Home of the Motherhussy

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

The Kings and I

Me and the Two Kings

Whoop!

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Boys in Heels

My eight-year-old sons (Cody and Colton) are 110% boy. They love playing sports, watching ESPN, going to any type of athletic event, toilet humor, getting dirty, getting injured, and all those other lovely things boys (and men) love to do. But, there is one thing that they love to do that I don't think necessarily fits into the all around "boy" category.

Quietly, without calling attention to themselves, they will walk in a room a couple of inches taller. Why this sudden growth spurt, you ask? Well, adorned on their size 4 feet are my size 6 heels. It's quite amusing to see a boy, clad in dirty baseball cap, baggy basketball shorts, and some random boy-looking tee (must have fire, skulls, or sports equipment on it), striding across my living room floor like a miniature drag-queen.

I will be making dinner, look up and see my son gazing over the balcony outside—a spiked black heel dangling lightly over the edge. At that moment my brains seizes—do I laugh at the sight, or yell at the little set of well-formed legs to “Be careful!”? I can’t utter a word because my mouth is too busy half-laughing, half gagging. That’s the best kind of laugh.

Of course, once the little metrosexual realizes he has been spotted, the forced humor begins.

“What are you looking at giiiirlfriend?” he’ll say with an awkward shake of the hip.

“If you want this relationship to work, you better be willing to work!” Is another phrase that pops out.

“Cody and/or Colton, take off my shoes and put them away,” I’ll say with tears streaming down my face.

“Whatever,” the little vixen will reply as he saunters back into the house and off of the 2 ½ inch heels that brought him so much joy.

The sad thing is, damnit, they walk sexier in heels than I do. I wonder—will America’s Next Top Model ever feature a drag version? They should really consider it.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Dexter's Laboratory

Hello, and welcome back to my life!

So to fill you in, I did decide to see my therapist on Friday. The session actually went amazingly well. One word of advice for anyone starting therapy: You have to talk! You are paying this man/woman big bucks to help you, and if you don't tell them what is wrong--then they won't know how to help you. They are trained professionals, not mind readers. That would be cool if they were mind readers though, well at least until they found out my evil plan to destroy the WORLD!

But I digress, I just thought I would let you know things went well and I'm going back to see the little red-head after a 4-week hiatus (have to take the boys to Utah to see their Old Man).

In addition to visiting my therapist, the family and I took a weekend road trip to Fresno, CA. Fresno is not all that cool. It's a city, with buildings, and a college, and some trees, and people. My point being, Fresno is a place to visit--but I wouldn't want to live there. I think Fresno's city motto should be something like,

"Fresno! The only reason you're here is to see your family."
or
"Fresno! Move on, there's nothing to see here."
or
"Fresno! If we weren't in California then we would be just another lame city."
or
"Fresno! No--we don't have a beach."

I could go on and on with this delightful game, but I digress. The reason we went to Fresno was to see my new nephew, Dexter, (yes, Dexter is his name--I think his parents let his 5-year-old brother name him) blessed. Now Dexter is darling. He is your typical, tiny, cute, freaked-out at the world, little person. We love him, of course. Well Cody and Colton have always loved babies. I mean, they L-O-V-E babies, and since Dexter's birth that love has been even more acute (or: “Awwww, cute!”).

On our drive up to Fresno the topic of babies came up, as it quite frequently does with Cody and Colton.

Cody asked Anthony, "Dad, why don't you and Mom have a baby girl? Or a baby boy. We want a little brother or sister."

Anthony (the optimist and the one that doesn't have the burden of a womb) replied, "Well, maybe we could have both someday."

Cody, hesitant--yet happy, responded, "Well, okay, but the baby would look pretty weird when it was naked."

Cody darling, that was not what your Dad meant by having a both a boy and girl baby. I don't think that it would please anyone in our family if I gave birth to a hermaphrodite. As a matter of fact, I think it would be down right creepy. What Dad meant was that maybe, some day (depending on my reproductive organs and genetics) we could have--SEPERATELY--a boy baby and a girl baby. Not a baby with the sex organs of a male and female. Are we clear?

So, that was my child’s first official lesson in hermaphrodites. I think I learned about them my freshmen year in High School, with worms. Those were simpler times.

Anyway, Dexter, we’re glad that you only have one set of reproductive organs and we love you—even if you are named after a popular Cartoon Network© production.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Should I? (Part II)

My life is insane, let me tell you! By 1035 this morning I am already faced with three tough decisions to make. Here they are:

1. Should I cancel my appointment with my therapist?

2. Should I see the doctor about my sore neck?

3. Should I have tipped the Starbuck's drive-through guy?

In the interest of attention spans and time, I think I'll try to decide decision #1.

Should I cancel my appointment with my therapist?

This therapy session will officially be the third session I have had since starting in May. Why did I decide to try therapy, you ask? Well, many reasons, but to avoid being too depressing I won't get into the real reasons, I'll make up some reasons, here it goes:

1. I obsessively collect full cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.
2. I hide my collection of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in random places around the house hoping my husband won't find them and accuse me of incredibly poor taste.
3. I only eat at 3:27 p.m. on even numbered days.
4. I get furious and want to cut someone whenever I realize Bo Bice lost on American Idol.
5. I want to scrub the sidewalks of Long Beach, but the dirt WON'T COME OFF!

Anyway, I have a therapy session at 0330 today and I don't really want to go. I feel that the sessions haven't been productive yet. Basically, I'm not normal yet and I want to be fixed NOW. Here is how my past sessions have gone:

Shrink: So how have you been since I last saw you?
Me: Fine.
Shrink: Good.
Me: Silent.
Shrink: Have you finished the homework assignment I gave you last time?
Me: No.
Shrink: Okay.
(I sit and stare at the floor while the shrink sits and stares at me)
Shrink: What are you thinking about? What's on your mind?
Me: Nothing really.
(Long, florescent lighted silence)
Shrink: Well, our 45 minutes is up. See you next week.
Me: Ok, see you next week.

I feel like my therapist thinks I'm fine and I shouldn't be in there sitting on his tear-stained couch. But, there obviously is something wrong with me because I think I can read my therapist's mind. I guess I am just having a hard time opening up to him. I mean, the guy is a short, balding red-head with both his ears pierced. He wears fruit loop colored hawaiian shirts, leather shoes with tassles, and no socks. He uses words like "hopeless" and "helpless" and gives me remedies like, "treat yourself like a stranger." What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don't even talk to strangers. Should I ignore myself, is that what that means?

I guess I'll go anyway. Maybe I'll have a "break-through" or something in this session. Maybe the 45 minutes will go by a little slower and I'll actually feel like I've learned something. Or maybe I'll just leave feeling "hopeless" and "helpless" again.

On the lighter side of things--TGIF! Pass the Pabst Blue Ribbon (which I will promptly stash in my sons trunk of Legos)!

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Should I?

It is quite frequent that we, as human beings, are faced with decision making--hell, I would have to say that we are faced with decisions everyday. That is, unless you are on life support and have already signed the DNR...then you are pretty much in a situation that you don't have to make ANY MORE DECISIONS you lucky ass vegetable.

Some decisions are incredibly important, such as: Should we convict the alleged child molester, or let him moonwalk back to his home at Neverland Ranch so the world will not fall off its axis? (P.S. I think the jury members were a bunch of effing TOOLS)

Some are simple, such as: Regular or Slender?

One decision I have recently been faced with is: Should I continue to visit the Winchell's on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway for all those Non-Calis)?

I know what you're thinking, easy answer:Donuts=Yes! If only it were that simple. The following factors/events have forced me to make a decision in this trivial, yet potentially life-saving choice:

*They only have Mocha Mix as a creamer for the coffee. I might as well squirt a shot of mother's milk into my simple morning roast, bleh!
*Of all the times I've visited the Winchell's on PCH, I've yet to see another caucasian woman (or man for that matter)in the store, outside of the store, or anywhere in the near vicinity--am I being naive?
*Instead of Jamie and Danny in the Morning playing on the radio it's, God have mercy, RADIO LOBO! I don't even know what "lobo" means.
*There is a makeshift memorial outside said donut shop in memory of a recent gang shooting
*There is a Taco Bell right next door where I've seen people eating--AT SEVEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! Anyone who eats Mexican fast-food that early in the morning must or had damn well better be on crack

In spite of the above listed issues I have with the Winchell's on PCH, I ended up there on Monday, blonde-haired,blue-eyed, and white assed. What will it take for me to finally take a stand and make a decision? I should stop, there are plenty of other shady donut shops for me to partake of--why this one? I think it's because of their tasty blueberry muffins, muffins only the gentle hands of a migrant worker could make. God Bless America--pass the muffins.

Pier 36

Friday, June 10, 2005

Lack of Internet in the Workplace, John Elway, and Plastic Pants

I would like to take an official poll and see how many of you aren't allowed internet access at work. Better yet, how many of you have had internet access at work but for some reason had it removed. *If you had it removed for looking at humping monkeys, I understand why your boss would remove it. Nobody can do a thorough document edit while the howls of monkeys in love resonate in the background. Sick.

Okay, so I'm sure a few of you have had your internet removed. I know at least one of you have. Now, did this hand-slap discipline of getting your internet removed increase your work productivity or did it leave you feeling handicapped? Don't answer that question because I already know, it decreased your productivity and left you feeling handicapped. So why, I ask, does management feel this is an acceptable punishment in the workplace (except for the monkey thing)? Personally, I have not fallen victim of this type of managerial power trip. But I know of a certain employee who has. This person is a wonderful, energetic, courteous, hard-working, hot employee who has had their internet removed for such idiotic reasons as "not being nice enough."I sent a link the other day to this person, forgetting that she has now been demoted to daycare status at her job, and she was sadly reduced to calling her friend on the phone who DOES have internet access and having her read it to her. Sortof like a service to the blind. Keep in mind also, if she wants to make reservations of any type for her "higher-ups" she now has to use a telephone and the effing YELLOW PAGES! Who does that? Dex Online oh how I love thee.

Anyway, point is--unless your employee has a passion for men in lingerie or humping monkeys, find some other way to punish them without punishing yourself.

To follow is an excerpt from said employees day yesterday after I tried to send her a link to view this BLOG:
(for those of you who not all that email savvy, read from bottom up)

The rest of the Colorado Crush team came though!! So many hot, strong boys!!! I’m in HEAVEN right now!!!

Suzanne
Sales Receptionist
-----Original Message-----From: [mailto:] Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2005 4:00 PMTo: , Suzanne; , ChariseSubject: Re:

He’s a big plastic pant wearing football star. What did you expect? He’s probably off soaking in a hot tub with a bunch of cheerleaders right now.

From: ", Suzanne" <>Date: Thu, 9 Jun 2005 15:17:15 -0700To: "" <>, ", Charise" Subject: RE:

He never came! That loser stood us up! I feel so used, and embarrassed. How could he do this to me? Suzanne Sales Receptionist

-----Original Message-----From: ]"

Re:That’s a good way to get fired. Exposing your “pants”
From: ", Suzanne" <>Date: Thu, 9 Jun 2005 13:27:24 -0700To: "" <>, ", Charise" Subject: RE:

Ya, and I’ll try to get FIRED while I’m at it!! Charise says I should have him sign my plastic training pants. Suzanne Sales Receptionist

-----Original Message-----From: Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2005 1:28 PMTo: , Suzanne; , ChariseSubject:

Re:Try to get his autograph.

From: ", Suzanne" <>Date: Thu, 9 Jun 2005 13:06:17 -0700To: "" <>, ", Charise" Subject: RE:

In about an hour, John Elway will be walking past my desk…in plastic training pants.

Suzanne Sales Receptionist-

----Original Message-----From: : Thursday, June 09, 2005 1:08 PMTo: , Suzanne; , ChariseSubject: Re:Har! :) You guys!

From: ", Suzanne" <>Date: Thu, 9 Jun 2005 12:26:58 -0700To: ", Charise" Cc: "" <>Subject: RE:
Actually, Gena and I laughed quite heartily at the plastic pants comment earlier, BEFORE the blog reading. Plastic training pants!! HAR!

Suzanne Sales Receptionist-

----Original Message-----From: , Charise Thursday, June 09, 2005 12:25 PMTo: , SuzanneCc: Subject:

RE: Hehe….you know what I think is funny? I wrote “plastic pants” in your email and you didn’t even mention it. I thought it was golden. GOLDEN!

Warm Regards, Charise

From: , Suzanne
Thursday, June 09, 2005 12:21 PMTo: , ChariseSubject: RE:

I have Gena on the phone and she is reading me your blog right now! It is SO cute!! Suzanne Sales Receptionist-

----Original Message-----From: , Charise Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2005 12:17 PMTo: , Suzanne; Subject:

RE: Schnizzllee!!! Those mother hoppers, I forgot you are too big of a baby in plastic training pants to have the internet. It’s my blog. I’m so internet savvy.

Warm Regards, Charise

From: , Suzanne Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2005 12:14 PMTo: , Charise; Subject: RE:

Enlighten me, seeing as I don’t have the interweb access anymore.Suzanne Sales Receptionist

Thursday, June 09, 2005

The Official Sports Drink of 1980s Aerobic Instructors

TAB

We found this beauty in Hurricane (Hurr-can for locals), Utah. It's quite tasty.

So I read my first post and realized how rude I was, I didn't introduce myself.

I'm Charise. No, I'm not a black girl--but I have a booty like one. My name is FRENCH. My grandfather was French Canadian and my mother liked Cyd Charisse. Thus, my name.

I'm your average white girl: married, two kids (twins/8yrs old), living on the West Coast. I moved from Utah (Yes, I'm a Mormon--but I'm the ONLY wife) a year ago when I remarried and I'm still trying to get the hang of California.

The freeways are big and scary--so are most of the breasts here. We pay too much in rent, but we have a beach down the street. Nobody hunts around here. Alcohol is readily available, and you don't have to have a membership to get into most of the clubs here. The seasons don't change, it's odd. But I think I'll adjust eventually.

Currently I'm a "jack of all trades, master of none" type of gal. I've worked with tax preparation, technical support, law offices, and now I'm in the maritime industry. Interesting, yes. Stable, no. Like I mentioned in my profile, I think I have ADD.

I married a year ago and it's been great--for me. I'm sure my husband feels like he's going insane most of the time. I guess I should stop with the head games, but I don't know how. Also, he was an "insta-Dad", you know--just add kids. When he married me he got not only a crazy wife, but two adorable, yet somewhat spoiled and jaded, boys to his life. He's doing an awesome job though, if I were him I would be in Mexico already with a couple of shots of tequila and a cheap maid. But, he's better than that.

Anyway, that's a start. Now the fun can REALLY begin.

Conception

And out of the dark tunnel...a light.

My blogging life has begun, yet another time. I think I've have birthed several blogs in my e-lifetime, all of which were poorly neglected and died within months--if not weeks. I should be locked up for blog abuse. Really.

So why start again? Well, I like talking and writing to myself. As a matter of fact, I think I'm so clever at talking and writing to myself that I thought I would share with the whole cyber-world. Does anyone really use the word "cyber" anymore? Sad, I just did. Twice.

So on the cool checkin' center stage on the mic...

Me!

Motherhussy