On hanging a mailbox

Posted on September 29, 2010 by admin

Hanging a mailbox isn't as simple or as fun as one might think. Tonight I not only witnessed this fact but experienced it first hand as our new mailbox arrived in the mail, IRONICALLY, and Candy Ass and I teamed up to nail that sucker to the exterior wall.

At first I was really excited when Candy Ass handed me the drill and said "screw it." Which I imagine is the way a man feels when — well. ANYWAY. So my eyes opened wide (no innuendo intended, you perv) and I grabbed that hunk (OK, I kinda meant to be a little suggestive there) of machinery and pressed the trigger.

SCRAAAAAAAAAAATCH!

SHIIIIIIIT.

Who knew you had to hold on tight to a drill or the slippery little fucker would get a way from you and scratch up your new mailbox? Sonuvabitch and whoopsie.

That wasn't my only drilling problem. Then I promptly pointed the drill at Candy Ass' well… ass and he took it away from me. So that was the end of Megan the Driller. I was then demoted to "hold the heavy mailbox here and don't let it slip or it won't be level" job which totally sucked because as it turns out the mailbox is really fucking heavy. And it kept slipping. Then I was demoted to "go grab the pencil" girl and that was just fucking demeaning as a woman with lots of brains and talents (so what if none of them have anything to do with hanging mailboxes) so I quit.

To save you the hassle of trial and error, I've made of list of things I learned when hanging a mailbox so you don't have to figure these things out on your own. YOU'RE WELCOME! If you googled "how to hang a mailbox" and arrived here, my apologies.

LESSONS LEARNED FROM HANGING A MAILBOX:

1. Candy Ass and I don't work well together. [So this won't help you, but there you go.]

2. Hanging a mailbox is a two person job. One person to hang it and the other person to ask too many questions until the first person makes the second person go away.

3. A drill is like a gun; never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire. And you should never fire/drill at anyone's ass. Especially your husband's.

4. Mailboxes come in the mail, even when you don't have a mailbox. WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THAT.

5. Drills are so much fun and put holes in things so much more easily than a hammer (think Vespa versus Razor scooter) so I'm putting one on my Christmas list.

It's been an exhausting evening of home improvement around here folks so I'm going to sit on my porch all night and wait for the sun to come up and the mailman to arrive just so I can see all of Candy Ass' my hard work pay off. Happy hanging!

H-O-T in places I shouldn’t be

Posted on September 27, 2010 by admin

I can tell you what's NOT happening in 40 weeks… a baby boom. With temperatures reaching 111 degrees and no A/C the last thing people want to do is touch each other. So unless y'all are really talented, there will be a baby drought in 9 months.

Yes, I get that you're tired of hearing all of us Southern Californians bitch about THE WORST HEAT OF ALL TIME BROKEN RECORDS OMG WTF FRY ME AN EGG ON THE SIDEWALK GOOD GOLLY MISS MOLLY IS THAT SWEAT ON YOUR BALLS? but it is literally that hot. Like, there is no other way to explain it.

Sunday we walked into a sauna and the fucking door jammed shut and we haven't been let out. Pour some water on the rocks, jingle the keys in front of the tiny little peek-a-boo window with promises of lower temps in three or four days and you've got our hell. And sure, I get that where you live you deal with humidity so SHUT-UP ALREADY YOU WIMP is what you're thinking but you know what I'm thinking? I don't live in a humid region for that exact reason, I am in fact a heat advisory wimp, can't deal and will now bitch – without remorse – about being H-O-T in places I shouldn't be.

I mean christ, I spent all day today twitpic-ing photos of my car's temperature display just to garner sympathy (didn't really work) only to realize at 5:30 tonight that the reason I never did reach a level of coolness and comfort was because apparently I don't know how to properly work my car air conditioner. Who knew you had to click that snowflake AND that weird undo-like arrow light? Me neither. All I have to say is SONUVABITCH and PASS THE SECRET PLATINUM ROLL-ON now I know.

My worry is about how I'll survive the night, or rather, how Candy Ass will survive dare he even touch me accidentally with his big toe while rolling over in his sleep because in temps like these? that totally warrants a junk punch. My personal space bubble just went from three feet to STAY THE FUCK AWAY SO HELP YOU, YOU THERMAL BLANKET OF A HUMAN BEING feet. So. You know, I am the hot.

Seriously, the first person to tell me about their "first snow" or "chilly morning that feels so Fall-ish" in the comment section is getting a virtual headlock. Which means your head in my sweaty armpit. Visualize and think before you type.

P.S. I am recruiting for a personal fan boy.

P.P.S. Not like a "fan boy" where you're my fan but "fan boy" where you fan me…

P.P.P.S. Shit. That didn't even make sense did it? What's the opposite of hypothermia? Hyperthermia? Seems like it would be. I probably have that.

So a Mormon, a Jew and an Atheist write a blog post…

Posted on September 19, 2010 by admin

"Mom!" he screams from the second row of my mommy SUV, tethered to his car seat for his safety and mine. "I just saw the cwoss where Jesus died!"

I cringe a little. Just a couple weeks back at Holy Christian Loves Jesus Praise the Lord Preschool (HCLJPLP, for short) and the boy is all reverent and shit.

"Um… I don't think that's the exact one, but I could be wrong." I say carefully, making sure I don't deflate his Jesus balloon. For now he is satisfied with this answer and, as usual, our conversation returns to the normal, comfortable topic of Starbucks – or rather "Stawbucks" – where he's just asked the manager for a job application. Totally normal for a 4 year old. If he's mine.

It's been a good week or so since I've offended someone on the internets [see my tweet where I *joke* likening Lord of the Rings to being Star Wars on horseback and thereby am told I am "worse than tea party Muslim hater" on Twitter] so I thought I'd talk about that dude God. If you can't take a little humor mixed in with a bit-o-religion it's best you walk away now. This is my disclaimer.

I get asked often – especially here on this blog and on Twitter – why I have sent my three boys to a holy rollin' preschool like HCLJPLP when its religious views leave such a distaste in my mouth. (That holy water is bitter, y'all.) The truth is, there are many reasons why my boys have all gone there for preschool. First and foremost, beyond its religious teachings, it has an outstanding academic program (even at the pre-k level) that makes our local school district look incompetent. That is why I picked HCLJPLP. The religion came with that academic program and has, in all honesty, taken some getting used to. However, I feel strongly that even though I don't believe in the things the school is teaching my children when comes to "god," I know they have a right to be exposed to those ideas and make up their own minds about what they believe.

I am a born, raised, baptized and maybe, possibly even micro-chipped Mormon (they can track you down, people) who has not seen the inside of sacrament meeting since the day I turned 18. The rules in my mom's house included going to church every Sunday until you were 18 and… I didn't go a single day after.

I knew from an early age that it wasn't for me. I didn't believe in it – not just Mormonism, but god himself/itself. I had a hard time sitting in cold folding chairs every Sunday for three hours, listening to words I didn't agree with. I was incapable of nodding along, pretending to agree and so I would politely debate the 'facts' with those who would speak and my questions were met with not only surprise (no one ever questioned the teachings!) but disdain.

"I don't think you get it. If you don't believe in the bible, " one bishop told me in a private meeting, "you're not going to go to Heaven." I'm not sure if this was a tactic to scare me into believing or if he was genuinely scared for my eternal damnation or what but I looked him dead in the eye and said, "No, you don't get it. If I don't believe in heaven then I don't believe in Hell so I am really not all that worried."

I never got called to another meeting with the bishop again.

In high school I would pretend to be Jewish because being Mormon was so not cool. The Mormon kids all hung out together under the big tree in the lunch area, being good christ-like children by, ironically, judging others for their sins. Besides, Judaism was the smart choice when it came to choosing your religion – they had eight days (fine, nights) of gifts, not just one, and just about every one of my Jewish friends got a new car for their 16th birthday. The Mormons were clearly doing it wrong.

My plan of being a Jew went awry quickly and I had to quit Judaism when I started receiving gifts every day during Chanukah from a secret Jewish admirer. The Mormon guilt I was raised with set in and I had to stop pretending to believe in something I knew nothing about. And to think I gave up pork for this. [I would later find out that I am actually Jewish, but on my father's side which apparently doesn't count. THANKS DAD.]

But it didn't matter because really, I didn't believe in Judaism either. In all truth, I didn't and do not believe in anything. And here's the part people don't understand about atheists. Maybe not all atheists, but at least some atheists… Some of us don't believe in god not because we don't want to or because we have this overwhelming urge to go against society's grain. Some of us would really love to have something to believe in, we just haven't found it yet. Or, maybe, we've found something else; something different than god. That doesn't make us bad people or sinners or even lost souls.

And it certainly doesn't make me feel differently about the people in my life who do believe in god. To each their own. After all, I did marry a devout Catholic who attends church regularly. You know, Christmas mass every fourth or fifth year, whenever his grandma is in town or if there's a family wedding.

I take that back. I do believe in something. I believe in being a good person. That simple.

Can you dig it?

Posted on September 16, 2010 by admin

It's been one of those weeks of SHOOT ME NOW IT'S MONDAY! and then suddenly HOT DAMN HOW IS IT ALREADY THURSDAY? With a whole bunch of shit in between and BALLS am I ever tired! HOWEVER I'm rallying with this phenomenal post to tell you the things I am soooo digging right now.

- Happiness is cashing in a gift certificate from *2004* for a manicure and spa pedicure and not even having to fight them on it. THAT'S RIGHT. This normal DIYer nail painter has freshly mani/pedi'd digits and I only got yelled at once by "Kelly" (Yxkxlyzx on her cosmetology license, no joke) for reaching for my Blackberry when it rang. Sorrrrrrry.

- Awesome? Having my 4 year old sum up politics in one innocent observation: "Mom, did you know George Washington got dead and ever since someone has been dressing up as him?" You can nominate him for the nobel prize here.

- Speaking of 4 year olds (and 5 year olds) I'm TOTALLY digging watching my two soccer teams KICK BUTT on the fields on game day. Even though we're not keeping score. Of course. *coughWE!WON!cough* There's nothing like asking the team, "What are we going to do on that field??" before the game and hearing one of my feisty little players yell, "KICK THE CRAPS OUT OF THE BALLS!" OK. Fine. That was my kid. But whatever! Goooooooaaaaaaallllllll(s)!

- I hate, hate, HAAAAATE to admit this because I think the dude defines ASSHOLE DIPSHIT DOUCHEBAG IDIOT (ADDI for short) so forgive me internet for I have sinned but I'm kinda really …liking… this song. *cringes* BUT it does make me want to shake my tushy and has that flashmob! feel to it.

- Swamp People. Have you seen this show? I have no idea why it completely fascinates me the way my husband is obsessed in love entranced addicted to the Kardashians, but my god, I am hooked. (No pun intended.) Warning, the video has some graphic images.

- A little too giddy over my Goonies Truffle Shuffle t-shirt. Hello, $5 deal at Kohl's. That shirt sparks more conversation than one might imagine and I just feel cool wearing it. Probably the way Candy Ass feels when he wears one of his many Chuck Norris tees, I'd suppose.

- LOVING my freshly painted casa. Candy Ass has spent the last two weeks prepping and then painting our house and OH EM GEE it looks amazing. Ironically, I picked a color called "Photo Gray" (which is actually a greenish color) for the fascia board, "Oatmeal" (an off-white) for the stucco and the front door will be black. I plan on making my own black shutters to tie in with the door. WATCH OUT TIM THE TOOLMAN TAYLOR!

- Digging how busy my photography business is lately and what a busy year 2011 will be for brides and grooms (there's a the-world-is-going-to-end-in-2012 joke in there somewhere) but I'm especially excited to have just photographed my brother-in-law and his fiancée for their engagement. Can't wait for the wedding…

What are YOU digging right now?

Hard hats required here

Posted on September 10, 2010 by admin

MAYBE, if everyone remembered every day and not just this one day we would *still* be That Country full of Those People who were The Proudest and The Most Patriotic; a United Nation of People Who Forgot About Party Lines and insignificant television for just a moment, who couldn't find anymore of Those Flags or That Color Ribbon because it was sold out everywhere.

Remember that? Remember them? Remember us? In the wake of tragedy we – this country – were a whole; one united people.

And now we fight and argue and insult and decide who is American and who isn't and what can be built where and who is to blame and how it was we got into This Mess exactly and who can and who can't get us out of it and the flags? The ones that once hung from every home and every business? They're nowhere in sight. Except maybe today. The yellow ribbons enveloping trees for our soldiers? Long gone. Political parties? Never have the lines been so clear.

It appears that Ground Zero is not the only thing still in need of reconstruction.

Ground Zero, August 5, 2010.

For those who have fallen, to those who have lost, to those who mourn, to a country still healing and finding its way.

As it turns out, you can cause an explosion via a coffee pot

Posted on September 8, 2010 by admin

As it turns out, you can cause an explosion via a coffee pot.

1. Wake up way too goddamn early to begin the school schedule process after having been up at 4 am to handle a bloody nose you do not know how to handle because you are not a goddamn medic and all of twitter is fast asleep while your husband either a) never heard a peep or, b) pretended to never hear a peep. I'M GOING WITH OPTION B.

2. Stumble to the kitchen to make coffee because – you know – PRIORITIES while your 7 year old, fully awake and chipper as can be at this ungodly hour talks to you about ? What? Sure. Uh-huh. OK. Donkey. Right. $35. Certainly.

3. Empty yesterday's coffee filter and replace with a new one after cussing to help separate those thin papery suckers from each other AND GOD WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG.

4. Grab the Peet's coffee bag only to discover it's empty and cry a little. "Mommy what's wrong?" "WHAT'S WRONG? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT'S WRONG? IT'S STILL DARK OUT!" "Geez, I just wanted a PopTart." "Oh. OK."

5. Find reserve bag of Peet's coffee and wonder who thought it was a good idea to super glue the opening together in the name of sealing in the freshness. IDIOTS.

6. Pour in extra grounds because this is looking like an extra bold French Roast kinda day, hit brew.

7. Make three lunches, check three homework folders, pack three backpacks, feed three kids, set out three sets of school clothes.

8. Come back to the holy goodness sweet relief that is your first cup of coffee in the morning only to discover… the pot is empty. What? WHAT? Where did the coffee goooooo?

9. *head —> counter* You realize you never actually put water in the fucking coffee pot. ROOKIE MISTAKE and you are, of all things, no rookie. *shrivel*

10. Open lid on coffee maker, pour in water and POOOOF! *explode* *steam* *spout* *hissssss* *facial* *not that kind of facial* *steam burn*

Motherfucks.

This is when you contemplate how taking a science class in high school might have been helpful. But no, you took agriculture instead – which technically counted for science credits – and never forced you to dissect a frog (nevermind that whole slaughtering a market animal thing) so here's to getting around the system! Didn't that work out! So now you know nothing about steam (clearly) or fire (clearly) or a whole barrage of other scientific matters but you still remember a hog's gestation period (3 months, 3 weeks, 3 days) by golly. So, you know. There's that.

So here I sit, in the seductively lit back corner of my local Starbucks, sucking up their free wifi and leaving my caffeine intake in the capable, professional hands of trained baristas. I'm pretty certain that's how the coffee gods intended it. And that's not something you'd ever learn in a science class. WINK.

So I’m writing this instead

Posted on September 7, 2010 by admin

Insert cleverly written post here with a profound unexpected underlying message carefully folded into the post here and maybe a startlingly brilliant photograph that corresponds on an artistic level here and wa-laaa! this is my blog post.

I mean, 'cause *this* surely isn't it. A mother too tired and worn down a week into the new school schedules (yes, three boys = three different bell schedules, three different drop-offs and three different pick-ups) with all those sandwiches (cut this way, NO CUT THIS WAY) barely able to keep enough juices and waters and bread OH MY YEAST the bread! in the house, let alone remember to re-bra again before leaving the house for one of the billion soccer practices or MMA training sessions? Nope. I would never write something so GAH and BLAH and UGH.

So I'm writing this instead.

*bows*

“There’s a girl in my class and he walks different.”

Posted on September 2, 2010 by admin

"There's a girl in my class and he walks different."

"She."

"What?"

"A girl is a 'she' and a boy is a 'he.'"

"Well he walks different – the girl does."

:::

I noticed her too, in her brown leather mary janes, carefully folded lace-trimmed white socks, matching corduroy skirt and pink top with a princessy character I'm unfamiliar with in my world of boys. She hobbled around the classroom while the other Kindergarteners walked and ran with ease. She stole glances at her mother during orientation while the rest of the kids' eyes were transfixed on their new teacher. She was different than the other boys and girls and she already knew it.

:::

"That's OK if she walks differently than you do."

"Well it's kinda weird the way he does it."

"She. And so?"

"I'm just saying…"

"There's no reason to say it. If she heard you talking about the way she walks and how it's different than the way you do it, that could hurt her feelings. That wouldn't make school very fun for her, would it? Would you want to come to school if kids were talking about you? Saying that you were weird or different?"

"No."

"Really, that little girl is lucky. Aunt Brenda is in a wheelchair because she can't walk. This little girl might walk a little differently than you do, but at least she can still walk. That's lucky."

"OK, but he seemed really stressed during Play-doh time."

"Well maybe she needs a friend. You can be her friend. You can make her feel comfortable. That would be the kind thing to do. And most of all, stick up for her. If you ever hear or see other kids being mean to her you let the teacher know because that is not nice."

"Alright."

:::

It's hard to explain to kids the differences they innocently observe when they enter classrooms and schools. You can't teach them friendship, but you can teach them kindness. You can't make them get along with everybody, but you can expect them to be respectful to everyone.

As hard as it is to try and make a five year old understand the differences in people, it's so much harder to watch that the little girl in her brown leather mary janes – at the age of five – not only know she is not like the others but already have this sad, tangible self-consciousness about her.

So now that the kids are back in school…

Posted on September 2, 2010 by admin

It's funny how, as a parent, you get a little weepy as you send your little ones off to school on their first day, reminiscing about how they were just this small and now they're oh my god THIS BIG and, um, when did that happen? But once you're over the hysterics of the morning schedule, the new shoes that need double-knotting and the light-up backpacks that need packing you breathe in this air of motivation like you're suddenly ready. to. conquer. the. world.

That home office you've been meaning to clean? You are going to organize and alphabetize and something else-ize that bitch TO-DAY!

Sure, you do dishes every day but this week? You're going to dare to look above the hood range and inside the microwave and even beneath the trash can!

All that laundry that can never possibly be done and folded and put away? HA! That pile is yours for the conquering.

The book you've been meaning to finish er, start? Two thousand words a day, easy.

A much need lunch out with some girlfriends you haven't seen in forever? You are going to schedule it.

But as you wave your last good-bye at your son who walks into his new classroom that smells of freshly sharpened pencils and crayons and someone's over-ripe banana, you walk back to your car, drive on auto-pilot home, open the door without remembering having unlocked it, eye the dirty laundry in the hamper while innocently happening to catch a glimpse of your bed, beckoning you to rest your tired self for just a minute or two and… eh. All those To Do things? They'll be there tomorrow.

Heart tug-o-war

Posted on September 1, 2010 by admin

My heart is at tug-o-war, aching for the days when they were just bundles of drool and fuzzy hair and yet swelling with pride over what amazing little dudes they have become.

But time? is such an asshole. Suddenly I've got a preschooler, a Kindergartener and even a second grader.