Don't ask, don't tell

For one magical week when I was about 5 or 6, my mother and brother Dave took off to Hawaii, leaving my father and I at home. I believe that my mother had an old friend that had moved there and she and my brother were heading there for a visit, but I'd have to ask her to confirm that.

Anyhow, my mother did the requisite cooking ahead of time, leaving us with Tupperware containers with spaghetti sauce and who knows what else. I don't believe that other than K rations, my father had ever done more than make himself a ham sandwich, so my mother's efforts were hugely wasted.

At that time, my favorite restaurant in the world was McDonald's. Even though my mother tried to convince me that the hamburgers were possibly made from kangaroo meat, there was nothing better in my little world than a good little hamburger with those onions sprinkled all over and a good smear of ketchup too. She would moan and roll her eyes every time I asked for McDonald's and just keep driving past, leaving me in the back seat of the car to fog my window up with my unrequited love for the dry little hamburgers.

But not my dad. He just wanted his little girl to be happy. And so every night that week, we sat outside of the Hackettstown McDonald's at the concrete tables and he had a Big Mac and I had my Happy Meal. And at the end, we always had sundaes. He would have a hot fudge sundae, and mine was strawberry. We would sit in silence, savoring not only the sweetness of the sundaes but the forbidden fruit that my mother would surely disapprove of.

"This is going to be our little secret, okay?" he grinned at me. "Don't tell your mother."

I'm not exactly sure what my mother said when she came home to find all of the Tupperware containers untouched.

*****

Fast forward to three years ago. My dad took Monkey Man somewhere in his white minivan that we have affectionately dubbed The Turtle. Later on that afternoon, they came back and I noticed Monkey Man carrying two small motorcycles.

"I'm not supposed to tell you about these. Grandpa got them for me from Toys R Us," he admitted sheepishly.

Some things never change. Not that I'm complaining.

*****

Every time I call my mother, it's something else. On Sunday, while my sister was visiting, Dad fell out of his chair in Sunday School and scared the bejeezus out of everyone there.

I feel the days slipping away.

Big boy

Dear Monkey Man,

Today is a day I've been dreading for weeks now.  The last day of school.

This year has been a magical year for you.  I can't even express how happy it has made me to see you excited to tell me every afternoon what your day was like.  As we drive down the road to meet Daddy, you entertain me with stories about what you've learned, what your crazy friends have been doing, and all the good gossip from your class.  Your face has had that light in it that I recognize because I used to have it myself when I was in first grade.  

I never had any fears that you would fit in.  Somehow, you have always managed to make your own way and make friends along the way.  You have a special something about you that I admire greatly - you are able to give your friendship with a courage that I have lost somewhere along the way myself.  I hope you never lose that.

Your reading has exploded beyond my wildest imagination.  I remember being your age and carrying books with me wherever I went.  I had a passionate, mad love for the written word and devoured everything that I could get my hands on.  It gives my heart such joy to see you just as obsessed with reading as I was.  And then math - Lord, the math - thankfully you have your father's abilities and seem to have a natural knack for it.  

We discovered that you love to draw.  And you are very good at art.  You love to play sports, and while you're not the superstar of the team, you always try your hardest and you are a gracious winner and a good loser too.  Both of which will serve you well later on in life.

This afternoon, I slipped by the school to pick up your EpiPen from the clinic and decided on a whim to stop by and see your teacher, Mrs. B.  I wanted to let her know how sad you were today that it was going to be your last day - that you had actually told your father that you weren't really going to miss your friends as much as you were going to miss Mrs. B.

She gave me a huge hug and let me know that of the over 20 years that she has been teaching, that you are one of a handful of students that she felt a special connection with.  That you are not only extremely smart, but very mature for your age and have a special care and compassion toward other people.  She feels like you are destined to be a big success at whatever you do, and her eyes got a little misty as she talked about your love of history and how you have helped Nicholas with his speech class and how you were always well-behaved and attentive.  "Joey is very special," she said, "and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for him as he goes through school.  He will do great things!"

All your father and I have ever expected of you are two things - that you try your very hardest to do a good job at everything that you do, and that you are a good, honest, and kind person.  And from what Mrs. B. told me today, I think you are well on your way to being the very best little man you can be.

We love you, Monkey Man, and we are so proud.  Congratulations on a job well done.

Love you bunches, 

Mommy

Love hurts

Monkey Man's best friend in the whole entire planet, Quentin, has been totally enamored with this girl that lives in our neighborhood named Annie Grace.  Yes, that is her name - apparently all of the girls in that family have "double first" names.  Kind of sickening but whatever.  The three kids were in the same kindergarten class last year and have also been classmates at The World's Most Expensive Preschool for several years.  This love runs deep, deeper than the ocean and the mountain of tuition debt.

Last fall, Monkey Man scored an exclusive, private invitation to Annie Grace's birthday party at her house - complete with petting zoo.  And a zip line running through the backyard.  All the pizza and sugar you could snarf.  And he was one of three boys invited among something ridiculous like 20 girls, so it was a little bachelor's paradise.  But when Quentin's mom Jay found out, she begged me NOT to tell Quentin about it because he hadn't been invited to the party and would be just heartbroken.  

And at this point, I realized that sometimes, obsession over Kindergarten Love can go a little overboard.  But whatever.  

This year, Annie Grace is back in Monkey Man's room again while Quentin was sent packing to another class.  But his love remained steadfast, with Monkey Man coming home with sporadic reports of smooching on the playground and declarations of love forever, or at least until recess was over.  

Apparently, though, the love is gone.  Finished.  Over.

Two weeks ago, we ended up at the local pizza joint one night after baseball and Quentin's family happened to be there.  He came over to sit with us while we all waited for our food to arrive, so I asked him how school was going and your typical parental grilling questions.  "So...how is Annie Grace, is she still your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Well, Miss Liz," said Quentin sadly, "things aren't going so good.  Annie Grace tried to kick me in the nuts the other day on the playground and now she's not talking to me."

I just about fell out of the booth.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing.  Although a huge part of me wanted to take Quentin to the side and explain that this would probably not be the first time, nor the last time, that a female would attempt to have him by the balls - either literally or figuratively.  But I figured that was probably a conversation for another time.

Fast forward to last Friday, when I was chaperoning Monkey Man's class to the state park on a field trip.  I drove him to school since I was asked suckered into riding the bus with the class, and on the way to school I asked him who his friends were, who he liked playing with, which of the girls he liked and didn't like....

"So Monkey Man, which of the girls do you not like playing with on the playground?"  I asked.

"Annie Grace," he said squinching up his face.  "She tried to kick Quentin in the nuts the other day, and he's my peep.  I've got his back!"  

And they learn so early.  Bro's before ho's.  

*****

I could apologize for being absent again, but it's kind of pointless.  About two weeks ago, we found out that my dad's cancer has spread into his bones now.  Leg, spine, ribcage.  Not unexpected, but still hard to take.  I did make it down to see him two weeks ago and he doesn't look good at all...my sister and I suspect that he is much sicker than my parents are telling me.

Add to this some other issues that I'm not going to get into here but have been weighing heavily on my heart, and I have been just trying to put one foot in front of the other and keep myself going.  It's hard, though.  I'm realizing more than ever that maybe there isn't much I can control in my life anymore.  The pieces are all falling around me and I swear if it wasn't for the people that I love, I wouldn't make it through this with one bit of sanity left.  The sadness of it all is overwhelming me at times, yet I realize that life does go on and that I have some amazing people that I share it with - family, friends, coworkers. 

And for that, I am grateful.  Because even when life kicks you in the nuts, a little love can make it all better.

Pass the ketchup. And a fork, too.

I have to say, hands down, that my Mother's Day was probably the best one ever.  

But let's not be so hasty, because you know there had to be something that went wrong that weekend, right?  Oh yeah.  A Forced In-Law Interaction.

We had originally worked out that we were going to meet the Outlaws for lunch somewhere halfway between our house and their house, mostly because we had a baseball game at 10 AM on Saturday and plans with friends for Sunday.  Not that I really wanted to drive over an hour for lunch with people I strongly dislike, but I figured as long as Sunday remained unscathed and there wasn't the traditional Mother-In-Law Meltdown that I would suck it up.  Not to mention it had been a few months since I'd had to see them, so I really didn't see a way out of it.

By Friday night, however, their plans had changed.  They decided that they wanted to come up and watch Monkey Man's baseball game and then we would go to lunch.  Oh, great.  So Joey gave them explicit directions on how to get to the ball field and what time the game was and all that jazz.

To add to the stress of the morning, we were responsible for supplying drinks and snacks for the team that day - of course.  So after a stop for ice and making sure we had everything together, we hit the road and were running probably ten minutes late heading to the field.  That's when the phone calls started.  

At one point, thirty minutes after the game started, Joey tossed me his phone after his mother had already called six times because they couldn't find the field.  By the time they called again I figured out that they were driving up and down the street right outside of the entrance to the ball field.  The one with the six-foot sign.  That they couldn't find.

So I'm trying to watch the game, give directions, and keep an eye out for them when I finally see my mother-in-law come waddling down the pathway.  In her typical ADD manner she has forgotten - yet again - not only what field the team is on, but what school he plays for and what color the team's uniform is.  Since I had just told her for at least the third time when she got in the parking lot.  She announces that my father-in-law is not coming to the field because it's too far to walk.  

Well, great.

At this point, one of the other parents, feeling like they are being helpful, tells my mother-in-law that there is another parking lot closer to the field where maybe she could move the car.  But instead of HER walking over to look, she asks me to do it.  I found a few parking spots there, but honestly had no clue exactly how to tell her to get to said parking lot.  

To sum this up, she moves the car...and he still refuses to come to the field because now 20 feet is too far.  

Kill me now.

After the game, we ended up going to lunch.  My mother-in-law picked O'Charleys, which if you are not familiar with it is a chain similar to a Bennigans or something like that.  Nothing exotic, just plain ol' American food.  By the time my mother-in-law chose something off the menu - twenty-five minutes after we got our drinks - I was ready to stick a fork in my eye just to be excused from the table.  

Did I mention she ordered the till-a-pee-a?  You know what that is, right?  She ordered the cedar-planked tilapia, which she not only butchered the name of, but also smothered in Heinz ketchup.  

My father-in-law ordered ribs, which he ate with his fingers.  Which would've been okay if he hadn't also eaten his steamed broccoli with his fingers too.  Pretty sad when your seven-year-old has better table manners than a grown-ass adult.

The highlight of lunch, other than the skillful preparation of the till-a-pee-a, was my mother-in-law's 20-minute story about buying a lightbulb for her office.  You know, she only needed one fluorescent tube so she had to drive into town...got to the store where they had six individual tubes, or a carton of 20 tubes.  And how hard it was to decide whether to buy the six individual tubes, or the carton of 20.  And how then the six had to be wrapped.  And the drive back to the office.  And then how she tripped in the parking lot and fell, gashing her elbows and knees open - but, dammit, the lightbulbs made it unbroken.  Wow.  

It was at that point where I stuck a fork in my other eye.

On Mother's Day, we went to Busch Gardens with two of the Badasses, their spouses and kids.  We had a freaking blast.  The weather was gorgeous, the kids all got along, and everyone had a great time.  

It was almost worth sticking a fork in my eye.  And watching someone slather Heinz all over their till-a-pee-a.

Mental vomit

Day Three and I realized with some horror - after the post office had closed for the day, of course - that I haven't mailed the first Mother's Day card.  Oops.  

My Drunk Friday for tomorrow has been ruined yet again by stupid adult responsibilities.  Of course the only opening the washing machine repairman had other than NEXT THURSDAY was tomorrow between 1 and 5 PM.  Of course.  I hope he doesn't mind if I'm sitting in my living room drinking Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonades while he works.  If he's hot, I'll even offer him one.

Monkey Man is wearing his favorite pajamas - they have freaking Spongebob all over them, and they are hideous.  He adores them to the point he wanted to wear them to Pajama Day during school spirit week and I had to ixnay that idea.  Not a good idea to show off the package to the ladies, my friend.  There are some things that are better left to the imagination.

I have been planning all week to pick out a paint color for my kitchen which desperately needs painting, ideally while we can open the windows and it's not 110 degrees outside.  And yet, every time I bust out the paint deck my palms start to sweat and I get panicky.  I think I have commitment issues.   No, I don't think I do - I know I do.

You know you have crazy friends when  you get an email from one of them saying, "Raise your hand if you got drunk and rode a mechanical bull for three hours.  My thighs are killing me.  But I am totally getting one of those for my house."  

And now, it's time for me to collapse into a heap.  I spent most of last night watching tornado warnings and waffling between just going to sleep and hoping for the best, bringing Monkey Man down into my bed to I didn't have to try and get him out of bed if I happened to hear an actual tornado, and sheer terror.  I probably just should've had a few shots of bourbon and called it a night.

White trash, or don't eff with my cans, yo

Here we are on Day two, and no one has perished yet in the absence of Joey.  Except, perhaps, my 4-year old washing machine which has a very odd electrical burning smell and won't advance past the rinse cycle.  

I am envisioning mountains of laundry by the time the effers get out here to fix the thing.  Leave it to me to get some off-the-wall brand of washer instead of a damn Whirlpool or something.  With the amount it's been raining here in the past week, however, I could probably just lay our clothes out on the grass and let good ol' Mother Nature do her stuff.  Of course then there's the thought of the dog taking a crap on one of my BCBG blouses so maybe that's not such a great idea after all.

Did I tell y'all what happened with our trash collection last week?  Oh yeah, this is a good one.  So we have had a certain provider for the past, oh, EIGHT YEARS and about two months ago I got an email from them asking if I'd like to be put on their paperless billing program.  As an alleged tree hugger, I'm all about saving paper where I can (not to mention hello, I pay most of my bills online anyway) so I eagerly signed up for it.

Well...apparently our stellar IT filters caught my invoice up in there somewhere so I never got it nor did it appear on my "gotcha" emails that the server generates every few hours.  As in, I get an email that shows (or supposedly does) all of the spam that is headed for my account and then I can choose to release it to my email or just ignore it and it goes away.  

Last Wednesday, I got home from work to a voice mail from the trash company saying that they were coming to abscond with my trash cans due to "nonpayment of your account" - namely, I'm a trash deadbeat and they were hoofin' off with my cans, yo.  But they were unable to remove the cans due to "a dog that is in your yard" namely Rufus who was probably snarling and chasing their asses all the way back up the driveway.  Which actually, one of the cans smelled like something had died in there so the thought of them taking that particular can was pretty appealing.  But I gathered my senses...attempted to call their office which had closed a mere three minutes before...and then got online to their website and paid up my account.  

Thursday morning, I got on the phone first thing with my confirmation number for payment and called the trash company's office to tell them what had happened.  Obviously, the customer service representative either had her period or was just an overall flaming bitch, because she basically told me that A.) I could explain it a thousand times but look, yo, I've heard these stories all week from you deadbeat people, and B.) If I did want to continue with their stellar, unparalleled trash service then it would cost me $25 to reactivate my account.  

For reals?  $25 to keep the trash service going when I had accidentally not paid my bill?  Wow.  What a bargain.  Not to mention that not only was I a residential customer of this company, but I usually get my dumpsters through them too for work.  Talk about good customer relationships, huh?

So with a few choice words, I told her what she could do with her effing trash cans.  And that if they could get past Corgzilla in our driveway, they were welcome to come get them.  

And damn if I didn't get home that evening to find that we had no trash cans.   Oops.  Nothing like writing a check with your mouth that your ass can't cash.  And poor Rufus looked utterly defeated, so I can only imagine the hilarity that ensued when Frick and Frack showed up to take my (full) stinky trash cans.  Between them getting chased back up the driveway to them attempting to get my (full) stinky cans up in their truck, that was probably some Grade A neighborhood fodder right there.  

Luckily, said Trash Nazis don't corner the market here in the RVA, so I found someone else cheaper (yay!) that picks up on Wednesdays and we already have our beautiful new can that doesn't smell like ass.  

And this time, I'm not doing the paperless billing.  

My sweet, precious boy. And tequila!

I have a sneaking suspicion that this week will give me a renewed respect for single parents.

Last week, Joey called me and asked if it would be okay for him to head down to Florida for a few days.  Some kind of fancy-schmancy golf school that his largest manufacturer has invited him to attend on his dime.  And like his guitar playing, his golf game could definitely use some improvement - not to mention this is a great opportunity to do a little networking with some other companies in the same league but different parts of the US and Canada to see what the market is doing.  So I said fine.  And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he had a look of glee in his eye as he was loading up his clubs in the Pimp Mobile today.  Not at all.

Monkey Man is your typical 7-year old boy.  If his head wasn't attached to his body via his neck, he'd probably have left it behind at least a million times.  And that's a low estimate.  Tonight, we got home from dinner and I asked him to go ahead and take his bath.  I followed him upstairs to monitor the starting of the water and also putting the stopper down (he is infamous for forgetting while hundreds of gallons of water go gushing down the drain while he is picking toe fuzz out from between his toes), and then told him to make sure he turned the water off.  I headed downstairs to change clothes, got a phone call, and then I suddenly noticed that I could still hear water running.  And running.  And running.  I went back upstairs to discover my kid - who was supposed to be on the toilet taking a dump but instead was reenacting some sort of music video while bouncing up and down on the toilet seat - while the bathtub was probably only two inches from overflowing.

It's gonna be a loooong four days.  Good thing we have Xanax and bourbon.

*****

This past weekend we made a surprise trip up to Baltimore for a surprise birthday party for Heather (Mama Maven).  Unfortunately, some poor kid let the cat out of the bag the evening before, so she knew there was a party but thankfully was unaware that we were coming along with her childhood friend Sheri.  

Scott (G-Man) and all of their friends did a great job planning the party, and I have to say that they really have a fantastic group of friends.  There was one slight hiccup to the evening, namely when one of the attendees that we were introduced to actually realized I was Builder Mama.  I think my face turned about twenty shades of red and purple, because all I could think was that the poor guy was probably recalling Scott's tale of my Vegas proposition in the elevator.  Not really something you want church-going folks to know when they meet you for the first time, ahem.  Thankfully, I was not cast out of the house and we got to enjoy some great company as well as chocolate!  and tequila!  Life doesn't get much better than that.  

We also got to see one of my favorite PIM's, Christina, and her great family for a very late lunch on Saturday after we fought our way through the aquarium.  Her son and Monkey Man instantly hit it off, while I got to enjoy some quality bouncing time with her adorable daughter.  And did I mention that Christina gives the best hugs ever?  Yup.

It was a great, fun weekend.  And I think Joey and I realized that maybe we, too, could find a church home where people drink tequila.  

Doing the right thing

I haven't talked to my parents or my sister since the Easter Monday Massacre of 2009.  When my wounds are still fresh, I prefer to lick them versus having someone pouring salt into them.  

It amazes me that still after the past few years and the various blowups we've had about my family making plans and not inviting us to join in that even if I am actively involved in planning it out, somehow I still get fucked.  Hard.  

I can't tell y'all how many times my parents have come up here to visit and I always get the lament from them or from my sister about how I work "all the time" and "never take time off" when they come.  So this time, I specifically took Easter Monday off.  Kept Monkey Man out of school so he could spend some time with his beloved Grandpa.  My sister and I made plans to take my parents on a little sightseeing trip through the city that could be done via car instead of trying to make my dad walk too much.  I was so excited to spend the day with them that I could barely sleep the night before.

Oddly enough, though, when Monkey Man and I arrived at my sister's house that morning, we discovered that my brother-in-law had absconded with my dad to the Rivah to check on his boat that was currently being worked on.  And they would be gone all day.

So we took my mom shopping for about an hour...took her to lunch...and then we were summarily dismissed.  Told to go home.  I finally raised enough fuss with my sister that she grudgingly admitted to meeting us halfway for dinner somewhere that evening so at least Monkey Man could spend some time with my dad.  Right?

By the time dinner rolled around, I was so angry and bitter that I let my venom come spewing out.  My dad asked me how my "day off" was and I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was sorry to have wasted a day off specifically to spend with him and have him disappear for the day.  It sucked.  And I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that I was a bitch to my father who has cancer, or the fact that no one even acknowledged my feelings whatsoever.  It was like everyone shrugged and went back to their microgreens.

Since then, I've been incommunicado with my family.  It is just so frustrating to keep trying to do the right thing over and over again just to be shut down.  

Last night, the phone rang and it was my mom.  The conversation was cordial but the tension was obviously there.  She finally put my dad on the phone and I figured out why they called.  While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, my dad had been to the oncologist and yesterday was a day filled with a bone scan to see how far the cancer has spread.  

My dad was fairly upbeat.  He has already told the doctor that he definitely doesn't want to do chemo.  The doctor said it was fine, but he has a few medications that he wants to try to see if he can slow the cancer down.  Dad has already ordered the prescriptions and they should be here next week.  They will find out the results of the bone scan in about a week too.  He feels pretty good about his decision and feels fairly good overall.

And that's when I finally said what I've been wanting to say to him for months now.  

I gave him my blessing to do whatever he chooses to do.  I know he can't be on this earth forever.  I can't force someone to go through hellish treatments when I don't have to go through them myself.  I don't want him to suffer, but I don't want him to do anything extraordinary just to get an extra month or two.  I want him to be happy and at peace with whatever he decides.  In other words, I love him enough to let him go.

His voice cracked.  He thanked me and said it meant more to him than I would ever know.

I hung up the phone and cried, big snotty tears.  Because sometimes doing the right thing is harder than you have ever imagined.

Back in the zone

It's official.  I am insane.

Come May 31st, I will be here.

It's all Heather's fault.   I mean seriously, she is running a freaking half-marathon this coming weekend with such a great attitude that I feel bad grousing about a measly 10K.  Hurumph.

If nothing else, this is giving me something to focus on other than obsessing over work, baseball chauffering duties, my lack of housekeeping help of the paid and unpaid variety, and various and sundry other things.  I have run every day since last Friday, but tonight is my night off.  I blame Heather for that too, because obviously she is the sane one who thinks I need to actually REST every few days versus running myself straight into shin splits or stress fractures.

But for now, it's time to shovel a very unwilling Monkey Man off to bed since tomorrow is his first baseball game.  Monkeys should be well-rested, don't you think?

The funk and Vegas recap

Last week was NOT a good week.  Let's just call it the Post-Easter Funk of 2009.

But you know, I'm not going to go into it, because I promised you some damn Vegas stories and funk it all, I'm gonna deliver!  

A few months ago, the lovely Heather of Mama Maven fame told me that she had signed up for the half marathon in Nashville for next weekend to celebrate her 40th birthday...and would I like to go?

Hells no.  I mean really, I would rather poke my eye out with a hot poker than run 13 miles because I am a wuss of the highest magnitude.  And Nashville makes me puke.  A lot.  (Reference:  Morning Sickness 2001 started on the trip we took to Nashville, ew.  I always tell people that I've been to Nashville and probably puked in every bathroom there.)

But you know where's a great place to go for your birthday...VEGAS.  Right?  

Heather graciously tolerated my obsessing over hotel prices and flights for weeks until we finally nailed down some deals.  The coup de gras was a room at the Bellagio for...get this...$104 a night.  A NIGHT.  Hell, you couldn't afford NOT to go at that price, right?

We had a great time.  I mean, seriously, who wouldn't have a great time with Heather and her hilariously fun husband Scott (G-Man of Man Overboard)?  Holy damn.  We ate about 40 tons of bacon, drank a lot of wine and martinis, did a little retail therapy (while the guys holed up at a cigar bar which seriously got Joey cut off...I despise the smell of cigars), saw Wayne Brady, and Heather and I had a spa day.  It was awesome.

So one huge highlight of the trip was having drinks and dinner with Joansy and her friend (now OUR friend) Lori on the patio of Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris.  I'm sure my fellow PIM's that were on the Vegas reunion trip remember having lunch there...it is soooo good.  Not to mention the weather was gorgeous and the people watching was primo.  I always love seeing Joansy and it was wonderful to get to spend some time with Lori who is just the perfect friend and foil to Joansy.

And then, there was the potential of the hook-up.  It was around 4 in the afternoon and we were all heading up to the room to freshen up and catch a few minutes of rest before heading out for the evening when in the elevator lobby Joey spied a disabled man having trouble getting onto the elevator - so in typical Joey style, he hopped off of our elevator and said he was going to help the man and he'd catch up with us upstairs.

That left me, Heather, Scott, and this other couple on the elevator that were all over each other and obviously on their way up to the room for a little bumping of the uglies.  As our elevator door closed, I yelled out to Joey as a joke, "Don't worry honey, I won't hook up with anyone else when I'm by myself" or something stupid like that.  Well, that opened the door.  The other couple started talking to me and then kinda asked me to go back to the room with them.  I thought Scott was going to burst over that one, mostly because I was too freaking stupid to understand exactly what the hell the people were asking me.  Duh.

At that point, poor Joey realized that maybe it wasn't a good idea to leave me alone for more than two minutes in Vegas, because obviously trouble follows me wherever we go. 

Heather and Scott departed on Saturday afternoon, which left me and The Hub alone for the evening.  After looking at the concierge's list for shows, we couldn't find a thing that we wanted to see so we ended up booking dinner at Le Cirque - someplace that I had always wanted to eat.  Let me tell you, it was a Top 5 meal of my lifetime...between the ambiance, the service, and the spectacular food, it was really amazing.  Not to mention we ate dessert.

Overall, this was a notable trip for several reasons.  First, I always love seeing my friends - I don't allow much time in my life to do that here recently.  Second, this was the first trip I went on where I didn't have serious stomach issues or get sick.  Yay!  And...I actually came home ahead versus losing my ass on the slots.  That's a win-win if you ask me!

If you want to see pictures and Scott's take on the trip, go here and here.  

Not tonight, dear

So we've had a banner day here at Builder Mama Headquarters.

It looks like Joey is going to be able to fix his big mistake at work that I referred to the other day.  Basically, the Cliff Notes version is that he transposed some numbers on a bid and then actually signed the contract with the wrong bid number on it.  To the tune of already being in the hole almost $300K.

Yeah.  He had to change his undies after discovering that little gem.

Last night, he got a call from the contractor basically saying that they want to work things out too.  So that's good, I hope.

The other big news - since we took a bath in stocks last year, we actually...Got.  A.  Tax.  Refund.  The accountant called today, and it's a nice ol' chunk of change.  We were prepared to do our annual Bend Over, Here Comes the IRS pose.  Not necessary this year, though.

So we've had some celebratory beverages and I think as soon as we get Monkey Man stowed away, maybe a little celebratory somethin'-somethin'.  And then I'm going to bed, y'all.

There is no way that I can do a post about our Vegas trip any justice tonight, so come back tomorrow when I will be sober, well-laid, and ready to spin a good yarn.

It seemed like a good idea at the time

In the midst of all the reunion madness, I made the executive decision to finally give Reyna the boot.

Don't get me wrong - I think she's a super nice person.  She cleaned our house for us for over SEVEN YEARS.  She did a great job for about five of the seven years.

I know I mentioned previously that she had ripped a hole in our living room carpet and then tried to cover it up, right?  After having some serious heartburn over it, I decided that having help was better than doing it myself so I sucked it up and said nothing.  

The cleaning quality had gotten kind of spotty.  She would do a fantastic job one week, a mediocre job the next week, and then a crappy job the next week.  Lather, rinse, repeat - this went on for a while.  We had more good cleaning jobs than bad cleaning jobs, but it was irritating at best.

Then, a few months ago, she fell down our stairs while carrying our Dyson Animal.  After my initial concern over her well-being (and lack of insurance in all likelihood), I was really annoyed because 1.) we have a perfectly good vacuum cleaner up on the second floor that made it totally unnecessary for her to carry said Dyson up the stairs, and 2.) the damn Dyson was now broken.  Gone.  Toast.  Three-hundred-and-fifty smackeroos down the drain.  

But, in the spirit of good will (and again, because I am a lazy bastard), I got yet another Dyson, got the old one resuscitated and put it up on the second floor, and called it a day.

Then, sometime in February, I noticed a few odd things on Thursdays after she cleaned.  A few things went missing...nothing valuable, but stuff that she usually moved every time she cleaned and always put back, but seemed to be missing this time around.  Lights left on.  The cleaning wasn't quite up to par.  I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was just really odd.

I came home one week to a note on the table asking me to pay her in cash from now on.  I had alternated between checks and cash for years - most of the time (80%) paying her by check.  It is not always convenient for me to have $65 cash on hand on a Thursday morning, mostly from the fact that I rarely carry cash and then to get money from the ATM and then have to get change...ugh.  Yeah, remember - I'm a lazy bastard, right?

But my antennae went up.  And then, that weekend, I was out in the yard when one of the neighbors approached me and asked if I'd gotten a new cleaning lady and how she was working out.

A ha.  She was having someone else clean my house without telling me.  Thus the need for cash.  And the misplaced items.  

I was done at that point.  I understand that sometimes people feel overwhelmed by their jobs or maybe have bitten off more than they could chew, or even have personal situations that make it necessary for them to make changes.  But communication, my friends, would have solved the whole problem.  I was more pissed that she was trying to be so freaking sneaky about it than the fact that she had someone else cleaning for her.  Well, that was pretty bad too, because who wants a stranger in their house?

In the typical mode of the Dear John letter, I left her a note that basically said that we were cutting expenses due to the economy and that we wouldn't be needing her anymore.  I didn't really want to burn the bridge since my sister still uses her and really would it make a difference if I confronted her about it?  Probably not.

So now housekeeper has been added to my list of responsibilities.  And while I kind of hate cleaning, I kind of like it too.  If only the critters that live in my house would be a little better about picking up after themselves, it would be a whole lot easier.  

As soon as I can make sure that I'm not on the verge of losing my job, though, I WILL be on the mission to find someone else.  Because really, I much prefer being a lazy bastard.

Reunited...and it feels so weird

After exfoliating myself to the point of no return, I packed my shee-it up and headed up the highway to my friend Shai's house.  Her real name is Laura, Shai is her middle name which we all called her in high school and it's been a hard habit for me to break since apparently I'm not supposed to really call her that anymore.  But I do.  

Shai lives up in the northern part of Virginia and the game plan was for me to come up to her place on Friday night, spend the night, and then we would take off for New Jersey the following morning.  Shai is married to a great guy named Dave and has FOUR GIRLS ages 8 and under.  Lord help me, there is a special place in heaven for her, preferably with a lot of wine and sushi. 

We hadn't really had any time alone together in about ten years, so the second I hit the door Friday night we pretty much only stopped talking long enough to eat and sleep.  It was NUTS.  Seriously, my throat was scratchy for three days after we got back, probably more so from the

 talking than from the vomiting.

Oops, spoiler alert!

On Saturday, we rolled into our hometown around 2 PM.  We grew up in a bucolic little town in northwest New Jersey called Long Valley.  It is truly one of the most beautiful places on earth.  

New Jersey????  Beautiful????  You probably think I'm insane.  And in some ways, I am, but I am totally being truthful here.  It's in the mountains, it's very New-Englandy with all of the old homes and small towns.  A lot of that had fallen away from my memories since it had been a good 20 years since I'd been back there, and as we drove along the winding roads lined with trees, I was totally overwhelmed by exactly how beautiful it truly is there.

We had a pretty idyllic childhood.  It was such a time of innocence there - we remembered riding our bikes up and down the mountain, exploring through the woods and gallivanting down to the country store to get gum and ice cream.  Things that kids really can't do anymore.  Things changed when we were sophomores, and one of the underclassmen in our school was raped and murdered.  Everything changed once Rachel was gone.

We went to the Brew Pub for lunch (we have an effing BREW PUB?  Egads!) and then spent a few hours driving around all of our old haunts and remembering all the good and bad times.  Really, there were way more good than bad times there.  We were lucky, so lucky.

Eventually, it was time for us to head to the hotel to get all gussied up for the reunion.  And when we got there, it took me a bit to kind of warm up and feel comfortable seeing faces that I hadn't seen in decades.  Old boyfriends (total:  3, including The Twins, and yes it is true - I did date twins), my arch-nemesis from childhood, good friends that I hadn't talked to or seen in years.  I did have one former classmate dogging me all night to hook up with him, but fortunately (or unfortunately at the expense of losing dinner), I ended up with food poisoning and ended up hugging the toilet bowl around 1 AM.  Seriously, the guy was so persistent that I finally snapped at him, "Dude, unless you're planning on holding my hair while I puke, this is NOT going to happen."  He did actually email me a few days later and apologized for being so forward, thanks to The Devil Alcohol.  Whatever, dude.  I didn't even have the balls to tell Joey about it, since he wasn't exactly happy about me going to the reunion without him and knowing The Twins were going to be there...

So a few cool and yet odd things happened:

1.  I reconnected at last with my friend Diana - we have been friends since 3rd grade and due to a lot of personal BS she went through right after college, we lost touch.  It has been fantastic to get back in touch and we have been corresponding regularly since December.  I also got to meet her most awesome husband Jason.

2.  I also saw my friend Tina - her dad was my dad's doctor (got that?) and she and I have been friends since probably 4th grade.  She is absolutely one of the smartest effing people on the planet.  

3.  My arch-nemesis since childhood came up and threw her arms around me, screeching how happy she was to see me and how she remembered that she, Diana and I were BEST FRIENDS.  And Diana, who has zero filter on what escapes out of her mouth, snapped right back, "That's not how I remember it!"  Priceless, truly priceless.

4.  The popular kids were still cliquey.  And that was okay.  My friends looked way better than they did, snap!

The next day, we dragged our hungover asses out for some good ol' diner food and then headed down to Hackettstown to our former church.  We had intentions of slipping in to check out the sanctuary since we spent hundreds of hours there at the church, and when we got in there we ran into our former minister and choir director...who REMEMBERED US INSTANTLY.  It was freaky.  And they had just finished a huge, gorgeous renovation of the sanctuary that was so amazing that it made me cry.  I felt like I had just walked right back into my home.

And...speaking of home...that was the WORST part of the trip.  Seeing my childhood home.

My parents bought the house in 1968 for about $25,000.  A modest brick rancher with a front porch and a full basement.  We had a huge old oak tree in the front yard, a big back yard bordered by a nature preserve.  It wasn't anything glamorous, but it was ours.  It was my home until I was 17 years old.

So we drove by the house to take a picture.  I don't think we have a single good picture of the house, and we had heard from a former neighbor that the dentist that purchased the house had put an "addition" on it.

Addition my ass!  Look at this!

It bears no resemblance at all to our former house.  And the damn oak tree is gone.  I double-checked the address to make sure it was the right house and then burst into tears.

It was almost like having my childhood taken away from me.  Yeah, it's just a house...but it was my HOME.

Anyhow, we arrived back home late on Sunday night, hoarse and hung over and exhausted.  It was a ton of fun but the driving and riding was really a lot to cram into less than three days.

I was really glad that I went, mostly from the standpoint that sometimes you have to revisit your past to appreciate what you have in your life right now.  My friends and I huddled together over a glass of pinot and marveled at what a charmed life we had back in those days.  And all of us have gone on to have pretty good lives for the most part.  I would like to think that things will just continue getting better and better.

And the best part - realizing that even though times change, and people change, your friends will probably still be the same.  And you will talk until you are hoarse and laugh until your sides hurt.

Me, Tina and Diana

Me and Shai

Self-improvement tragedy #467

Knowing that my high school reunion was coming up at the end of March, I was kind of freaking out a little bit about what to wear.  You know how that goes - you want to look fantastic without spending a fortune.  I had already lined up haircut and color (albeit I realized about a week before the reunion that I really mischeduled it and my hair was not looking so fab), a dermaplaning, and all that good stuff.  I figured everything would just fall right into place.

So after meeting Amy for lunch that Saturday, I bit the bullet and on Mer's advice headed straight to Nordstrom where some lovely saleslady took pity on me and whisked me into a fitting room where she brought tons of dresses, shoes, and - God help me - Spanx.  I heart Spanx now.  After about 30 minutes, I walked out of Nordstrom with a fantastic dress, Spanx, and the cutest slingback, open-toed shoes.  

Um, slight problem brainiac.  I have the legs of an albino chicken.  And said adorable shoes were not pantyhose friendly whatsoever.

And thus began self-improvement tragedy #467.

I began the search for the perfect self-tanner.  Not something I was going to have to do every darn morning and smell like chemicals all day, but preferably something I could put on maybe a few days before the reunion and it would be perfect THAT DAY.  Some friends tipped me off to this stuff that Elizabeth Arden's spa sells called St. Tropez...well, that turned out to be backordered until the year 2023.  Maybe for my next reunion it will show up.  

Desperate, I ended up at Sephora where I stood before the gleaming shelves with two of the palest salespeople they had, both recommending different products.  I ended up with a Clarins self-tanning "milk" which didn't seem to smell so bad and looked easy to put on.  Both of the salespeople had used it before and raved about it.  

Well, every night I would tell myself that "this is the night!" and then puss out.  Finally, the weekend before I was due to leave for Jersey, I decided that I was going to go for the gusto.  

And then I forgot.  So Monday morning, I got up a little earlier than normal, exfoliated the hell out of my chicken legs, and then put the self-tanner on so I had a good hour for it to dry before I had to get dressed for work.

It went on like a breeze and actually didn't smell too offensive.  I noticed a slight difference right away, and by the time my hour was up I figured I was good to go.  I put on some trouser socks and then my ankle boots, then finished up with dark pants and a loose top.  Sounds good, right?

It was later that night when I got home that I discovered with great horror that apparently the trouser socks had served almost like a Reynolds Oven Bag on my ankles and feet...causing everything from my lower calves to my toes to be a nice golden brown while the rest of my legs were...well, slightly tinged with color but definitely not nearly as dark as my ankles and feet were.

Oh.  My.  God.

My history of beauty debacles is well-documented.  Rubbing a raw spot on my face with a Buf-Puf.  Ripping skin off trying to wax my 'stache at home.  Oh, and the infamous hermetic sealing of my panties to my crotch post-waxing.  And those are just the highlights.

I decided since it was only Monday, I'd try and exfoliate twice a day until it was time to leave and see how it went.  Um, not so good.  Not to mention I was surprised at how resilient the skin on my ankles is...there was actually skin LEFT after all the scrubbing.  Finally, I resorted to some cut-up lemons and baking soda to try and even things out.  The night of the reunion, I kept asking my friend Laura if it was really as bad as I thought it was...and what I got was one of those noncommittal answers like she figured I'd throw myself off of a bridge if she said, "Yeah, looks like shit."  

Thankfully, it was dark at the reunion...so no one probably noticed my ankles or my adorable shoes either.  Hurumph.  

*****

In tomorrow's episode, I'll talk about how you really can go home again...and then discover that your home has been bastardized by the stupid-ass people who bought your home.  Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Old friends

So today, I logged on here as usual to go down the blogroll and check in at all my favorite blogs and realized HOLY CRAP it has been almost two months since I posted anything.  And really, my posting in 2009 has been downright pathetic at best.  I think it was Joansy that said that she finds herself getting on Facebook way more than Blogger and how you get to missing the outlet that blogging provides.  I think it's safe to say that I fall into that category too...there's only so much of myself that I want to put on Facebook for the world to see.  Like pictures of my boobs, right?

Sorry.  I'll try to do better.  

We have a lot of catching up to do.  I have been busy as hell with a few important things that have been going on...reuniting with my college friend Amy, my high school reunion (!), and of course our trip to Vegas with Heather and Scott of Mama Maven and Man Overboard fame.  Not to mention just regular life in general and spending a lot of time trying to hold onto my job.   I finally let Reyna go after seven years and having the last straw with her, so now I have housekeeper to add to my list of responsibilities.  Joey has been having a ballbuster of a time with work, culminating with a colossal mistake at work that left him reeling.  My father's cancer is spreading, spreading, spreading.  

And yet, I have a lot to be thankful for.  Monkey Man is the light of my life, and even when things are crazy and bleak he manages to make me smile by just walking in the room.  I have a wonderful husband who, even when things at work were going to hell, didn't hesitate to bring me a yummy dinner home and then turn around and run out to get sugar cookie dough at 9:30 at night for Monkey Man's spring party at school.  I have great friends that buy me beer and wings and make me laugh until my sides hurt.  

And of course, there are the marathons of Real Housewives of New York.  What about that doesn't make life seem better?

*****

Let's start the catching up with going waaaay back to February and my lunch date with Amy.  

Amy was one of my best friends in college.  We were as close as sisters, and then my feelings got hurt when she ended up dating my ex-fiance.  Not good.  We hadn't spoken in probably 12 years when suddenly she tracked me down through The Devil Facebook and we eventually ended up arranging to have lunch one rainy Saturday in February.  

I was nervous.  NER-vous.  I called Mer on my way over to the restaurant, feeling pretty panicky about how things were going to go.  Was it going to be icky and awkward?  Were we going to click like we used to?  Was the dreaded subject of HIM going to come up?  Ugh, I was scared.

Lunch ended up lasting almost three hours.  It was just like the old days, just a little grayer and wrinklier.  She's married with three girls now, living up in northern Virginia.  We caught up on what we'd been doing, how we met our husbands, and all that good stuff.  And we laughed.  A lot.  

As things started to wind down (she had a deadline to be back at her mom's to get the girls), I asked her how her old roommate Marie was doing.  "Oh," she explained, "I haven't talked to Marie in years...she ended up hooking up with a guy that I was dating...."

The words hung heavy in the air between us.  What to say, what to say - the wrong thing could implode this delicate dance we'd been doing for the past three hours.

"Well, you know, we all do stupid things when we're young without thinking.  The important thing is moving forward and forgiving people," I said.  She exhaled loudly, and a visible look of relief washed over her.  

It was good.  We are actually planning on visiting her family later in May for a weekend sightseeing in DC, so that's exciting.

*****

Tune in again for updates on what else has been going on, which may or may not include being propositioned for a threesome, vomiting, and  baseball season.  Which may or may not all have happened concurrently.  Later!