Let's get it on!

It's Saturday night and I am already dreading my weekly promise to Brian of at least an hour of "naughty time" every Saturday. We had a talk last week about how little we get naked together. And by "we" I mean Brian came to me and pretty much demand that I put out more. I feel bad for him. On some level he must know that I would rather have sex with my own father than let him stick it in me. But he doesn't admit it to himself, he thinks it's a superficial problem with my general tiredness. He thinks that because that's what I tell him. I realize he does deserve something and a blow job as payment for my room and board is not the worst thing in the world.

Tooth Fairy

I had to take Bekka to the dentist today. You see, Brian feels that it is an appropriate form of love to buy a young girl with a sweet tooth, weight problem, and lack of self control 6 pounds of Skittles every week from Costco. And since I can't take the candy away from her (it's like ripping a newborn cub from a Kodiak bear), I am stuck dealing with the aftermath. Like most kids, Bekka hates the dentist. Unlike most kids, she becomes uncontrollably upset and vicious when faced with a dentist visit, which is pretty often these days. The drill usually goes like this: I sit in the car in the school parking lot for 15 minutes psyching myself up by chanting "You can do this" over and over again. I then spend 5-10 minutes, usually with the help of Ms. Swarthright loosening Bekka's death grip from her desk. I carry Bekka out of the school not unlike Liam Neeson handling Jodie Foster in "Nell". When I finally get her buckled up, I pop in Miley Cyrus' "Breakout", which finally calms her down, but as soon as I turn the car off she starts up again like an air raid siren. I then drag her from parking lot to dentist chair and hold her down while they sedate her. The silence in the aftermath of all this chaos is so delightful, I cry. Because it's over. For today.

The Earth Moved

Tonight I was guilted by certain ladies, whom I despise (Marie Cartwright and Janice Donerway) after the PTA meeting for not having an emergency kit at my house. They kept peppering the phrase "I can't believe you would not be prepared for an emergency" throughout our conversation about how much TV the kids should watch in the evening. So when I got home, I looked up all the extra crap I need to buy to put in the kit:
One Gallon of water per person per day
Canned foods and non perishable treats
Can opener
Battery powered radio
Flashlight and extra batteries
Whistle
Change of clothes for each person
Blankets or sleeping bags
Toilet paper, tampons, garbage bags
First aid kit
Matches in a waterproof container
Tool kit
Local Maps
Cash or travelers checks a credit card

This is a huge thing! How am I supposed to get it all out of my house when disaster strikes? Instead of having one big bag, I am making this a family project. I am buying backpacks and all the things listed x 4, then we’re all responsible for our own safety. After society has broken down and chaos ensues, those guys are on their own cause I’m taking my pack and starting a brand new colony by myself.

Love seat

Last year for my birthday Brian promised me anything I wanted. What I really wanted was a nose job, but Brian and I talked about it and "we" decided a couch would be more practical. So I choose this beautiful Ethan Allen couch:

From Resentful Mom

In this color:

From Resentful Mom

So this evening we went to order it. And only 58 days before my next birthday. I would have gone to Ethan Allen to get it myself long ago, but I am not allowed a credit card. I guess I did it to myself, because one time I bought myself a $200 Hermès perfume which he thought was an extravagant purchase. Even though I had asked for it for three years in a row for Christmas and never got it. It was all I wanted for so long and every Christmas I had to act happy when I opened all the off-the-mark gifts like a marble garden turtle, flannel pj's and crappy hand made cookie jars. So until I can prove to Brian that I am "responsible" again, it's family trips every time I need to buy something for myself. There's nothing quite like having three people watching you pick out bras and panties.

BFF!

My "best friend", Kristie Snidelou, is really more like a person who I allow to come into my house and rape me of my time. She has been married to the same person three times. Right now they've been married for 26 months, which is about how long it takes them to start realizing they hate each other again. I hope the this time, when they have one of their knock-down drag-out divorce inducing fights, which they will soon, they decide to drop rat poison in each others morning OJ. Cause if they don't kill each other, I don't know how many afternoons I can continue to listen to her Bonnie Bell lip glossed slathered lips repeating the same, tired, redundant points about why Stephen just isn't good enough while I stuff my mouth with turkey roll ups. Something has to go in my mouth so hateful words don't.

Bright Sunshining Day

Today it's 24 degrees. That's the high, which means it's only that warm if your standing in direct sunlight and the wind is not slapping you in the face like a frozen metal shovel. It's about this time of year I start wishing the ozone was completely eradicated so that I wouldn't be so abused by the cold. Like having to get out of the car, becoming instantly frozen, going inside, and before my toes have feeling again, going back outside to the car to do it all over again. On busy Monday's also known as every Monday,it's a torturous cycle of going inside then outside, again and again. Cody has 6PM-8PM karate class and Bekka has 6:30 ballet and 7:30 tap - at two different dance studios! I only agreed to this insane evening schedule because I get go to Dunn Bros. Coffee during their classes and enjoy warm coffee that I didn't have to make. I don't know what the kids who work there think of me coming in and out, ordering a small coffee each time, and just staring quietly. There's really not time to think about what else is going on because if I'm not busy picking out people I think I'd like to trade places with, I'm involved with my internal debate about the pros and con's of just jumping on I-94 and driving 'till I run out of gas.

Hello Mrs. Nicholson!

I've secretly hated Kathy Nicholson, my chubby one dimensional neighbor for her toothy smile, her overuse of the phrase "Things have a way of working themselves out" and her constant bragging about her stupid, clean silver Toyota Sienna. Adding to that, last week I realized she and her whole garbage pile of a family have been stealing our wireless Internet! Our Internet had been really slow, which happened to coincide with her two awful waste of space kids getting their own computers. I put on my detective hat (also known as a VO5 Hot Oil treatment) and thought about what to do. I googled how to see what IP addresses are accessing our router. Then today I read about how to set up a WEP password and then set my laptop, Brian's laptop, and the kids PC to use the new user name and password (I called our network "Team Family". It's an ironic name, but Brian and the kids think it's sincere and love it so I won't rain on their parade.)I was really proud of myself for succeeding at something that didn't involve excrement or food. Not one hour after I shut down the free Internet train, I got a knock on my door. It was Kathy, standing on my porch in a too-tight peach colored Pink by Victoria's Secret jumpsuit and holding a baked pie! She had the nerve to ask me if we'd be interested in splitting the Internet costs with her and her family, you know, the "recession and all". I wanted to tell her to stick that store bought apple pie right up her fat ass cause I don't eat carbs, bitch. But what I actually said was "How nice!" in my high pitched lady squeal (only other ladies can hear it) and told her I would talk to Brian about it since "I don't know the first thing about Internets". I will continue to lie to her face when she asks me about it until she gives up and gets her own god damned Internet. Which I will in turn steal. Just cause. I'm already googling how to slow an Internet connection down.

Taking out the garbage

I was cleaning out the junk drawer when I found a crumpled up magazine page. When I opened it up I could hardly believe what it was! Before I had Bekka, I was a really well-to-do interior designer. This is one of the houses I did, and it was featured in Southern Living magazine. My client lived in Atlanta (I used to decorate homes all over the country) and she had a friend who worked for the magazine and viola! free advertising for me. Not that I really needed it, but I was so busy after that issue came out that I had to make the decision to stop doing it or expand. Brian put a baby in me, which really helped me make my "decision". I've never talked to the kids about it because I'm afraid if they ask why I don't do it anymore, I'll just start crying and won't be able to stop. For days. I should throw this away but I feel like it's place is crumpled up in the back of a drawer filled with old keys, rubber bands, fortune cookies and locks.

From Resentful Mom

From Resentful Mom

Pet Shop Boy

Cody wants a dog. He's now involved Bekka in the incessant propaganda campaign that includes whining, screaming and crying until they get one. I thought I had prepared for this by convincing them every time they sneezed that they had somehow come in contact with a dog and were therefore allergic to furry animals. But I guess when they really want something logic just gets buried in their tiny brains and their animalistic functions kick in. But what they don't know is that I have a secret weapon and it's called an unnatural ability to take pills. And I am sure my 25 day stash of Percodan will be just the thing I need to beat them at this game.

Helping Hand

So I was reading "Ask Peggy" in this month's Good Housekeeping, and I have one word to describe her advice. SUCK. As in "it sucks" and as in "she sucks". I know she is just a cog in the machine that is the Emily Post Institute, but it makes me no less furious that she is giving out crappy advice, to, no doubt, young moms who are confused and sad and on the edge of ending it all. One time Peggy told a reader that it was rude to ask for decaf at a dinner party because you could embarrass the hostess if she doesn't have any. First of all, if you're getting embarrassed because you don't have decaf coffee, you've got problems far worse than lack of beverages. Secondly, scraping the bottom of the barrel as far as reader questions are concerned. So I've decided to put this out there. If you are a resentful mom, and you have serious questions that need answers from a subjective source, send 'em to me. Rachel.Sochney@gmail.com. And I'll answer them. Honestly and without judgment. Well, maybe a little judgment.