Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Ten Ways to Get Kicked Out of the PTA the First Week of School

Because being in the PTA is a thankless job...just like parenting.
  • Cut to the front of the coffee line at the First Day of School Breakfast
  • Pull out a flask at the First Day of School Breakfast
  • Pay your dues in pennies carried from an old sock
  • Shout, "Where the strippers at?" at the first all-hands meeting
  • Wear this shirt to Open House:

  • Offer to organize a fundraiser called Shots for Tots at a local dive bar
  • Yell, "It's only the second day so fuck off!" across the parking lot as you're trying to make it inside before the bell rings. On the second day.
  • Park your car on the sidewalk for drop-off and pick-up
  • Openly complain that the library doesn't have the most current issues of Hustler
  • Ask the school nurse when you can schedule a PAP smear for yourself so you can avoid a $30 co-pay

Monday, July 6, 2015

39 and Doing Fine

I turned 39 yesterday.
I said to Dr. T, "Remember my 19th birthday? My sister threw me a surprise party and you had to keep me out of the house all day."
That was 20 YEARS AGO.
So I had a moment of reflection on that day in 1995.
I had a Rachel haircut.
I was wearing shortalls.
I still lived at home.
I would move to Albuquerque a month later.
Nobody thought I would survive on my own. There actually was a bet involved on how long it would be until I moved back home.
I sure showed them!
I remember turning 29 and having an age freakout. I was going to be 30 in a year...a real grownup who won't be able to get away with the fun stuff that people in their 20s do.
Three months after my 29th birthday, my husband's best friend committed suicide. 
I could have gone off the rails and devolved into a shame spiral of drugs or drinking. I started smoking again and began therapy.
Nothing makes you face adulthood like dealing with a loss like that.
My next age crisis came at 35 and for that I blame a friend who once said "35 means you're closer to 50 than you are to 20." 
So I turned 39 yesterday which means one more year till 40. Honestly, the only age crisis I'm having right now is where do I celebrate my 40th birthday so that all of my friends and family will come?
I feel good about my age. I don't look 39, I still look good enough so that I'm not a "she looks good for her age" person yet. 
The weight is coming off, literally and figuratively. 
The only way I feel old is when my daughter tells me my age is a big number. What does she know, she's only 5!
And the fact that I'm always tired. ALWAYS.

Friday, June 5, 2015

Things You Shouldn't Do After You Take Ambien

Trust me, all are bad ideas.
  • Shop online
  • Shop online at Amazon Prime
  • Shop online at Amazon Now
  • Order pizza
  • Order Chinese food
  • Order both pizza AND Chinese food
  • Call your mom
  • Call your dad
  • Call that one friend you haven't spoken to in months
  • Call that one friend's ex-boyfriend and tell him he's a dick
  • Call your husband a dick
  • Book a trip to Vegas
  • Book a trip to Europe
  • Book a trip to outer space
  • Experiment with eyeliner
  • Experiment with Sharpie eyebrows
  • Experiment with your hot female neighbor
  • Trim your bangs
  • Hair removal of any kind
  • Clean your oven
  • Clean your bathtub
  • Fix your vacuum cleaner
  • Give your dog a bath
  • Sew
  • Watch the Red Wedding episode of Game of Thrones
  • Watch Brazil
  • Watch any non-comedy made before 1984
  • Watch your child sleep
  • Watch your husband sleep
  • Watch House Hunters
  • Pull peeling wallpaper off the wall
  • Hire an interior decorator and general contractor for your house remodel
  • Plan a house remodel
  • Sign up for a subscription of any kind
  • Be anywhere near an internet connection
  • Take another Ambien

Monday, May 4, 2015

Reality Check #5342

Worried about flabby arms, double chins, stomach rolls and giant boobs.
Photo courtesy of Casey Chapman Ross Photography
The title of this post refers to the number of posts I've titled "Reality Check" and then never actually finished. It's referred to all different sorts of reality checks like going back to work after a vacation, realizing my daughter knows how to spell z-o-o and p-a-r-k, finding out my favorite band broke up and an all-too-humbling trip to the doctor.
But let me back up.
Listen To Your Mother was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I'm sure I sound like a broken record but to have been included with all of these amazing and talented writers was beyond a dream-come-true. I enjoyed bonding with my castmates before the shows and mingling with them afterwards. The second show was such a whirlwind with the amount of "my people" who showed up that I barely got to meet "their people," which I regret. I came to think of us as a sisterhood and I wanted to meet their families. I think we should have a reunion of sorts.
But the reality check came as I walked to the podium to share my story: my doctor was in the audience. It's extremely jarring for me to see an authority figure out of context, like when my 5th grade teacher came into the restaurant where I worked in high school. Since I whine to my doctor a lot about weight loss and depression, I felt odd sharing a humorous story about wanting an only child. It was even odder because I had an appointment scheduled with her four days after the show. Knowing she was in the audience led me to believe that she was judging my every motion. Breathe too deeply, and she'll think I have some sort of pulmonary disorder. Cough and she'll think I started smoking again. Exhale my gut and she'll see right through my Spanx.
After our performance and we took our bows, I looked around the post-show reception to see if she was there. I was relieved that she wasn't. So I continued to bask in the warm glow of validation that I so desperately craved after being on-stage. I was great! Buy me wine!
Flash forward those four days. The doc kept me waiting for over an hour. But she was super-apologetic about it. And when I asked her if she was at the show, she beamed and said that she goes to it every year and really enjoyed my story. We settled into comfortable chit-chat about how i've been doing. I started going to a therapist again which is great for everyone around me. I mentioned my breast cancer scare and my mom recently having a stroke. Then came the subject I was dreading but knew was important: weight loss.
I want to love how I look and embrace my body no matter what it looks like. For the most part, that's easy...except for the days when my pants are cutting into my c-section scar and I feel like a sausage at the end of the day. I've bought bigger clothes and avoided the nagging feeling that I need to get my wedding ring sized up. I haven't worn my watch since we moved to Austin because it just doesn't fit. But I convince myself that I look good and I'm happy and healthy. I'm boosted by women like Amy Schumer, Elizabeth Moss and Abbi Jacobson – they look like normal women! But the reality is I'm not as healthy as I should be. For someone with a family history that reads like A Series of Unfortunate Illnesses, I need to get my shit together. Doc suggested I kickstart weight loss with a diet program and then try the Mediterranean diet to maintain that loss. Here's the thing: I'm lazy. I have no willpower. I've TRIED to do the self-appointing diet plans like Weight Watchers and I'm notorious for cheating.  I like to drink. I like queso. I like the guac that costs extra at Chipotle. But I decided that I'd rather live long enough to see my daughter graduate from beauty school than keep eating like crap.
When it came time to do research and choose a weight loss plan, I leaned towards the cheapest one, Nutri-System. But when I saw what the photos of the food looked like, I backtracked. They looked like the worst school cafeteria food combined with the leftovers at Luby's on a Tuesday night.
Jenny Craig has better food reviews so I signed up, ordered 2 weeks worth of meals and now...I wait. It's hard to be spontaneous about eating when there's shipping involved.
I don't want this to be a weight loss "journey." This is just me being accountable for all the damage I've done to my body with burgers and pizza. And I know there are better, "healthier" ways to go about this but again let me reiterate: I am lazy. I don't cook. And I can't afford to shop at Whole Foods for every meal and then cook said meal.
Also, this isn't a cry for compliments. You can say I look great and I will be forever in your debt for that! But know that this is more for my insides than my appearance.
So please don't judge me for Jenny Craig.
And let's keep the Kirstie Alley references to a minimum...I'm more of a Valerie Bertinelli girl anyway.
Stay tuned for bikini pics! *Totally Kidding*

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Listen To Your Mother

Me during rehearsal. I didn't know what to do with my hands.
Photo courtesy of Casey Chapman Ross
This Saturday, I have the honor of performing in Austin's Listen To Your Mother show. It's really happening; I've gone to two rehearsals and they haven't politely asked me to leave so they're stuck with me.
It's a surreal feeling to be chosen for this show. I'm sharing my story amongst these remarkable women whose stories are so profound.
Mine is not as profound. I don't do deep, usually.
I'm not nervous about performing or being onstage.
I'm nervous about fitting in and looking good and not embarrassing myself.
I'm nervous that my jokes will fall flat and that my husband will roll his eyes.
I'm nervous that my therapist will come and tell me afterwards that there's no hope for me.
I'm nervous that I'll trip on my way to the stage. Sure, it's endearing when cute, young Jennifer Lawrence does it but when a 38-year-old me does it, it won't be as adorable.
I'm scared I'll miss it completely. True story, I have nightmares about this all the time. That I'll just forget to show up.
I'm terrified that nobody will be proud of me.
I'm nervous my dress is see-through and I'll wear the wrong bra.
I'm nervous my Spanx will cut off my circulation.
I'm nervous my shoes won't be the cutest. Judging by the photos we've been sharing, there's no way my shoes will be the cutest. These gals have some serious shoe game!
I've been told they're laughing at me for my words and not because my fly was down.
Photo courtesy of Casey Chapman Ross

Mostly, I'm nervous that I'll be exposed for the fraud that I am. I'm not a real blogger; I barely keep up with Hip-Baby Mama anymore. Writing was supposed to be my outlet but I put so much pressure on myself to be good at that I blank at every second. If I update once a month, that's lucky.
If my blog traffic increases, will my new readers even like what they see? But that's a whole other area of insecurity.
So this is my pre-show freakout. I know I'll be ok the moment I step on that stage. I'll have the support of my amazing castmembers and our producers and my family and friends in the audience. I'll look great, my Spanx will do its job and if the polish on my pinky is chipped, nobody will notice.
And somebody will be proud of me.
If you want that somebody to be you, please buy your tickets and come see me. 

I mean, just look at these wonderful women! Award-winners, published bloggers...all that and they have amazing taste in shoes!
Photo courtesy of Casey Chapman Ross