In other news, I just used a Sharpie to cover my grey roots.
In other news, I just used a Sharpie to cover my grey roots.
I went shopping for Father’s Day and didn’t find anything for Dan. I did, however, pick up a cute pair of shoes for myself. I think a happy wife is a fabulous Father’s Day gift, don’t you?
Yes. Yes, you do.
I read a lot of books. Actually, that might be a bit of an understatement. I’m an insatiable reader and frequently spend my time reading when I should be sleeping or cleaning or exercising or playing with the kids or something more productive. Whatever. I’m not too picky either—I enjoy all genres: crime, historical fiction, memoirs, literary fiction, chick lit, non-fiction, young adult, you name it. I’d like to think I’m a professional reader. (Because that sounds better than professional avoider.)
Recently a friend suggested I read Bared to You. I was currently in between books so I figured I’d give it a shot. Yes, it’s a smut read along the lines of the Fifty Shades series. I guess there are a lot of desperate-housewife types out there who like to escape in a nice, juicy sex story. It’s not my favorite genre, but, hey, I’m an equal opportunity reader.
Frankly, I was disappointed with this book. Sure, the storyline was mildly entertaining and the sex scenes hot, but I had a problem with this little thing called suspension of disbelief. (Long definition here. Shorter one here. Or just read on.) Suspension of disbelief is where you look beyond the crap that just can’t happen in real life so that you can enjoy the entertainment in front of you, whether it be a book, a movie, a magic show, etc. For example, you know the magician’s bunny isn’t actually shitting multi-colored scarves, but damn, that’s just fun to watch.
So back to the book. I mean, I could get passed the ridiculous premise of a young, stunningly beautiful, New York socialite returning back to the big city because she landed a great advertising job right out of college. I could get passed the fact that she lives with her best friend who is a male model (who followed her across the country, but they’ve never hooked up) in a swanky pad that most rich people cannot afford. I could get passed the fact that she, when basically looking like crap, catches the eye of the owner of the building in which she works (he’s a late-20-something, gorgeous, ripped, gazillionaire), and they fall instantly in lust. Oh, did I mention that she used to date a rock star who wrote a song about her? And that she is still red-carpet ready after getting down with her guy in the limo? But, whatever, I was totally fine with the whole redonkulous, fantasy-land storyline. That wasn’t the problem.
Here’s where I drew the line (and where the subject line of this article comes in—I warned you). Nobody, I mean, nobody likes giving blowjobs as much as the main character does. Seriously. No. One. And Eva, our gorgeous, rich, lucky-as-shit heroine, can’t seem to get enough of it. That chick gave her guy, Gideon, a blowjob every single chance she got, and that’s just not real life, folks. I can only suspend my disbelief so much.
You might say, “I don’t know, Foxy. You do those sorts of things when you’re courting—when you’re trying to land your beautiful, tortured, rich guy.” And, yes, I will give you that. There are things you do early on in the relationship, but that doesn’t necessary mean that they are your very favorite things. But Eva, AKA Miss Blowjob, drools just thinking about Gideon’s penis—every part and texture and taste. Holy cow, she’s got nouns and adjectives for everything penis related. Really. She gets off on the whole thing. And, while most of us who still perform this favor from time to time try to figure out a way to transition to a different position before you-know-what happens, Eva greedily gulps that shit down. Doesn’t even gag. Or use a mint to help drown out the nasty taste. Nope. I’m sorry. That just doesn’t happen. Totally and completely unbelievable.
I’m cleaning up the kitchen this afternoon. And by that I mean I’m finishing up the open bottle of wine. Because, cleaning.
This week was “Graduation Week” at a bunch of local schools. My kids aren’t graduating from any milestone grade this year, but I still tear up when I see any of my friends’ kids graduate. It’s such a sweet achievement.
At every graduation “ceremony,” in order to prevent the waterworks from ruining my mascara, I think back to Colin’s pre-school graduation a couple of years ago.
After his pre-school class sang several sweet songs with their cute little graduation hats on, the teacher was getting ready to hand out diplomas. She picked one up and said, “And, now, what you’ve all been waiting for…”
Colin, without missing a beat, shouted out, “Cookies and juice!”
That’s my boy.
Erin describing The Hunger Games to Colin: “It’s like Dancing with the Stars. Except there are no couples. And a bunch of people can die on the same day.”
I think she nailed it. Don’t you?
Dan (heading to the bank): “Do you need any money?”
Me: “Nah, I raided your wallet this morning.”
Dan: “Oh. Okay… Then *I* need money.”
Every year I make a gigantic vat of meat sauce with the tomatoes from my garden. I freeze the sauce in small batches so I can pull them out for lasagna, polenta, spaghetti, whatever. I have made this lasagna recipe before using my sauce. But it’s May, and I’m waaaaaay out of sauce. Fortunately, the recipe also includes instructions for her sauce. So I made it today to bring over to my Grandma’s house for lunch. Delicious.
Oh. I followed the recipe almost exactly. Except I made it with pork sausage and ground pork. Because, really, why cook with turkey if you can cook with pork?
Colin: “Mom. I’ve got a problem.”
Me: “What’s up?”
Colin: “Well, my penis keeps sticking out of my underwear.”
Me: “Oh. That is a problem. So what have you been doing about it?”
Colin: “Well, I’ve been fixing it when no one is looking.”
Me: “Okay. That’s good to do when no one is looking. And, when is this problem happening?”
Colin: “I don’t know when it started. Or when it stopped. But it’s not happening now.” (And then he walked away.)
Huh. Problem solved?
It’s the Tuesday after a three-day holiday weekend. My yoga pants called to me this morning. And they’ve caressed me all day long.
I told myself it’s because the yoga pants are so very comfortable. I’m just trying to keep the relaxed vibe of a three-day weekend going a little bit longer.
I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that, around here, three-day weekends are also known as five-pound weekends. Nope. Nothing at all.
A ridiculous amount of coffee and booze is consumed in the process of writing these stories. Add some fuel if you'd like to keep me going!