Monday, October 19, 2009
What were my parents thinking having all these kids! OK, there are only three of us, but would it have been so bad to stop at one? I understand that accidents happen, my son is living proof of that; I just wish there was a point where my parents said "three is a crowd" and stopped having children. I am the oldest of three girls and while I love my sisters unconditionally, that doesn't always mean I like them. My youngest sister Taylor, is 11 years younger than me and is really becoming a pain in my ass. Mainly because she's living La Vida Loca while I'm grudgingly pushing my cart of youth up and over the hill. It's so unfair!
It all started less than a year ago when my mother passed away. Being the oldest, I felt the responsibility to jump in and fill my mother's shoes. Not that my dad isn't doing a great job dealing with an adolescent girl alone, because he is. I just didn't want my teenage sister to have to grow up feeling like she was missing out on the mom experience. What do I mean by the mom experience? Well, when you are a girl you go through things that no matter how hard a dad may try, he will never understand.For example, dad doesn't see why getting your period warrants a sick day or why tampons aren't sold is cases of 1000. He would also rather not deal with grooming issues and boyfriends. So, it's in this space that I step in. I go with her to buy underwear and feminine supplies. I take her for haircuts and highlights. I've shown her how to turn one eyebrow into two and most importantly I'm teaching her the art of humiliation as only a mom can. When I pick her up from school, I make sure to blast the latest Hannah Montana hit, while I gyrate uncontrollably in my seat and scream her name from the open window. When we go to the movies and she points out a cute boy she likes, I make sure to point at him and shout loudly "Taylor, that's the boy you like? He looks gay." So when I think about it, maybe I deserve some of the crap she's been shoveling my way for the past few months.
Truthfully, the stress from all life's curve balls has begun to age me. Mentally, I've always felt about 40 years old, though physically, I thought I looked years younger than my actual age. My sister,Taylor, has decided to call bullsh%$ on this delusion and knock me down a peg. She started her reign of terror one day when we were getting ready to go out to a movie together. Tay had decided we would see the latest Tyler Perry hit and have some dinner down at City Place ( a happening West Palm Beach hot spot). It pained me to have to sit through a movie that didn't contain vampires or talking animals, but I wanted her to have a good time and decided to struggle through the movie against my better judgement. I arrived at my dad's house early, so that we could get ready together and have some surrogate mother, sister time. Looking back, I can see that this is where my ageing woes began creeping in. For our night out on the town, she dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, that looked like they had been drug behind a truck for five miles and a Batman shirt.( By Batman shirt, I mean a top that's sleeves connect to the waist line in a way that makes you look like you have bat wings.) I wore a pressed black button down shirt, bootleg jeans and heals. When we were ready to leave the house we took a minute to examine each others clothing choices. I thought she looked homeless and she thought I was lame and looked like mom. On a mission to forget her earlier statement about me looking like our mother, I fished for a compliment on our drive to dinner. I did this by congratulating her on having such a young looking older sister. I told her that she was lucky to look like me, because at the age of 26 I still looked 16. Though she agreed we looked similar, she disagreed strongly that I looked younger than 30. Her words crushed me, and I knew I had to punish her. The problem with being a surrogate mom is you have no real authority. With this in mind, I had to think of a creative way to get the message across that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. So, I put on some old school New Kid on The Block music and rolled down the windows, allowing everyone we passed on the road to see my tired, busted dance moves. She was mortified and I was sure she would keep her thoughts on me getting old to herself from now on... I was sadly mistaken!
Taylor continues to rain on my "I look good for my age" parade whenever she has the opportunity. She points out my sagging post baby skin, my stretch marks and my ghost like complexion at least once a week. To make matter's worse, she wont allow me to participate in any of her school functions. I asked her if she would get me the paper work so that I could chaperon her school's homecoming dance and she refused. When I asked her if it was because I was so young looking that her peers might mistake me for one of them; she laughed in my face. Then she told me the real reason. Apparently those busted, tired dance moves of mine are really embarrassing and she fears that someone at the dance will realize we are related. Is that any way to treat your moster?(that's sister/mother put together. I'll have to put it on urban dictionary)
Her latest attack on my youth, can only be described as criminal and is the driving force behind this blog. This weekend my baby sister stayed at my house. We went to the mall, talked about boys and had a lovely time. That was until Sunday morning. I was sitting at the computer looking up all the latest Twilight news when I noticed her standing behind me. The fact that she was so quiet should have made me realize something was up, because she just loves to criticise me for being a 26 year-old Twilight fan. A few minutes passed and the silence was broken by her gasping loudly. "What?" I asked her. By her face I could tell something was wrong."Oh, my God Jennie. What happened to you?" Now I was getting nervous. What had happened to me? I had no clue. I was just sitting quietly at the computer minding my own business. Was I bleeding and didn't know it? "Taylor, what is it?" She paused for a second and ran her fingers through my hair. "Jennie, the top of your hair is so gray! It's crazy!" She could see I was stunned by her attention to detail and quickly came up with something to make me feel a little better. "Don't feel so bad, Jen. At least your hair's not falling out like Cassie's. Now that would suck." Cassie is my middle, prettier sister and I'm sure she would be more than unhappy that Taylor threw her under the bus so quickly to make me smile.( Though I'm sure,at one time or another, Taylor has sacrificed me to make her feel better.It's not nice, but it works for us.) While the thought of Cassie holding clumps of her silky, ash brown hair in her hands wast slightly comforting, I still found myself speechless. The reality that no matter how hard I try or what I may think, I am closer to thirty than twenty was hitting me hard. So was the unfortunate truth that from now until I die, I will only get more wrinkly, grey and busted. On the upside, I do realize something little Taylor doesn't. My looks are her future and if I look like mom so does she. After all, and she said it herself, we do look strikingly similar!
***Thanks for reading... Just wanted to let everyone know I will be on hiatus for a week or two, working on my book. Sorry! I'm a crappy multi-tasker and really need a time out from blogging to focus. Please don't forget about me when I'm gone! I will be back the first week of November. Enjoy your Halloween!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Every story has a star.
Each American Girl is not only the star of a historical six-book series, but also a shining example for girls today. Lessons of love, friendship, courage, compassion, and tolerance are at the heart of every American Girl story.
In an attempt to cash in on our financial crisis and unemployment woes, American Girl is proudly bring a new girl into their clan of time period misfits. Her name is Gwen Thompson. She is blond, homeless, and dressed in a hippie inspired white dress and flip-flop sandals. (how appropriate) Her story is an unfortunate tale of a young girl who is abandoned by her deadbeat father and is forced to live in a car with her mother. A mother who because of her minimum wage salary and ex-husband's inability to pay child support, is unable to provide for her. The saddest part of the whole story is that American girl is expecting you to shell out $95 bucks for this homeless gypsy.
To cover their ass, American Girl released a statement stating that this doll will help "teach children compassion and tolerance." Sure it will. You just have to find a kid stupid enough to pick the homeless girl over the other more fun, less depressing girls. My guess is that the only people who would really want to buy Gwen are the people who's lives resemble hers so painfully...The problem is, if your kid needs this doll to relate to, chances are you can't afford to buy it. That is why I'm introducing a homeless doll that is not only affordable on any budget, but is a lot of fun too.
Here is Homeless Hannah...........
Hannah is a happy kid who loves her mom and wishes she knew her father. After her mother lost her job as a data processor because of methamphetamine use, they lost their house and were forced to live behind the local 7-11 store. When the Department of Child Protective Services found out about this, Hannah was moved to a home for girls until her mother cleaned up her act. After a year in the girls home, Hannah's mother was sober and ready to remarry a construction foreman she met in rehab. He had a nice house and Hannah was allowed to move back home. Life was super once again.Hannah's story is one of hope and triumph. It is sure to give your homeless child the will to go on and the knowledge that sometimes living in a car is just a speed bump in the road of life.
How to create your own Homeless Hannah
Hannah is really two things in one; a fun arts and crafts project and a doll.
She is constructed out of products that I found lying around the house, but you can also find these things in dumpsters, fast food restaurants, the center console of your car and at the homeless shelter. She is easy to put together. Just follow the simple directions and she'll be joining your family in no time!
Here is a photo of all the things you'll need to create Hannah and her dream house.
To construct the dream house simply flip over your begging sign and glue the home furnishing photos to it. Because Hannah is basically two dimensional, you can just lean her against the home to make her look like she's inside.
**Here you can see Hannah getting ready for bed..Sleep tight Hannah!
Hannah's outfits are cut out of fashion magazines and taped to her spoon handle body. There is no end to her fashion possibilities.Especially if you hit up a nice neighborhood on recycling day.
For you green homeless moms out there, you'll be happy to know that Hannah is 100% recyclable and reusable. No spoon to eat those beans you heated on your cars radiator? Hannah can help! Strip off all Hannah's glamorous accessories and use her as an eating utensil. With her the possibilities are endless. Get cracking on yours today. Christmas is right around the corner!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
"You don't have any outstanding qualities. It's safe to say that you're pretty much just like everybody else."-Walter T. Pratt
You are not that original!
**Do you have a great and original idea? Guess what, it turns out a lot of other people have the same great and original idea too. Bummer... Here are a few theories on why this is.
My BFF seems to think that when you speak an idea out lout it travels through space and is capable of penetrating many minds. Minds that are not only faster than ours, but that are a lot smarter too. Sound crazy? Think about all the times you've shot up in the middle of the night with a great idea only to find a few months later it's already been put in motion. According to my BFF, if you discussed your idea with anyone, you have no one to blame but yourself. Personally, I believe that I'm not that smart or original. If I can think it, chances are someone else already has and they are probably a lot more motivated than I am.
Maybe a tinfoil helmet would cut down on the brainwave leakage? You could always try that the next time you decide to dream big.
"When was the last time you did something you were proud of? Keep thinking. I bet you're stumped"-Walter T. Pratt
Some of your good ideas really suck.
**Sometimes there is a reason that invention you came up with hasn't been made yet. The reason is that no one would buy it.
Last week while I was working hard on my new business venture, (a venture that is strictly centered around my writing) my husband came to me with a ONE OF A KIND MONEY MAKER. Apparently, while he was driving around peddling his bosses products he came across a billboard advertising wireless headphones. After thinking long and hard he decided it would be genius to invent earrings that could flip into your ears when you wanted to listen to music or talk on the phone. He was beyond excited to share this with me, which is why I felt so guilty when I busted a gut laughing in his face. Here is how the conversation went after I was able to control my laughter:
Me- "You can't be serious."
Him-"What do you mean? It's a great idea."
Me- "So why would you wear the head phone as earrings?"
Him- "Because they are wireless and it would keep you from loosing them. They would always be hanging in your ear. When the phone rings you just flip them up. It's a time saver."
Me-"That's stupid. Are you aware of how large they would have to be? And how do you plan on making them light weight enough to dangle from a hole in the ear? Also, have you never heard of Bluetooth and Earbuds?"
Him- "You know what, Jen, I was just trying to help you out by sharing something that would sell like hot cakes. If you don't want to do it that's fine, but I still think it's a good idea. Women would love it!"
Folks I could be wrong and he could have something here. But as a woman I can tell you I don't "love it". Can you imagine sporting a pair of Casio's instead of your diamond studs? No thanks.
Do your research before you share your AMAZING ONE OF A KIND MONEY MAKER with anyone. I know it's exciting when you think of something new, but keep in mind, if you are going to share it there is a good chance someone will call you on your stupidity. Oh, and by the way honey, some idiot did make those earrings. They look as stupid as I imagined and after inspecting them I can promise they are not selling "like hot cakes". Get yourself some tinfoil and I'll make you a helmet.
"If you take a big risk and follow your dream, chances are you're going to fall flat on your face. On the upside, everyone around you will get a good laugh."-Walter T. Pratt
If you are going to say you are a writer, back it up by actually being one.
**I say writer because that's where I'm coming from, but really this goes for anything you choose to label yourself with.
Recently someone asked me what I do. I knew right away that this person wanted to know what I do to make money, but I didn't know if it was socially acceptable to say that I "do" someone with a full time job and great health benefits. Instead I weighed my options. Currently I am a stay at home mom/housewife that writes a blog and is hoping to get a book deal. I could go with that mouth full or I could skip the boring part and look interesting. Tuff choice...I told the woman I'm a writer and regretted it instantly. After allowing my delusion to slip out she asked me what I wrote. That's when things got humiliating. I told her about the blog first. She responded with a look that told me this qualifies me as a writer about as much as singing into a hair brush makes me a singer. Then I told her I was writing a book too. Her follow up to that was to ask me who my publisher is. When I couldn't answer that question she smiled and wished me good luck. As she walked away I couldn't help but wish I was a better liar.
Practice your social "about me" chat in front of the mirror in your bathroom. This will give you a chance to perfect your delusion while still allowing you the privacy to lay down a hot Celine Dion track.
Wow, this is by far my most worthless blog... I'm so sorry for the time suck. If you take only one thing from this today let it be the tinfoil helmet. Not only would you look outstanding in it, the helmet will keep your dreams safely stored inside your mind where they belong.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I would like everyone to put their listening caps on and focus. I am going to start by giving a short vocabulary lesson.
•being or occurring in fact or actuality; having verified existence; not illusory.
•despairing: arising from or marked by despair or loss of hope.
•a wife who manages a household while her husband earns the family income.
**Now let's take a look at how Bravo and ABC define them.
• Any thing that contains a pulse and is capable of drawing in TV viewers.
• A term that describes someone who wants to be famous so badly that they will air their dirty laundry for all the world to see, regardless of how stupid, self absorbed, or arrogant it makes them look.
• A rich, middle aged, working woman.
As you can plainly see, there is a difference between the two sets of definitions. It's not that I don't enjoy watching a few episodes of Desperate Housewives and The Real Housewives of Who Gives a Sh#$ when I get the chance, because I do. I just feel that the titles are misleading and nothing more than a bait and switch. When I tell someone I'm a housewife, I don't want them comparing me to those women. I say call the show what it is, Middle Aged Woman Having Sex, Fighting and Seeking Fame. Don't name it after the people who watch it. It would have been like naming Star Trek, Geeky Virgins Living in Their Mother's Basement. See what I'm saying now? It's stupid!
Alright, enough ranting. It's time for me to put up or shut up; and you know what I'm choosing. I would like to give you a glimpse into a day in the life of a real desperate housewife. Though it is not as exciting as a bunch of Botoxed crypt keepers marching around in high priced couture and fighting over whose fashion line will bomb first or who gets to rape the pool boy; I feel the truly desperate real housewives deserve their 15 minutes too.
My day as a housewife.- by Jennie Nadler Milechman
I woke up this morning at 7 am. The baby was screaming in his room and my husband was already out the door for the day. I pulled the covers over my head and ignored the baby until his screams turned into sobs. I consider it my version of hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock. When I could no longer take the crying, I threw my feet on the floor and stumbled around looking for my robe. To my dismay, I found the robe balled up under my sleeping mutt. Feeling as though someone in my house should be allowed the luxury of sleeping in, I left her to snooze and marched across my house in my usual summer bed time attire; granny panties and a tattered tank-top. As I shuffled through the house I could see the morning sun glaring in through the open blinds. I know what you must be thinking... "Are you not worried about the neighbors seeing you through the window half naked?" And the answer is; who cares! As a general rule I try to never make friends or even casually associate with my neighbors. Neighbors are nosey, they always want to borrow crap and the only reason they want to hang out with you is so that they can see what the inside of your house looks like. I say F-em. Now let's get back to the story... I grabbed my snot covered kid from behind the gate in his doorway and placed him on my hip. His diaper was dry enough to last him at least one more hour, so I tossed him on the couch and let him watch cartoons, while I sprinted into the kitchen to fetch a cup of coffee. As I sat sipping my Folgers and jotting down a list of house work that I needed to finish before my husband came home, I spotted my pool geezer. Real housewives don't have sexy gardeners and young Latin pool boys. I have a 40 year old toothless workhorse mow my lawn and my Pool geezer is pushing 65. Pool geezer always shows up to my house shirtless. On this day the sunlight was reflecting off the sweat beading in his chest hair, and his cotton gym pants hung loosely on his hips, exposing just enough butt crack to make me want to jam my list writing pencil into my eye sockets. Seeing him working out in the yard, looking so unattractive, made me realize that it was time to throw on my valour track suit and get my day started.
Now dressed, I decided to challenge myself and surf the web for grocery bargains. After spotting that my local grocer was having a buy one get one extravaganza, it was time to dress my munchkin and do a little food shopping. It turns out that munchkin was ripe and in need of more than just a wardrobe change, which would have been fine except I had run out of baby wipes. I shuffled into the bathroom and grabbed a wet washcloth. I did this while calling loudly to him "Don't move or you'll fall off the changing table." Lucky for me he obeyed. Once he was clean we ran to the store and stocked up on condiments and minute rice. Oh, how I love buy one get one.There's nothing like buying double the crap you don't eat because half of it is free. Anyway, when we got back home and unloaded the groceries, it was time for lunch. I nuked a hot dog and chopped it into a million bite sized pieces. Good TV or not, there would be no choking deaths on my watch, I can promise you that.
With lunch time over and death free, it was time for a nap. As usual, I fell asleep before my kid and I'm guessing he was out a few minutes later. We both awoke at 4 pm, which left me just enough time to toss in a few loads of wash and sweep the dog hair off the floor before my husband arrived home. The most important part of being a housewife is creating the illusion that you are busy and working on the house all day long for your husband. That's why I always wait to finish up my work until he walks through the door. Then when he starts whining about how hard his day was I can combat it with "I know what you mean. I had so much going on I didn't get my work finished until just now. What a day!" NEVER, mention the nap. NEVER! I'm starting to think a TV show would screw me, because it will out my secrets..hmm...I guess this story will too. Oh wait, my husband doesn't read my blog and he hates reality TV. Crisis averted, back to the story.
When my hard working, bread winning husband enters our home for the night, it's time for dinner. Lucky for him Frosted Flakes were buy one get one. This housewife doesn't cook but maybe Bravo or ABC can cast me a friend that does. No matter what trash I feed my husband, I always make sure my kid has a nutritious meal. Mainly because he's not old enough to make the choice for himself to treat his body like a dumpster. I figure while I'm responsible for his well being, the least I can do is make sure he eats healthy. When dinner is done we have a little family time. We watch TV together, read books to the kid, play some kid games and sometimes play outside in the back yard. We stay away from the front yard. Neighbors like to use small children as conversation starters. Like I said before, I'm not interested. Look at how being neighborly screwed the Desperate Housewives. No thank you!
After family play time, it's time for the munchkin to get a bath. Because I have such a long day with him, baths are my husband's job. I use that time to smoke cigarettes and chat on the phone with my childless friends that live much more exciting lives than me. When bath time is over, I toss my kiddo into my bed for a night time movie. He watches quietly for an hour and a half and I get some quiet time with my husband. I mean "quiet time" literally. My husband and I keep talking to a minimum during that time. We find it helps to take a breather before we start dumping our day on one another. Also, it prevents our kid from hearing us argue. Trust me, there's nothing worse than hearing your two-year-old mimic your potty mouth.
When the movie ends, I round up my kid and put him to bed. I read him a short story and tuck him in while my husband flips through the channels on the big screen. Bed time is always my gig and that's fine with me. It's quicker than bath time. With munchkin drifting off into dreamland my husband and I rehash our day and watch a little cable programming. When 10 pm rolls around, we stumble to bed and debate on whether or not to "do it." Not always wins and we shut our eyes for the night, only to wake up the next morning and do it all again.
**So, What do you think? I tried to make it reality TV and instead it turned out like a short story. Can't teach an old housewife new tricks I guess. Just in case though, I want ABC and Bravo to know that my contact info can be found on the Mouthy Mavens Facebook page. Not that I want to pigeonhole myself, any of the other cable stations will do. In fact, I may just have someone follow me around with a camcorder and post it all on you tube. You never know what a real desperate housewife will do...
- @badbanana twitter.com
@BadBanana had the right idea. I have found that the hassles of my daily life have piled up this week and sadly it's only Tuesday. The real problem is that I'm finding it hard to entertain my son, husband, dog, book, blogs, business venture, the blood suckers at the IRS and my dirty house all at once. I've tried to ignore as many of them as possible (hence the pile up) but it seems the first three always want to be fed, the middle three keep my ego strong so that I can face another day of my bullsh#! life and the final two just refuse to catch fire and go away. That in mind, I have no choice but to cater to all of it. The pressure of doing it all can get the best of me at times, and that's OK. I'm growing fond of this chronic eye twitch I've developed. I think it gives me character.
Because of my schedule, I couldn't find time to write anything blog related today. But since you are all here already I wanted to take the opportunity to thank a very special person in my life for keeping me off the roof top when my hassles start to overwhelm me. My dad has been super supportive of my writing and he deserves a shout out.
I think I was about 22 the first time I came to you and said I wanted to be a writer, and you being the supportive enabler you are, encouraged me to go for it. I know deep down you may have thought this would just be another thing I would start and never finish and the truth is, the first time I came to you with the idea; it was.
Let’s face it I have a long history of great ideas and no follow through. When I was a kid I tried many things and no matter how soon I quit or how much I sucked at what I was doing, you were there on the sidelines cheering me on. As I grew older, some of my dreams were so big that once I dreamed them and shared them with you, I was too exhausted to even try them. Yet you managed to support every idea as if it was the career move of a life time. I cant imagine how hard it must have been for you to fake enthusiasm for 26 years, but thanks for doing it!
I want you to know that without you pushing me to live up to my potential, my dream of becoming a writer would have fallen apart like so many other things in my life. I write these blogs for you and I measure their success not by how many readers I obtain, but by how often I can make you laugh.
Thanks for being the number 1 investor in my dreams. The return my never make you rich but know I will try to make it worth your while in the end…
I love you man!