why I heart our new neighborhood

i may need that later

Did anyone watch Dr. Phil today? Okay. Yes. I watch Dr. Phil along with all the other trashy television to which I'm addicted. TV whore, remember? Anyway. Dr. Phil. Did you see this? Today good ol' Mr. McGraw counseled a family of hoarders. It was A-MAZING. For real. I've never seen anything like it. I couldn't take my eyes of the screen.

So this absolutely makes me feel like I am the most hygenic, organized, clutter-free being around. This show was a definite housewife/caretaker confidence builder.

reasons not to unpack

• I need to catch up on all those Days of Our Lives episodes I have Tivo-ed.


• What is a guest room for, if not the storage of 35 unpacked boxes?


• 28 of those boxes contain crap that's not even mine, so why should I be the poor soul who has to dig through their dusty contents?


• GPS Assessment & Evaluation requires my super sharp statistical analysis skills.


• The downstairs needs swiffering.


• I just bought 3 new trashy novels and must begin reading immediately.


• Who will look after the children?


• America's Next Top Model is on tonight.


• My brows need a serious once over.


• I just can't be bothered.

ewwww

I'm the first to admit that I have a lot of time on my hands. Thus I often find myself watching tv fare that is questionable at best (think the view, regis & kelly, rock of love...need I say more?). So you won't be surprised when I tell you I'm a Today show regular.

Although today, I was not able to watch my regular allotment of Matt and Ann due to their guest host. It was HORRIBLE. First of all, the woman is married to George W. Blech. Second, she behaves like an automaton. Seriously. Have you seen this woman in action? Horrifying. And while, yes her lipstick was flawless. Her ability to read the teleprompter and make pithy banter was abysmal. If you missed it, you were lucky.

everybody loves a fair

You've gotta love the fair. I know I do. There's nothing like blowing a hundred plus bucks to entertain your family with rickety rides, rigged carnival games and heart attack inducing fried treats. It's not just mind-blowing fun though; the fair's got rules.

Always bring your baby to the fair. The younger the better. Babies love the loud noises, seizure-inducing strobe lights and clouds of cigarette smoke. Their strollers are especially good for lugging around all your carnival crap. Fill it up. The baby will make room.

Always wear your most revealing going-out boobie shirt to the fair. If you've got 8 inches of cleavage, flaunt it. It doesn't matter if the temperature is below 60 degrees. Break out your breasts and give the male carnies something to ogle. They work long hours. They deserve a shot of your shaboobies.

Couples should always plan to make out while standing in the center of the midway. The sloppier the better. Dueling tongues and liters of saliva are key.

Natural eyebrows are OUT while attending the fair. Women should definitely shave their natural brows completely off and draw on better ones. The thinner the better. Oh. Fair eyebrows are always either sharpie black or burnt orange. Please make a note of it.

Older men should always wear their favorite sports team outfit to the fair. If you love the Bears, prove it. You should be head to toe navy and orange; the more team logos the better.

Parents should always allow their tween girls to roam the fair sans parental supervision. However, before abandoning prepubescent youth, encourage them to dress up like mini-tramps. This includes full face make up, super tight short shorts and aforementioned boobie shirts (minus the cleavage). Be sure to drop them off prior to fair opening and do not pick them up until well after the fair grounds have closed for the night.

Always blow a month's wages at the fair. Your family deserves to be fully entertained. What does it matter if the kids will eat nothing but government cheese and grape drink for the weeks following your night of enchanment? Their stomaches are small; they'll be fine subsisting on 500 calories a day for awhile.

If you have 10 or fewer teeth in your mouth, you LOVE the fair. This is your home away from home, and you should spend as much time as possible wandering up and down the midway while drinking malt beverages from plastic cups, scoring meth from the booth operators.

weird thing I like

I love TV. I really love reality TV. For those of you who don't know, VH1 has some really great, super disgusting reality television going on. It is ah-mazing.


One particularly delectable TV morsel was Rock of Love II. Have you seen this? It's spectacular. Bret Michaels flips me out. Have you seen this guy lately? Completely fabulous. I particularly enjoyed the old rocker dude eyeliner and stoner headband. Sweet.


And while every episode was filled with some ridiculously plastic, voluptuous 20 something wildly making out with oldie but goodie B.M., I was mesmerized.

I cannot help it. I am a TV whore. I will watch anything. Even if it's filled with alien-like women prostituting themselves for the 5 minutes of fame being the girlfriend of an 80's heavy metal front man gives them. Congrats to the happy couple.

As Bret would say, "Me likie."

random thing I like

One of my favorite movies ever has been playing on STARZ this month, and I've watched it about 11 times. Aliens, circa. 1986, was a movie that freaked me out pretty dang good. Yes I did see it in the theater even though I was 13 at the time. My mother didn't believe in censorship. My brother and I were privy to a lot of cinema that was by all accounts much too gory and/or adult for us at a young age because of this (Thanks, MJ). There are many reasons why I love this movie, but Bill Paxton's Private Hudson is primary. He is hilarious in this. My favorite part of the whole movie is when Hudson freaks after the plane has crashed, generating some AMAZING spit strings.

come on in

It's come to my attention (Thanks, Rachel)that I have failed to give a substantial visual update of our current residence.

Here's the kitchen. Note fridge already covered in papers and magnets and crap.

Here's the "nook". Isn't my new-to-me hutch cute? Big shout out to GG for providing the super cool denim place mats.

Family room and new olive drab sectional a la Mitchell.

Living room which is freshly painted but still filled with random crap and no furniture. I expect it to remain in this state for the next 2 to 3 years.

Upstairs loft aka the girls' room. Note super chic pink princess window covering. Jealous?

This is D's room. Notice T's black and white pillow? They are having difficulty sleeping apart.

T's room. Notice she did not get the metal bed set she was pining for.
-ps. My grandma is freaking out at all the unmade beds. =)

Our back yard is still a hazard, although it has seen progress.

being neighborly

So it's 1:34 Tuesday afternoon when my cell rings as I'm talking to my brother. Glance at the display-see it's my neighbor & hit "Ignore". It rings twice more; I throw it under a cushion. I have no idea what possessed me, but I return her call. This is how I end up picking up her kid from school & watching him until she gets home "about 3". I don't have to tell you that everything about this kid drives me C-R-A-Z-Y. I know. I'm mean. I'm a bitch. Yeah. I get that. First, it takes him about 3 minutes to get into the car, not because he's worried about coming home with a virtual STRANGER...He's worried about whether or not I've got the dog in the car. After a lot of half-hearted cajoling, he finally gets in. Then it starts, WHY IS YOUR CAR SMALL? WHY DOES IT TAKE THE GIRLS SO LONG? WHY IS IT MESSY IN HERE? WHY AREN'T YOU AT WORK? YOU ALWAYS WEAR YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT. I sit in silence. I have no words. None that wouldn't come out brusque and cold. Mother always said, "If you don't have anything nice to say..." Did I mention that my neighbor promised to return by 3 pm? By 5 o'clock, I am losing it. Think sweating for no reason and that feeling that your head is going to rocket off your shoulders from the negative energy your thoughts are generating. Kids are running around, complaining about things they have no business complaining about and asking for dinner. By now, I'm convinced that this woman has run off and left her child with me to raise forever. I have visions of having to turn the space under the stairs into a spare bedroom for our new "son." There's no sign of the husband. It's beginning to turn dusk. WTF. I begin to think I should be looking up the number for CPS, so they can pick up this abandoned child. The thoughts that race through my head as I continue to furiously clean my kitchen are murderous to say the least. I envision exactly how I'm going to tell this woman off when and if she finally returns. You'd better believe I'm going to tell her all about herself and her audacity, leaving her kid with some crazy woman for hours on end. She has no idea who I am. I could be a lunatic. Her kid could be locked in a box right now for all she knows. On one of my many rant-filled calls to Mitchell, he gives me the old "That's-what-you-get-for-talking-to-people" speech. I vow to be cold and detached from this point on. I hang up on his laughter. It's almost 6 by the time my neighbor returns home to collect her child. I do not tell her off. I feign concern at her predicament and make the appropriate sympathetic noises as she retells her tale. Now I'm wishing we'd built someplace less populated.

bffs we are not

For whatever reason, it seems that I am often involved in the instant friendship phenomenon. This is strange to me as I would not describe myself as a particularly warm and inviting individual. Hilarious? Yes. Kind and nurturing? Not so much.

I am the first to admit that I have intimacy issues. I don't want to talk about feelings. With anyone. Ever. I believe it is completely unnecessary for women to discuss the intimate details of their cycles while working out or bonding over lunch. I don't want to hug and kiss friends hello or goodbye or just cause. Don't sit too close to me on the couch. It makes me feel freaky. I'd rather you didn't gaze at me silently when you should be watching TV or reading or doing anything other than just looking at me. I will not suddenly stop, grab your shoulder and meaningfully confess, "I'm so glad we've become close." It just won't happen.

I'm the person who works out with her iPod blasting, not making eye contact. I didn't come to chat with strangers. I don't need to converse with you just because we're both sweating on the treadmill while gasping for breath. Please don't think I need a walking partner just because we are neighbors and you see me leave each morning. I'd rather you didn't invite yourself. I already know everything I'd like to about you; we don't need quality time.

Please don't invite yourself to dinner. Or assume that we are the type of super-friendly neighbors that happily child swap. I can barely tolerate my own children some days; I certainly don't want to hang out with yours. We are not close enough for you to simply waltz into my house, calling out, "Hey! What're you up to?" If I didn't answer your phone call, that's not a signal that you should just pop over to see what's got me so busy.

I realize this sounds bad. I can imagine the furrowed brows and tsk-tsking of all you who disagree. But every one's different. It takes all kinds. And I'm just not that kind of people.

things i do not aspire to be

• classroom teacher
• employee of the month
• member of the religious right
• neighborhood cool mom
• famous
• perfect wife
• perfect mother
• perfect anything

mini-guests

Since moving to our new pad, there has been an advent of little, mini-visitors--I guess most would call them neighbor kids. Anywho. There have been a number of them. All wanting food, some throwing rocks and even a couple who have injured themselves in my semi-finished pool hole and then tracked mud and blood through the house on my new floors (did that sound unsympathetic?). It's not that I hate them. I really don't. I just don't want them in my house. At all. Ever. Is that wrong?

it takes time

It starts as a pretty shell. Built of things selected a lifetime ago.

Add furniture and ceiling fans, new plates and glasses.

Each morning begins in wonder. Becoming familiar with new surroundings.

Slowly it happens. Things find a place.

Clothes are hung in closets, shoes strewn across the floor.

Paint makes it personal.

Add pictures and art, some knick knacks and rugs.

Slowly it happens. The house envisioned,

The plans made begin to take shape.

Eventually it happens, a little more each day.

A house becomes a home.