Rambling

I got off on the wrong foot a few years ago
Never got back on the right one
(whichever that was)

Now limping along
comes natural to me

I'm not the kind of girl
that looks pretty when she cries
I do it anyway
Sometimes it feels good
to feel bad inside

I inflate myself in my head
(I'm so great)
But then I wonder how you see me...
Do you even see me?

I know, you don't see me
I have no reflection in your eyes

I think I left a piece of my soul
a few years ago
Under some sage, in the shade
out of the way of the burning sun
I wonder if it's still there?

Walk a Mile in My Lambskin

This morning after I dropped the boys off to school, I decided to take Carter to the park to shake some of his lead out. Ha! Yeah, right. That kid has no lead in him whatsoever. He pretty much wakes up going warp speed.

Anywhoo, while at the park I spied something in the sand, a little ways away by the swings. It was a blue wrapper. From where I was standing, I couldn't read the wrapper, but my instincts told me it was something icky. Usually when I spy trash littering the park, I try to make sure to pick it up--you know, cause' I'm community-minded like that. To be honest with you, I'm not really that community-minded, I just don't want my kid playing at a dirty park--so I do my part for my kid. Well, as I get closer my icky instincts were confirmed. Laying like a thin, square serpent in wait was an opened Lifestyles® condom wrapper.

Now, I know unsavory things happen at parks after dark--that was how Carter was conceived. Just kidding! Seriously though, I'm not an idiot. Me knows what darkness lies in the hearts of awkward, hormonally charged teenagers. Believe it or not, I was once one myself, but that is a blog that will forever remain unwritten. I digress. Back to the wrapper.

Obviously, I wasn't about to pick up that wrapper, I mean who knows how much H1N1 was crawling on that thing--not to mention STDs and scabies! So, I discreetly, with my tennis-shoe-covered foot, covered the condom wrapper with sand. I know! It will probably unearth itself at some later time scarring some child forever, but at least for the time we were at the park it was out of sight.

Anyway, if there are any teens, creepy doped-out prostitutes, or kinky married couples out there reading this (OMG--I hope more than anything that I'm attracting that type of reader!), all I ask is this: Please, when you are choosing a public park as your preferred place of fornication, do as any civic-minded individual would, and leave no trace. That means no condom wrappers, used condoms, needles, burnt spoons, tube socks, tighty whiteys, Pantera t-shirts, cans of whipped cream, magic markers, stretch-arm-strong dolls, tattered copies of Dante's Inferno, Mexican ponchos, jumper cables, half-eaten McRib sandwiches, empty cans of cat food, plastic Halloween masks...you understand, right? My point in all this is, don't leave anything at the park you wouldn't want your little brother or sister, baby son or daughter, picking up and sticking in their mouth.

But, kudos for using protection!

Love,
Charise

Jotting Blogs All Up In Yo' Face, etc.

Well. I've got about 10 minutes before I have to wake up The Carter and pick up The Boys from school. I figured I would pound something out on the ol' interweb, for ol' tymes sake.

So what has been up in the life of me? A lot, and not much. Know what I'm saying? Here are a few things that have developed:

• Carter had a fetish for breaking eggs all over for the house for a while. I figured out how to remedy the situation, and maybe I'll post that in another blog. Can't spend all my writing material on one short, lame post, now can I?
• Cody had developed a passion for making small little camping stoves out of various types of cans. As I type, there is a large can of Foster's and Heineken sitting in my fridge. Just chilling, all cold and tasty. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn my dry life!
• Colton has become passionate about WWII, air soft guns, and politics. What a combination, right?
• I have not become obsessed with anything, except I have developed a nasty habit of checking Facebook several times a day. It's like an involuntary tick or something, I don't want to do it, but it just happens. I'm working on it.
• We went on a cruise to Mexico. It was super swell. When they tell you don't drink the water, folks, that includes the ice as well!

Okay, five more minutes left. I should probably use the bathroom before I leave as I have a bad habit of drinking a lot of water right before I go somewhere that doesn't have restrooms. This is not a good thing when you have a two-year-old that takes close to 10 minutes just to get out of his car seat. I'm sure my neighbors have seen me many a day doing the pee-pee dance besides the Jeep while coaxing Carter to put down the coins in the car's coin tray. Oh yeah, Carter has also developed an obsession with coins. He calls them all "pennies".

Well, I'm off to the ladies room, then off to wake Carter up, then off to pick up the boys.

Love,

Charise

Mic Check

Is this thing still on?

Recession Tip for Today

As many of you who watch cable news channels know, we are in a recession. How bad of a recession we are in varies depending on who you talk to. On a recent trip to Pasadena's Old Town, I was talking to my 11-year old about how we were in a recession and needed to be a little more conservative with our money. Colton, looking around at the bustling shoppers, lunchers, and Pinkberry-ers, paused, then exclaimed, "Yeah, the best recession ever!" On a personal level, I agree with him. Our family isn't suffering. We're cutting back, but that doesn't really hurt. I just get a dull ache somewhere in my soul (I can't really pinpoint where) when I walk through Banana Republic and come out empty handed. Don't worry, I'll get through it.

Seriously though, I know many people are really having a difficult time with job losses, pension losses, and election losses, so I don't mean to make light of true hardship. This is why I am offering up today's recession tip. And, as an added bonus, this is a Motherhussy Tried & Tested Recession Tip©.

Motherhussy Tried & Tested Recession Tip© for 04/01/09

Have you ever been to Target? Yes? Great! Then you know how hard it is to go in there with a list and only come out with what was on your list. You know, you go in for toilet paper, bleach, Children's Tylenol, and Market Pantry fruit snacks and you come out with:

• toilet paper
• bleach
• Children's Tylenol
• Market Pantry fruit snacks
• silver hoop earrings
• a really cute set of stationary made on recycle paper
• Archer Farms pasta kit
• melamine plates with monsters on them
• AAA batteries
• Baby Wordsworth DVD
• new pillowcases
• three Mossimo tank tops
• silver mesh pencil cup
• two packs of pink Marshmallow Peeps
• squeezable Mayonnaise
• black fishnet tights...

Okay, your list might not look exactly like this--but don't lie your face off, you know what I'm talking about. When it comes to Target you're like a porn addict at Adultcon. You can't control yourself. You go in with money and feeling pretty good about yourself, and you come out sweaty, broke and feeling like you need a shower. Not that I would know.

Anyway, I digress. To solve this consumer conundrum, follow these simple steps:

1. Write your list

2. 20 minutes before you head out to Target, drink 1 liter of water, or your beverage of choice*.

3. Find a barefoot child between the ages of 14 months and 3 years. This part was easy for me because I have my own child of preferable age. If you are without child, borrow one. Make sure you get permission from the parent(s) first before borrowing said barefoot child, as getting arrested for kidnapping on your way to Target would defeat the whole purpose of today's recession tip. Now I know you're wondering, why must the child be barefoot? Wait for it...wait for it. It will all make sense.

4. Head to Target with list, full bladder, and barefoot child.

Now, pay close attention, because here is where it all comes together...

By the time you pull in to the Target, your bladder should feel uncomfortably full, but not quite unbearable. Put the barefoot child in the cart, don't forget to strap him/her in--a little cracked noggin is not part of this equation. Start your shopping.

About five minutes into your shopping trip, you should feel the tingly sensation of your bladder saying, "Hey there, you might want to stop in the restroom before you hit the lawn furniture." Ignore your bladder and continue shopping.

About 10 minutes into your shopping, your bladder will begin feeling a little like it's at the top of your throat and it will be shouting, "Hey stupid, get your ass away from the soy candles and into the restroom!" Ignore your whiny bladder and continue shopping.

Okay, now you're 15 minutes into your shopping and your bladder is so full you feel that if you blink too hard you will be the reason for the "Clean up on Aisle P!" announcement on the overhead speaker. Your bladder is screaming in tongues now, and you really are thinking this was a stupid idea so you decide to listen to your bladder and head for the restroom.

As you're heading for the restroom, you start to realize that you have to take the small child in with you. Well now, you can't take the cart in because there's that sign on the door, you know, the one that says, "No Merchandise Allowed in Restrooms." That one. So what are you to do? Take the child in with you? Well, this would be fine except the child is shoeless. Since you're a decent, God-fearing, germ-resenting individual, you can't possibly take a child into a public restroom without shoes. So there you are, full bladder, full cart, and shoeless child. What to do? I'll tell you what to do, make like Flo Jo to the check out, grit your teeth, and get the hell out of there!

Once you've checked out, got you, your purchases, and the barefoot child back into the car, head home and reward your soldier strong bladder with a much needed release. While you're seated, look over your receipt. Not too shabby, eh? See, I told you my method worked. You purchased what is on your list, and you may have even gotten out of Target so fast you forgot to buy some things. You know what they say, a purchase forgotten is a dollar found--or something like that. What? One of the items you forgot to buy was toilet paper and you were out before you left? Well, that's where the receipt comes in handy, now doesn't it?

See, I've got this recession thing all figured out.

Love,

MH-Dos

*If your beverage of choice is Vodka, please skip the rest of the steps and head straight to the E.R. to get your stomach pumped.

Sorry, What Did You Just Say?

Gym Tip for Today

When heading to the gym, please make sure you brush your chompers. It is one thing to smell of body odor while you are pumping iron or running intervals on the tread mill--I mean, it would be weird if you didn't sweat at the gym. But, if the bowl of mothballs and hot steaming mug of urine you had for breakfast can be smelled by the person running next to you on the treadmill, you should be ashamed of yourself. How do you think that person feels when they take a deep breath of what they expect to be fresh air, and instead of fresh air they inhale the humid stench of your rotting gums? I'll tell you how they feel--violated! They feel as if their lungs had been raped by a group of full-time, community college students just home from their spring break in Tijuana! That's how their lungs feel! Dirty, so very dirty...

*cough*

So, anyway, the moral of this Gym Tip is:

Brush your pearly whites before heading to the gym, lest you want your fellow gym-goers to spew forth vomit in the nearest trash receptacle.

Sincerely,

MH-Dos

Seriously?

While strolling about the interweb this evening I came across something, well, something odd to say the least. In an article titled YouTube 'spammed by US Congressmen', the author tells of the popular YouTube website being bombarded by videos from politicians peddling their diverse messages. Now normally, this article would have bored me pretty quickly--I mean, politicians seeking online publicity...no! However, this part of the article caught my eye:

In a minute-long video, Mrs Pelosi showed footage of her life behind the scenes in the Capitol Building through the eyes of two pet cats.
Making matters more bizarre, the minute-long film was captured to the strains of Rick Astley’s disco hit, Never Going To Give You Up.

Whaaaaaaaaaaa? Nancy Pelosi is hot for cats and Rick Astley? Stop the muthafu*kin' presses folks! Who knew that the Rubbermaid-faced, school guidance counselor-toned Speaker of the House whore was hip on the retro music scene? I for one did not know that. And she is in tune with cats as well...holy crap.

So, you ask, now that I've found out this unique information about Mrs. Speaker, do I feel a kinship to her Fakenesty? Of course not. I really only like cats from far away, and I only enjoy Rick Astley when he showcases in an "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" episode. Even so, I am very excited to share the complete and utter idiocracy that is,

"Speaker Pelosi's Capitol Cat Cam"...

An Exchange

DH: Ten people got laid off at work today.

Me: Oh, dude. That sucks!

DH: I did get to have lunch at 555, though.

Me: Aww, dude. That rocks!

Me: Carter broke two bowls today and dumped an entire bag of Doritos on the floor.

DH: I'm sorry honey.

Me: I didn't have to clean up lumpy milk vomit, though! [clicks heels together with glee]

DH: The glass is always half full, isn't it?

Me: Yes, except for the one Carter broke yesterday. It was empty.

FIN.

Me So Bad

Your morality is 0% in line with that of the bible.

Damn you heathen! Your book learnin' has done warped your mind. You shall not be invited next time I sacrifice a goat.

Do You Have Biblical Morals?
Take More Quizzes

It's Friday Fun Day kids! In order to start my day off with a bang, I took an interweb quiz on how Biblically moral I am--and guess what? My morals are 0% in line with the Biz-ible.

Are you feeling spriritually lucky this blessed morning? If so, take the quiz and see if you should be smitten by the lightning rod of the Lord, or patted on the head by the gentle hand of God.

Nothing in Particular

Just trying to break back into the world of internet displayed thought. I haven't written much of anything lately, and I know that the longer I keep away from writing, the harder it will be to get back into it. I don't think I'll ever not have the desire to write, but I really am not the greatest when it comes to follow-through.

My writing at this point in time reminds me of a bike I own. This bike, is sweet. It is so, so sweet. It's a vintage Schwinn beach cruiser. Candy apple red, with nice little white wall tires. Oh, a bike like this begs to be rode. It needs it. Sadly, instead of riding my little red bike, I neglected it. For some time my little beach cruiser sat on the back porch, unprotected while the ocean breeze had its way it. After the humidified humiliation, the chrome on my beach cruiser was covered in a rash of rust, and the candy apple red had been dulled down to more of a brick outhouse red. I felt guilty every time I looked at it. Luckily, my little sister volunteered to adopt my little red beach cruiser for a while. She'll take better care of it than I did, and now it won't be in the back crying "Ride me!"

So, my writing has rusted like the little red bike. Whenever I think about all the things I could be writing, I get a tinge of guilt. It's as if I've set my creativity out to rust among all the worthless things I have been doing with my time. Well, to be fair the things I have been doing instead of writing aren't worthless for the most part. Feeding children, breaking up brawls, folding mountains of laundry--it's not worthless, but it's not creative in the least. But my writing, unlike the bike, cannot be pawned off on another to be lovingly restored. I own it. I am responsible for it forever, and if I don't get the rust off of these fingers and this brain--it's my own damn fault.

A Wipe of Gratitude

Next to my sink is a bread box. On top of the bread box are a variety of things: a half-eaten bag of bagels, a lone granola bar, a loaf of bread that is probably sporting some mold, and a package of white paper napkins. I really don't use napkins all that much, so they've been sitting there a while without being given much attention--because seriously, who pays much attention to lounging paper products anyway? Well, while I was doing the dishes the other day, I happened to glance at the package of napkins. In bold, red lettering the plastic package screamed to me, BRIGHT NEW PRINTS! What? I wondered why I hadn't noticed this about my napkins before. BRIGHT NEW PRINTS on my napkins! How exciting! I could hardly contain myself with this new discovery.


Okay, you got the sarcasm. Anyway, after the initial napkin excitement wore off, my mind started wandering. I wondered, are there really people in the world that get jollies when their Brawny® comes embossed with a new, funkier diamond pattern? Are there people sitting at home, spreading out a napkin on their lap and wishing, "Gee, I really would like to see this napkin in a Warhol print." Have I passed a stranger on the street, not knowing that I was passing by an avid collector of disposable paper napkins? When was the last time you looked at a napkin and thought that it could use a little punch of color?


I guess after pondering these important questions for a little bit, I resolved to be more attentive to the aesthetics of the disposable paper products I am using. Because, I'm sure somewhere out there is a napkin designer that would like a little appreciation for the BRIGHT NEW PRINTS! they so lovingly created for Brawny®. Well Mr./Ms. napkin designer, if you're out there and reading this blog, I appreciate you, and I will think of you the next time I'm wiping smeared mustard off of my cake hole with one of your paper works of art.

Thank you napkin designer.

Love,

MHII

Scent of a Femi-man

This morning as I was trying to arouse myself from a cold-medicine induced haze, Anthony came in and pimpingly proclaimed, "Watch out ladies, I'm going old school and wearing the Eternity."

Although hazy, I knew well enough that I had never bought any Eternity for Anthony, and other than a buzz cut every few weeks he sure as hell doesn't buy grooming products for himself, so I asked him what Eternity he was speaking so highly of.

"The bottle in the medicine cabinet, there's not much left--" he replied.

"Come here honey, let me smell how sexy you're going to be for the ladies," I beckoned.

Sure enough on first whiff, "top notes of grapefruit, verbena and fig" greeted my nose. Yep, that was Eternity Summer...for women. Way to get in touch with your feminine side, babe.

So to all my husband's male co-workers, you've been forewarned: hubby is going old school--old school transvestite that is! Try and keep your hands off of him, I dare you.

Enter Das Dos

See how I mixed three languages into this post title? English, German, and Latino?

Anywhoo, Welcome to "Motherhussy Dos." My old blog, otherwise known as "Motherhussy," was neglected, anemic, and I think it may have been hiding an eating disorder. So, what do you do with something when it becomes too much of a hassle to take care of? Ignore it and hope that it gets the hint, right? And, since somewhere along the line I also lost administrative rights to The Original Motherhussy Blog, it's just become a pain and the last thing I need is more pain in my life. I need more pain relievers, which is why I created *MH-Dos. I'm certain that MH-Dos will be soothing to me, and if it numbs just one more person in the process--I will have done my job.

Love,

Motherhussy

*MH-Dos has not been FDA approved. Take at your own risk.