather chaps and fairy wings.

Highlights of our trip included:
-Paddy brightening a homeless man's day with his cute smile;
-In-N-Out Burger;
-Being stopped by many, many people commenting on how cute Patrick was;
-Walking through a cloud of marijuana smoke on a public pier at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday;
-Misunderstanding the Asian bus driver's announcement of, "Montgomery!" as "Fuck honey!";
-Eating the best macaroni and cheese on the planet at an authentic Irish pub (what was that place called, Ben?);
-Three H&M's and two Gaps within walking distance of our hotel;
-The pimped out 'family lounge' at the Westfield San Francisco Centre;
-Macy's one-day sale; and
-The pre-dinner wine hour at our hotel.

So, the verbal recap of Paddy's first SF visit is summed up beautifully by our friend Corey: "He came, he saw, he napped." Well put, sir. And here's the visual recap via an annoying slideshow. Enjoy!

Feminist Call to Action: Please judge my cousin on her appearance

My cousin* is a finalist in the "Hot Mama" contest on one of our horribly obnoxious local radio stations and in spite of the fact that I earned a women's studies minor in college, I want to help her score a few extra votes. I am posting the link to said contest below because I: 1) Love her; 2) Think she is BY FAR the best-looking candidate; and 3) Still owe her one for teaching me how to breastfeed my baby last year (FYI: You absolutely haven't lived until your cousin grabs your engorged breast and shoves it into a screaming baby's mouth - I highly recommend it). So, without further delay, herrrrrre's Jackie:


If you are so inclined, please do the following before this Wednesday (June 18) at midnight:
--Go to http://www.971zht.com/pages/hotmama08/
--Click on the link to vote in the "35 & Older" category
--Vote for #86!

Or, for those with spare time who want a good giggle/gasp/gag, scroll through all the entries in the "35 & Older" category, paying particular attention to the slutty train wrecks that are #12, 41, 44, 63, 75 . . . . the list goes on, and after you have scooped your jaw off the floor, vote for #86.

Thanks, y'all!

*I know that some of you are wondering why she is the same clothing size at age 38 as I was in 2nd grade, and yes, she is merely my step-cousin. We have no genes in common, unfortunately.

Listen Up, Fathers-to-be

Because I have a number of female friends who are presently incubating new lifeforms, in honor of Father's Day I thought it might be helpful for me to post a list of five tips* husbands should follow to prevent their wives from turning into the whining, weeping, raging mega-toad I became in my last trimester.

So, here's the plan pregos, beckon your men to read this entry over your shoulder, that way you aren't the ones bitching at them to treat you like the bloated queens you are, I am. I have no problem playing the part of a nagging shrew. In fact, I rather enjoy that role - just ask Matt.

FIVE WAYS TO REMAIN MARRIED TO YOUR PREGNANT WIFE

1. Don't leave your crap all over the place. The last thing she wants to do is pick up after you. She will be spending the next 18 years of her life following your kid(s) picking up after them. Grow up and put away your god damn soccer cleats. Or you may find yourself with a cleat-like pattern on the side of your face.

2. Try to imagine how hard it is for her to bend over and load the dishwasher. Load it. Run it. Empty it. Take care of it.

3. Think ahead. If you realize that your home needs some repair or upgrade work, by all means, get it done. Don't leave it until week-38 of her pregnancy. Call your brothers/friends/fathers, plan a couple of hours on Saturday to tackle the project and send your wife out for a pedicure. Yes, yes, it's not fair that you are working while she is relaxing, but she's kind of worn out from carrying your spawn, so deal with it.

4. Rub her back and shoulders without her having to ask. And don't use it as an excuse to get into her full-panel maternity pants.

5. Do NOT bring something so vile as the "Mountain of Meat" pizza from The Pie into the house. She will vomit that night as you sit next to her eating it, at 3 a.m. when she gets up to pee and can still smell it throughout the house, and the next day when she throws her magazines into the recycling bin on top of the empty, greasy box.

Happy Father's Day!


*For all those PR professionals out there: Yep, I have already resorted to a "Top 5 Tips" tactic and my blog is less than a year old. Pathetic, I know.

I'll be sure to wear some flowers in my hair

This will be me soon. I'll take many pics of our adventure and post them upon our return!

Chatter: Because diets don't work

New-ish Mom: The Leper people? I wish I had leprosy so my post-baby stomach would fall off.

Celebrity Plea: Give Divorce a Chance!

Now, I don’t consider myself a very conservative person, I mean, you all know it’s my strong belief that the hunting of endangered species, use of methamphetamines and stringing child molesters up by their ankles should be deemed perfectly legal. So, it was surprising to me when I felt increasing annoyance with each announcement of the pregnancies of young, unmarried celebrity couples.

I’ve tried to pinpoint what specifically bothers me about these situations. It’s not the fact that they are having pre-marital sex, or as Dr. Laura would say, “shacking up” together. Those two things are fine with me. (Hell, I may very well be guilty of both!) I think what bothers me is that since Paddy came into my world I now know what a HUGE commitment a baby is, and it just seems like if one can’t commit to the person who helped create the baby, that the weighty responsibility that comes along with raising a child may possibly knock these early-20s stars square on their asses.

Everyone with an IQ over 100 knows how babies are made. Hell, these rich little princesses and princes have enough money to hire someone to personally sit by their beds and hand them condoms when the time is right. The fact that so many of them are celebrating “surprise pregnancies” is total, unadulterated BS. Hello, I read Judy Blume’s Forever when I was in sixth grade and pretty much figured it out from there . . .

The fact that Young Hollywood isn’t taking the immense commitment of bringing a child into the world seriously bugs. And at the risk of sounding like a Fox News pundit, their actions are sending a bad message and glamorizing a serious situation to the common folk (especially young women) who may not have the financial resources to make nurturing their new burdens of . . . er, bundles of joy, more manageable and enjoyable. Caring for a baby takes a whole hell of a lot more than decorating a "green" nursery, prepping for magazine shoots, and keeping a baby nurse and nanny on the payroll.

And yes, some of these celebrity couples have tried to make it “legit” by getting married before the baby arrives. Doesn’t that count? No. It does not. Not only do they look bloated in their wedding photos, but their kids are going to someday realize that the only reason Mom and Dad got married was because they felt obligated to "make it right." And then if the parents end up hating each other, which is highly likely, it appears to have been the kid's fault they were so miserable together in the first place. Additionally, just because you stuff your big belly into a gown doesn’t win you any more maturity points in my strict little book. Case-in-point; here’s a quote from a recently wedded pregnant celebrity:

"This couldn't have happened at a better time in my life. I feel super-blessed."

Um, if you actually just used the adjective “super-blessed” to describe getting knocked up, then you definitely aren’t mature enough to handle motherhood. Good Lord.

But what about all those people who get married, get pregnant, have a baby and then divorce later on? That’s no better, right? Yes, yes it is. At least they had the forethought to legally commit to the person with whom they planned on creating a new life with. The intentions were there. Granted, 50% of those intentions end up in the shitter, but at least at one point in their life they thought highly enough of the attributes of their future Baby Mama/Baby Daddy to enter into a voluntary partnership with them.

Look, all I’m asking is that these young celebrities act responsibly and give divorce a fair shot. Hell, it worked for my parents and look how well I turned out!

Paddy's Busy Day

Unlike the rest of the working world, Patrick gets to ease into his week with a Monday full of sleeping, eating and fun; especially when Daddy takes the day off. Here's a recap of the lil' dude's day:

7:30 a.m. - Woke up
7:45 - Played with Dad
8:30 - Ate breakfast with Mom
9 - Got pushed in stroller alongside neighbor mom (Tangi), neighbor toddler (Neils) and neighbor baby (Davis)
9:45 - Stopped and played at a new playground straight out of Little Children (a wonderfully creepy must-see movie)
10:30 - Huffed it back home, pathetically trailing behind a jogging Tangi, who had a C-section less than two months ago and was pushing a double stroller UPHILL
11 - Went to DMV with Dad renew driver's license; Was not allowed to put hands on any germ-infested surfaces
12 p.m. - Had/played with lunch
12:45 - Napped
3 - Played with Dad
4 - Played with Mom in front yard
4:30 - Walked up the street holding only ONE of Mom's hands!
5:30 - Went to Petco and Old Navy; Ran into cute 3-year-old cousin Mia
6:30 - Stuffed dinner into face
7 - Walked up street to neighborhood playground
7:45 - Stopped by neighbor Betty's on way home
8:30 - Took bath
8:45 - Read stories with Daddy and went to bed

Tough life, eh?

Sucrets in the City

On Friday afternoon, Paddy and I picked up Matt at the airport from his 3-day business trip to San Jose. Poor guy was still under attack by the head cold that had come on full-force the day he departed (Tuesday). And by Friday I was sick as well. (Thankfully, Patrick has not yet contracted it - keep your fingers crossed) I should have stayed home and rested up, but I had made plans to see the Sex and the City movie that evening, and dammit, nothing was going to stop me from sitting in that theater. So, being the nurturing, caring wife and mother than I am, I made sure that Matt and Paddy were set with a nutritious dinner (read: Costco casserole I threw in the microwave) and was out the door, armed with cough drops and tissues.

And let me just tell you that that movie was WELL worth subjecting my group of friends (and many strangers) to my gross hacking, snot-filled nose and voice that sounded as if I'd been smoking three packs a day for the last 20 years.

We enjoyed a pre-movie dinner at the Dodo, where we drank cosmopolitans and/or Diet Coke in cosmo-appropriate glasses:



I also made everyone take quizzes to find out which SATC persoanlity they matched up with the best. And then I made them wear name tags. (Yes, my friends somewhat despise me for making them do such cheesy things, but deep down they LOVE IT! I know they do.) My results revealed that I am "prickly" Miranda:


Other results were:
Brandon: Mir(bran)da
Ed: Samantha
Katie: Charlotte (naturally)
Keny: Samantha
Paul : Carrie (hahaha! His most hated character!)
Weston: Carrie

After we drank and ate ourselves silly, we went upstairs and entered the sold-out theater. Here were the demographics:
--- 95% women
--- 4.5% gay men
--- 0.5% straight men who had been forced by their g/f's to attend (FYI: Matt was invited but was not interested in going, despite the fact that he religiously watched the series on HBO . . . )

There was more estrogen in that room than a [insert any female-dominated-activity here]. So much, in fact, that someone in our group declared that the amount of buzzing/giggling/perfume permeating the air was the exact reason he was gay.




During the movie, there were shrieks, cat calls and insults thrown at the screen by many a spirited young lady, which, strangely, I found hysterical rather than irritating. Especially the time when Carrie (Ed, just to keep you up-to-speed, that's a character in the movie. The one that Sarah Jessica Parker plays.) started blaming herself for something, saying, "It's my fault, I pushed too hard," and a girl yells out, "No! It is NOT your fault, girlfriend!"

And, for once, I was NOT the drunk girl who was escorted out of the theater by five security guards. That was some other chick in the top row. Poor thing could barely walk down the stairs.

Anyway, I had a wonderful night with my girls! And with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha as well. Anyone want to go see it again?