World's Best Pizza Sauce

I am a bit of a pizza addict. 
I think of it as a food group and try to treat it as such by eating as much of it as I can, as often as I can.  And I prefer to make my own pizza because I am A) Cheap, and B) It tastes soooo much better than anything given to you by a guy in a Nissan Sentra. 

Pizza Sauce is KEY!
Although I intend to turn every single one of my favorite foods into a pizza over the course of the next year, everyone has a go-to pizza.  Mine is Chicken Bacon Ranch pizza, which is an offshoot of the Chicken Bacon Ranch Ciabatta Bread sammies my husband loves so much (the recipe for ciabatta and the sammy will follow soon).  But the reason it's my go-to pizza is because I have spent years failing to make a decent red pizza sauce and so my classic pepperoni pizza...well,... it sucked. A lot.
UNTIL LAST NIGHT, YO!!!
Oh My LANTA!  

This pizza sauce was sooo good!
Perfectly sweet and salty, with just the right savory herb flavor.  And the perfect consistency, something I could never get right before.  This Pizza Sauce is simply perfect in every way. 
SO, here it is.  My recipe for THE: 

• 1 6 oz Can of Tomato Paste 
• 6 oz Water 
• 2 ounces freshly grated Parmesan cheese (this is a to taste kind of thing...I like a lot!)
•  1/2 tsp Granulated Garlic
• 1 TBSP Sugar
• Pinch of Salt
• 1/2 tsp. Dried Oregano
• 1/2 tsp. Dried Basil
• 1/2 tsp. Dried Marjoram (this is key)
• Pinch of Red Pepper Flakes
• Ground Black Pepper (to taste)

Mix it all up and let it sit at room temperature for at least half hour so the flavors combine.  Then slather it all on my Perfect Pizza Dough, and top with nummy meats and veggies and Voila!  Perfect Pizza! 

So, now that we all have an equally good chance of making the world's best pepperoni pizza, what's your favorite non-traditional pizza flavor combo?   My next experiment is going to be Paella Pizza, but I'd love some off-the-beaten trail recommendations from you too!

10 Best Ridiculously Awesome Mac and Cheese Recipes Ever

It has been cold and rainy and generally blech for the last week here in the heart of Indiana, and although the grey skies are quite the downer, the leaves are quickly turning colors and I simply love that!  My backyard is filled with trees and let me tell you, there is no more perfect way to welcome fall than by gazing at the magnificent reds, and golds, and striking oranges that surprise me each morning over a cup of coffee.  From the couch.  In my house.  Because it is freaking chilly outside. 
But I love fall.  Because football and sweaters, beautiful colors and crisp air.  Because of apples and richly scented candles that are out of place in the warmer months.  And most of all, because: 

Comfort Foods!! 

 Oh how I've missed you big pots of chili and stews, casseroles and bakes, cheesey, gooey, hearty awesomeness that disappear six months of the year.  Seriously.  I get giddy.  

One of my absolute favorite comfort foods is mac and cheese.  Saddle it up with pizza (my all-time-favorite-go-to-food group), I could eat it at every meal of everyday during the sweater months (after that, it's kabobs and salads because, you know, mac and cheese tends to contribute to my perception of having a tank ass, so I shelve it for the summer).  But Yay!!  It's Fall!!!  Bring on the Mac and Cheesy Deliciousness!!! 

So without further ado, I present:

 (In no particular order because they are all ridiculously good)

1)  Cajun Mac and Cheese with Andouille Sausage and Shrimp (The Kichenista Diaries)

2)  Chorizo and Peper Jack Mac and Cheese (Laura in the Kitchen)

3)  Ham and Cheese Mac Casserole (Allrecipes)

4)  Classic Creamy American Mac and Cheese (Allrecipes)

5)  Roasted Garlic Mac and Cheese (Just a Taste)

6)  Chipotle Mac and Cheese with Bacon (Domesticate Me)

7)  Lobster Mac and Cheese (The Posh Pescatarian) 

8)  Cheesy Chili Mac (Tracey's Culinary Adventures)

9)  THE Mac and Cheese (That Which Nourishes)

10) Pesto Mac and Cheese (Amuse Your Bouche)

OMG!  I am so freaking hungry right now for these seriously stellar Mac and Cheese recipes.  All of them... get in my belly!  Yet Mini Monkey is asking to go to the gym (NOOO!!!  This is a bad sign for my Mac Attack).  Maybe I'll hit the treadmill after some of this Roasted Garlic Mac.  Maybe.   What is your favorite Mac and Cheese recipe of all time?  I'd love to hear! 

Free Stuff: Google Nexus 7 Tablet

Hello lovelies!    Oh, My, LANTA!!

What an awesome giveaway!  Who doesn't want a new tablet?  

FOR FREE, Ya'll!!!  

This giveaway is sponsored by the Magixflix Safe Kids Video App which creates a safer environment for your kiddos to watch content from all over the internet.  My 3 year old loves YouTube... and I have no idea how he finds all the dinosaur videos he finds since he can't spell.  But kids are crafty wizards, and because of that, we should all be a little concerned about the content of their internet experience.  This app helps combat that worry that by providing content that is age appropriate and filtering out the stuff that is not.  So check out the app, and enter to win a new tablet!!  And tell your friends!

Only one entry per person, minimum age for entry is 20, Entry must come from the US, the winner has to respond within 30 days with a shipping address in the US.

Liar, Liar, Eyes Look Like a Tire Fire

Used Under Creative Commons License

So I've been lost.  Totally, and completely mentally lost.  And when that happens, for some reason I come here.   I like to make people laugh, even at my own expense. But I don't get paid for it, and that just plain pisses me off.  I've thought about starting a YouTube channel where I will attempt to give make-up tutorials based on YouTube make-up tutorials.  See... no matter how good the directions are, when I do my eye makeup (especially when I try to do fancy make-up using instructions from a gorgeous make-up pro) I end up looking like a cross between a large breasted dude who has just begun to dip his toes in the tranny pool and a Kardashian who has fallen off the wagon into a pool of whiskey and bad decisions.  So, I think it could be epic good fun.

Anyhoo... Feeling utterly lost and confused, I popped in to this blog, eyes half-covered ready for someone to spit at me.  But all I got was a post from over a year ago titled "I'm Back, Yo" (Hahaha... I lied ;)  And coincidentally (or is it ironic) this blog was started 1 year and 364 days ago today! Hmmm.... so, two years ago almost to the day I had initiative.  I thought "if you write it, they will come" (or at least stop by accidentally and hopefully snicker or giggle a little.  For a minute).  I was full of anticipation of baby #3, hilarious antics from baby #2 and kid #1, and drive to make this blog into something.  Or to at least score some free swag (I HATE THAT WORD, BTW. But if you have some, gimme gimme gimme!!).  And speaking of free stuff... check out the fabulous giveaway from Citrus Lane here!  Digression complete....

And then shit got real.  Financial troubles, instability, unscrupulous influences, and a new baby.  By May of 2013, I felt completely defeated.  My business was failing because I couldn't devote 60 hours a week to my clients, and I felt like I was failing at being a mom of three gorgeous boys because I was spending too much time with my clients.  And I was definitely failing at being a good wife.  A sleep-deprived, malnourished, aggravated raccoon with a penchant for pinot grigio... I had that down to a science.  But being a good, loving, supportive wife and mom... not so much.  Shit had to change.

So I made the difficult decision to close my business and focus on the family.  That was only made possible by the promise that my husband would actually get paid what his contract said he would get paid (which, let me tell you, unless you can afford a decent attorney, means less than the napkin it is written on).  And at first it was pure bliss.  I spent two weeks decompressing and slinking into my new role as SAHM.  YAHOO!!!  Stay At Home MOMMY!!  Bon-bons and day drinking and cooking elaborate meals using gastomolecular techniques that would eventually lead to a multi-year contract with the Food Network.  I would teach my kids french and Spanish, and have them engineer their own tree house out of recycled pallets from blueprints found on Pinterest.  They would learn to crochet and dance and chop wood. And perhaps even grow mustaches by the year's end.   I had big dreams and I was STOKED!! WHOOT WHOOT!!!  I'm a stay-at-home-mommy, I'm-a-stay-at-home-mommy (to the nah nah nah nah boo boo tune)!!

But, wouldn't you know that shit isn't all sunshine and rainbows and kegerators filled with wine?  I feel kind of worthless.  In a very material sense.  See, before I contributed financially and now I simply spend.  And I know my job as a mom and wife is a big one, and I have no idea how we would keep it together if I worked outside the home, especially since any back-alley butcher-shop willing to hire my crazy ass would likely pay in sides of beef, which the Kindercare will not take as remuneration for their daycare services (their "Company Policy" or whatever).  I wipe butts and clean, and play and clean more (although you wouldn't know it since this place looks like a rat's nest and smells like curdled milk tastes), and laundry (oh, laaauuud... the LAUNDRY is INCESSANT), and I cook (sometimes 10 different meal preparations a day... these people are spoiled), and then there is the coloring, the painting, the singing and dancing, and grocery shopping (NOOOO!!!  Please don't make me take the children!!!  PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy and good!!!), the scolding, the homework help, the brawl-break-ups, the bedtime stories....  And I am also the psych department, the infirmary, the sex kitten, and the fantasy football brah.  By choosing to be a SAHM I chose to devote myself entirely to my family. ENTIRELY.  And yet, I still feel materially worthless, like I contribute nothing because I don't deposit a paycheck.  And feeling like that pisses me off. Have you ever wanted to slap the shit out of yourself?  Yes.  That.

So today, 1 year and 364 days after jumping into the blogosphere and eventually climbing out soaking wet without a towel in a poopy-colored swimming suit with a full-coverage ass and soggy pancake boobs, I am recommitting myself to Three Monkeys and a Martini.  Because it is mine.  It is entirely for me.  And it may not pay me (although, I am totally for that happening), but at least it can maybe, hopefully, even just a smidge fill in this very real void I feel.  It may be selfish, and I may seem ungrateful, poor pitiful me, and whatnot.  And if you believe that, poopy-colored swimsuits to you.  I don't give a damn.  Because this is for me.  And I deserve it.

So, with that, I will say, I'm REALLY Back, Yo!  And I have no idea what direction this is going to go.  I'm not sure what I want this blog to be anymore.  But I do know that I will figure that out.  And I will do it with horrifically bad contouring make-up, leopard print slippers, a push-up bra, and wine in a coffee-cup.  Because I'm already home, so I can go big if I wanna.

FREE STUFF: Citrus Lane Giftbox

In the honor of the re-dedication of my blog, I want to share with you an awesome giveaway I found from Citrus Lane.  They are giving away a 2 month gift box subscription to a lucky gal or guy!  Packed with awesome treats and goodies and sundries and the like that you will be hard-pressed to find elsewhere.  It really is like a little present in the mail for a special mom or dad in your life (or yourself... you're special too, damnit!!).  This is a $58 value, which is way more than I would spend on a gift box for anyone, unless it was vodka.  In a box.  For me.  So this is a pretty cool deal.   And it's easy peasy to enter.   Good luck ya'll!!!  

It's a Hawaiian Delicacy!

Photo graciously lifted off the net from here.

During the time I was a missing person in the blogosphere, I'm proud to say I have developed quite a following.  Of spammers.  Particularly ones that own websites about payday loans.  Not sure why they see my blog as the perfect space to peddle their wares, but the joke's on them!  I don't get a paycheck!  Duh.

Anyway, I thought I'd share some of the gems I have found while cleaning up the spam.

First, I found out my blog is listed in Yahoo News, from a lovely Anon who left me this: "Wonderful blog! I found it while searching on Yahoo News. Do you have any suggestions on how to get listed in Yahoo News? I've been trying for a while but I never seem to get there! Appreciate it Here is my weblog; xxxxx"
That's cool.  The specific article in reference: Drunk Mommy.  Not sure that's the kind of news I want to be known for, but hey, I'll take any kind of publicity I can get. **And oh, by the way, I am not listed in Yahoo News.  Fucking liar.

I got a lot of compliments on the design of my blog too.  "Fascinating blog! Is your theme custom made or did you download it from somewhere? A design like yours with a few simple adjustements would really make my blog shine. Please let me know where you got your design. Cheers. Also visit my weblog xxxxx".  See, I don't buy into this, as spammers are the online equivalent of a guy at a bar... they try to woo you with compliments and drinks until your panties drop off and you click their virus-laden link.  But I did get a couple of these remarks, so thanks!  And yes, I designed this dress myself ;)

These spammers have gotten smart too.  They know blog owners will delete irrelevant comments immediately, but they are still lazy and don't want to take the time to actually read anything you write.  The solution, this: "Wow that was odd. I just wrote an extremely long comment but after I clicked submit my comment didn't appear. Grrrr... well I'm not writing all that over again. Anyhow, just wanted to say fantastic blog!  Also, visit my blog xxxxx".  It's almost like this one went to college for a couple months. Brilliant little liars.

I also love the foreign comments.  Some of them are in languages I can't read (I'm sure they are all incredibly substantive), but some are some-what understandable.  Like I understand this person thinks I am slightly full of shit, "Thankѕ a bunch for sharing this with all peоple. You reаllу unԁerstand what you're talking about approximately! Bookmarked."

And then there are the spammers who clearly have no concept of reality, making statements about the "great information" I provide, or that they get "valuable knowledge" from my blog.  "I think the admin of this wеb sіte іѕ genuinеly working hard for hіs wеb site, sіnсe here eveгy stuff is quality based informatіon".  Hey, heads up... I blog about mostly crap.  Smelly pencils, poopy diapers, back alley physicians, and snot.  If this is informative to you, you need to go back to community college.

And I got one total bitch. "The verу next time I read a blog, Ηopefully it does not faіl me just as muсh as this ρartіculaг one. After all, I know it waѕ mу choice to read, nonethеlеss I gеnuіnely bеlieved yоu'd have something useful to say. All I hear is a bunch of whining about something you can fix if you weren't too busy seeking attеntion.  Review my website xxxxx (short term loan site)".  Something I could fix with a short term loan, right. Of Course!!  If spamming blogs with niceties doesn't work, you should try sprinkling in some insults.  Reverse psychology.  Brilliant. 

I love it when spammers let you know how they found your site, you know, so you can use that information in your targeting and marketing, n' stuff.  "I saw your blog while searching on http://www.3monkeysandamartini.com/.  Do you know of a few information on how to get indexed in http://www.3monkeysandamartini.com/? I've really been intending to for quite a while but I never seem to make it happen. Appreciate it.  View my blog xxxx".  See, you are absolutely right, you did find my blog while searching my blog.  And I have no idea how you'd get indexed on my blog, since it is a fucking blog!!!

And my all-time favorite!  A spam comment about avoiding spam comments!  Tricksey little Hobbit ;) "Hi, i read your blog occasionally and i own a similar one and i was just curious if you get a lot of spam remarks? If so how do you protect against it, any plugin or anything you can advise? I get so much lately it's driving me crazy so any assistance is very much appreciated.  Also visit my web blog xxxxx".

I am going to leave all spam remarks that are received on this blog post remain in tact because I know that you, the three people who actually read this blog, will appreciate the irony. Also, because I am going to say right here, if you spam my blog you are going to get hit with the fiery fist of pain, and your dog will run away, and your wife will cheat on you with a dealer at an online casino. In other words, you're a loser.

Spam at your own risk.

I'm Back, Yo...

photo graciously stolen from here

So I'm back.  Which is actually harder than one would think.  I haven't written a thing aside from a check in 7 months.  (For those of you who currently live in the 21st century, a "check" or "cheque" is a thing that comes in a packet and is fake money. You write a dollar amount on them and give them to check-out-people at stores and they let you walk away with stuff).   And I know it was a sudden ceasation.  I was just overwhelmed.  And then depressed.  I'm still overwhelmed and depressed, but I drink a lot more now so I've got it all under control. 

A lot has happened since I last wrote.  I had monkey #3 in February, and since then I have not slept more than 48 hours in sum and have drank approximately 165 bottles of wine. The big fat ones.  For those of you mathletes, I now have a 6 year old, a 22 month old, and a 5 month old.  That equals 99 months of successfully keeping other humans alive. Yay me!  However, no matter what, someone always smells like urine.  Meh.  It's funny... when you have one newborn, you bathe him everyday, and change his outfits the moment a speckle of drool hits his shirt.  When you have three, they are lucky to get a bath once a week.  And by "they" I mean all three, together, in one big nasty germ-laden cesspool of nastiness and bubbles. And they only get a new outfit when you must leave the house (which is never, because how the hell could you manage that total public nightmare)?  My sons look a bit like orphans.  Or like Adam Sandler from the movie Big Daddy is raising them.  Dirty feet and matted hair, and at least one typically has on some kind of bizarre costume piece (like a Batman belt, or Ninja Turtle mask).  Mini Monkey leaves a trail of stickiness everywhere he goes.  Silly Monkey has worn the same jammies for two days.  Meh. It could be worse. 

At least they're happy.

 Let me tell you, three boys is WAY harder than two.  I had no idea what I was getting into.  This is a real full-time job, and part of the reason I haven't written is because I have been struggling with coming to terms with that.  See, before Baby Monkey arrived I was a WAHM.  I ran a business full-time out of my house.  A successful one, at that.  I was in magazines and shit.  But it was hard.  I often had to wake up at 3am to get to work, and worked well after the kids went to bed, and many hours in between, but I made at least $3.76 per hour, so it paid off.  Now I am too lazy to get up at 3am (likely because I don't actually get any sleep until then) and someone is always in constant need of butt wiping.  I simply don't have the time in the day to be an income producing member of this family.  Which has been hard for me to deal with emotionally, and financially.  It's been hard for both Mr. Martini and I.  Everyday I feel pulled between trying to be a good mom, and trying to help support our family.  And I have come to the realization that I am failing at both.  It has been very stressful, and I have decided that instead of doing both poorly (being a stay-at-home mom and working full-time), I'm going to start doing one at least moderately better.  So I have decided to start focusing on what's important by putting my kids to work instead. 

 I can focus all my efforts on supervising their income producing activities.  And from here on out, they must all be income producing.  No more reading for entertainment.  Nope.  You're gonna read into a tape recorder so I can sell the audiobook of Spongebob Squarepants and the Temple of Slime.  No more playing with Legos just to exercise your imagination.  You're going to build this 14,000 piece Eiffel Tower so we can sell it on Ebay.  No more dancing or singing because you're happy.  You will dance and sing on this youtube video in the effort to get people to buy our "3 Monkey's and a Martini Sing-along CD", with popular hits like, You Spin Me Round, by Flo Rida, Baby Got Back, by Sir Mixalot, and "I'm Back", by Eminem. You will not draw because you like to create things, you will now draw things that can be sold on our soon to be up-and-running Etsy site. Things like giant scribble wine glasses...

They will have to go door to door selling T-shirts like this one (available in the 3 Monkeys Boutique):

And in addition to making my kids childhood as lucrative as possible, I also intend to start doing more DIY projects, like this one...

which should be hilarious, since I rock at Pinterest posting and suck at Pinterest projects. 

I will also be sharing recipes, as well as tips and tricks for the kitchen.  Like how to save time grocery shopping by getting your meals to come to you, like this...

So be ready to jump on board this crazy train as it leaves the station yet again. 

I am not a stay-at-home-mom, I am a manager now, monkeys! And I will manage the shit out of this house!

It Was The Best of Times, It Was The End of Times...



So it has been a year since I last wrote.  Well, at least the year has changed.  There has been so much going on in the Monkey House, I just haven't had a chance to catch-up.  But fear not, I'll eventually get back into the swing of things. I got an email from my mother yesterday that said simply,
" I MISS THE MONKEYS!!!".  I get it.  I'm a slacker.  Thanks Ma.

So first on the list this year is the Secret Subject Swap.  Then announcement and prize awarding for the Christmas Tree contest (No I didn't forget... and my tree is still up, so it's not too late, right?).  But lets get this new year of blogging started with my Secret Subject Swap prompt sent by Mommy Unmuted, a funny gal you should definitely check out.  She's unmuted Yo'!  And while you're at it, grab a cup of coffee (or wine, or vodka depending on how your kids are behaving) and check out Baking in a Tornado, the humorista who runs this shin-dig.  And upon blog stalking her, you'll find links to all the other laughable ladies who participate.  They will brighten your day with a well deserved shot of snark and laughter. 

So my prompt is: If the world had ended on 12/21/12, what one thing would you wish you had done differently?  

In all honesty, I was a little concerned about the world ending.  I mean, I've already lived through like 5 "end-of-days" already, so this one had a pretty high probability of actually happening, right?  And the Mayans were pretty smart, even if the people who "translated" the meaning of their calendar weren't (it didn't end stupid, it recycles n' stuff).  I even woke up early with the intent of being awake at 6am (or whenever it was).  You know, I wanted to see the sky explode or whatever.  But I feel asleep, and shockingly woke up after doomsday.  Huh?  Well, so much for my plans to live in a bunker.  And not showering that day.  Oh who are we kidding?  I didn't shower anyway.

But if the world had ended, I guess I would be kind of pissed that I wasted my time waiting for it to happen.  I mean, I really should have spent those last days drinking champagne and betting on black in Vegas rather than making homemade Kindergarten-teacher presents and cleaning toilets in preparation for my own little end of the world (i.e. family visiting for two whole weeks).   So mainly, I wish I wouldn't have spent the end of days cleaning toilets.

The moment of truth would have also left me wondering why I had spent so much time working, saving, struggling (I mean, I sacrificed having pants all year in an effort to better my family), and generally spending time not drinking champagne and eating bon bons.  I mean, we paid off a shit load of debt, but who cares?  We all are going to die in a fiery pit of doom and despair.  It is times like those that you realize a nice pair of pants would probably be worth the expense.  And a sparkly sweater.  Like one a Real Housewife from Miami wears to the gym.  Damn.  Oh well... I can buy one now.  But won't because then I'd have to go to the gym.  Baawwaahaaahaa!!  That's hilarious!!!  And even less likely to happen than doomsday.

I would also have regretted not taking the time to become more fluent in Spanish.  I mean, if we're talking apocalypse, anything can happen right?  So maybe some Mayans would come back to life and rule over the rest of us like dictators.  I'd like the chance to get in good with the dark overlords, just in case.  But no... I spent my time in Spanish class learning how to say "Where is the bathroom?" and "The cheese is good".  I did once haggle my way through a transaction with a street vendor in Cabo San Lucas, but I think they just got bored with humoring my lousy Spanish and my arrogant white-girl-tourist attempt to haggle in their native tongue.  So, yeah.  I didn't do much to ensure my survival if in fact Mayans came back to put the smack down on all of us.  In retrospect, I totally would have rectified that.

Lastly, I think I would have spent more time trying to fully understand the ins and outs of Quantum Theory.  Why, you ask?  Well, so I could build a time machine, duh.  What other sure-fire way could I ensure my survival?  Oh yeah.  I guess just waking up did the trick.  Well, shit.  Where's the champagne anyway?  Mommy's got some catching up to do. 

Take a Moment and Give a Beautiful Child a Helping Hand

So today I read a post from a blogger friend that touched my heart, and I thought I would share her campaign with all of you.  If we all open our hearts and share Becky's story, and contribute a dollar or two, we can help give Nathan a Christmas Gift that will truly make a difference in his life.  Read on for the details:

Originally Published at The Insomniac's Dream: Christmas for Nathan:

Christmas for Nathan

Today, I am going to take a break from the funny.  I would like to introduce you to my friend, Becky, and share her story with you.

Becky and her son, Nathan Jr. 

Her son, Nathan Jr. is four years old.  He has been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome and Global Developmental Delay.

How handsome is this little guy?

He is behind in speech and fine motor skills.

Cognitively, he is at 18 months old.  Becky and her husband have tried teaching Nathan sign language, but it is difficult for him and he can only sign a few of his basic needs.

Nathan has a problem with expression through words that causes him a lot of frustration, melt downs, and aggressive behavior.

A very brave Nathan during one of his many hospital stays

He can not hold a crayon, marker, or even a pencil.  He uses an Ipad at school to express what he is trying to say when he is unable to speak.  He uses the Ipad to learn and draw letters with his finger.  He is learning about shapes and how to write.  There are a variety of therapeutic apps available to sooth and help him to settle down when he is upset.

When Nathan is at home he is constantly frustrated and struggles all the time to express himself.

Having an Ipad at home would enable him to tell his parents his needs and wants.

Unfortunately, Ipads are very expensive and beyond what this family is able to afford.  Becky went to Craigslist in desperation, looking for help.  She was met with hate and threatening emails about her son and his disability.  In tears, she explained to us on Twitter what was going on.

Her Craigslist Ad

She shared some of these hateful emails with me as well as her story.  I cried for her.  I cried for Nathan.  My heart aches for a child who struggles every day to express even his most basic needs.  My heart breaks for a child who lives life always frustrated because he can't express himself, and no one understands him.

On top of all of this, Becky has only recently won a hard fought battle against cancer.

Who needs a wig when you have a bow and a beautiful smile?

Can we take a minute out of our days, a dollar or two out of our wallets this Christmas Season and see to it that Nathan gets an Ipad?

Please use the PayPal below to help this family and make this a very special Christmas for a very special little boy.

It is very simple, go to PayPal and where it asks for her email, you type in this Becky.budden@yahoo.com The rest of the fields are self explanatory.

*** I've also made it easy to donate!  Click the Donate button below and enter in the amount you'd like to give.  I'll forward all donations to Becky on a daily basis.

Nathan already says Thank You.

Thank you so much

WTF Friday: Episode 8 ~ If I Won a Million Dollars

So I've been invited to participate in a really cool club called The Secret Subject Swap, hosted by Baking in a Tornado.  By invited, I mean I totally invited myself and wasn't booted at the door even though my name wasn't on the list. 

Secret Subject Swap is much like a Secret Santa party, except with blog topics.  Your topic is chosen by the Secret Subject Swap gods (i.e. Karen, at Baking in a Tornado) from a pool of topics submitted by all participating bloggers. She tells you what your topic is, but no one else knows.  And on a chosen day, you all reveal your posts about your given topic.  My topic was submitted by Dinosaur Superhero Mommy, and is "Whoa, you won one million in the lottery... what do you do?"

So...

The prudent part of me would invest some in mutual funds; ELSS's and ULIP's and what not.  I'd invest some in a business start-up (I hear One Classy Motha is coming up with some patent-pending Beaver Babies... a learning tool that has a hilarity factor of about a billion). I'd give a little to stem cell research and I'd invest in the grey sweat sock industry (long story). And lastly, I'd invest in Ann Taylor.  Why?  Because they make pants.

I'd also give my folks a chunk.  I figure they earned it after 30-odd years of my crap.  And I'd send a hunk to Mr. Martini's folks too.  We're not talking like I'm all giving and philanthropic.  We're talking enough to buy a new TV, or to go on a short vacation, or something. Okay fine.  A new car.  And a fancy watch.  But the bulk would be invested.

The real me (read: not prudent, take-the-money-and-run-around-like-an-idiot-screaming-"I'm-Rich-Bitch" me) would go to Vegas and bet on black.  I'd buy a Jaguar, just so I could say I drive a Jag-u-ar, pronounced like they do in the commercials, which is not at all like anyone, anywhere pronounces it. I would buy a boat even though I live approx. 300 miles from the nearest body of water.  I would go to Tiffany's and try on EVERYTHING and buy NOTHING!

How much do I have left?

I would buy a pony.  I would buy an inflatable bounce house and I would have that sucker inflated ALL THE TIME!  I would buy a fur coat.  No I wouldn't.  But I'd buy a damn good fake.  I'd buy stock in Barefoot Wines.  Hell, I'd start a Pinot Grigio winery and call it I'm Rich Bitch Wines.  I would also buy at least 23 kegs of Berghoff and 190 lbs of shell-on peanuts so I could re-live my college days.

I would buy designer pants in all shapes and sizes and throw them out my car window at moms with shopping carts full of children and messy hair at the Walmart... cause I know how they feel.  I would buy 4 lbs of king crab legs and eat them all myself.  I would also by a 24 pack of toilet paper, because that kind of intestinal assault would definitely land me on the hopper for a full 2 hours.

Lastly, I would buy the rights to this song:

 Be sure to check out the other Secret Subject Swap topics and responses by clicking here.  I would tell you to vote for me, but it's not that kind of club.   

I Got Married By A Wild Boar Hunter on a Remote Island in the North Pacific

So this week's Theme Thursday post from Something Clever 2.0 is about weddings.  I could talk your ear off about weddings, since my day job is to create fabulous custom wedding invitations for bridezillas around the world.  But today I have to talk about my own wedding.  Which was perfect.  And included no invitations at all.  Which made it even more perfect.

See, my husband and I had a whirlwind courtship.  We "hooked up" in March and were married by Thanksgiving.  We travelled throughout the US during that time, bought a house, renovated it, got pregnant, and then decided, well, we should seal the deal, I guess.  We thought about having a real wedding. A small intimate affair that would take place in Chicago (neutral territory for both of our families), but for several reasons (mostly because I was afraid my dad would have a stroke if we told him, since he was still paying off my first wedding) we decided to elope.  I walked into my office one November morning and there was a ticket to Hawaii sitting on my keyboard.  How could you NOT marry that guy?

I was whisked away to the Halekulani Hotel in Honolulu. Um, yeah.  There was a button by the door you could ring for a personal concierge.  The bathroom was bigger than my whole apartment. The view of Waikiki beach was Amazeballs.  But there was construction going on at a nearby hotel that just sort of cramped our "pretending to be rich super-snob" style.  So Mr. Martini asked for a refund and we hopped on the first plane to the Kauai.  That was back when we did that sort of crazy shit all the time.  Just hop on a plane and go to XYZ.  Or just decide not to get on a plane and do something else.  I don't want to sound like a rich super-snob, but it was fun pretending to be a rockstar for a minute.  Of course we're still paying for those 6 months of fun that started 7 years ago, but whatevs. 

There was a golf tourney going on at our hotel and our beach cabana was right next to Tiger Woods' (you know, before we knew Tiger was a raging douchebag).  So we thought we were the Shiznit!  And we were gonna get married!  Whoot Whoot!  I was a princess!   So now we had to find someone to marry us.  Which we didn't realize would be such a difficult thing to do.  I called like a dozen marriage guys (you know, pastors, reverends, etc. that do beach weddings as a side gig) and everyone was booked.  OMG!  We flew all the way to frickin Hawaii and all I got was this stupid bag of Macadamia nuts?  WTF?  I wanna get married!!!  We finally found a pastor/wild boar hunter who said he could do it.  At 4pm.  That day.

I didn't even have a dress.  Not anything I thought would be marginally appropriate, at least.  Turns out, nothing at the only shopping place we could find would be very appropriate either.  Since I was pressed for time (we're talking like 2 hours till "go" time here), I grabbed the only thing that fit reasonably well and ran off (funny how that has become a theme in my normal everyday life too...).
I would be getting hitched in a black knee length party dress with big red hibiscus flowers printed all over it.  Meh.  It beat out sequined hoochie dress.  It would have to do.

We made it to the beach on time, as they say, and met our pastor.  A real nice guy who asked us over for Thanksgiving dinner.  They would be serving wild boar caught using table scraps from his son's restaurant.  I liked the guy immediately.  Mr. Martini however, was a ball of nervous energy.  He was so nervous you could literally see fear in his eyes.  And then he was asked to do the impossible. Wait until we saw a sea turtle.  Say what, Mr.?  We have to stand here looking into the ocean until we see a frickin sea turtle before you'll marry us?  Heh?  So finally, after what seemed like at least five minutes, Mr. Martini lied so we could get on with it.  That's how you should always start out your married life... with a big ol' fat lie to a man of the cloth.

There was some kind words, a declaration of love, some vows (which I have a printed copy of somewhere) and the exchange of rings.  And of course the kiss.  There are three wedding photos of us, and one is the fake kiss we did after the "ceremony".  Turns out our boar-hunting pastor was also an amateur photographer, and he wanted to get the perfect shot.  In any event, we got hitched.  We were married.  It was official.  Let the throwing of the rice, popping of the champagne, eating of the cake, and dancing off the asses commence!!  And then...

That night, we did what all married couples do. ;)

 I fell asleep while he watched the UCLA-USC football game on TV. 

It was the most perfect day ever, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

WTF Friday: Episode 7 --- A Christmas Photo Contest!

Oh Snap!  There's a Contest at The Monkey House!! 

Because it's the holiday season, and all the blogosphere is hyped up about Christmas, I thought it would be fun to do a little photo contest.  That's right, I am hoping enough of you will go out of your way to make me feel good by taking a moment to add a photo of your favorite Christmas tree ever.  There are two categories: Prettiest Tree and Runner-up (which may be the ugliest tree, or may be the second prettiest tree, or may just be the tree with the most ornaments).  Bottom
line: two prizes will be given.   I ask that the trees actually be ones you took part in decorating or at least drove by and saw with your own eyes (i.e. don't just find something hideous on the interwebs).

The two winning photo submitters will receive a prize valued at roughly $100,000,000,000 (a set of 4 handpainted Martini Glasses and free advertising on my blog for a month - a 150 x 150 size... and I'll help you design your ad if you need a little graphic help).  The handpainted martini glasses will be worth a ton of money when I go loco like Van Gogh.  Or Picasso.  Or Cezanne.  Whatevs... they will be priceless 'cause I made 'em.

So add your photo to a blogpost, webpage, your flickr account, or whatever and submit the URL to the linky below.  Let's be honest, most of us do not have Martha Stewart trees since we have kids.  Handmade popcorn garland, the playdoh ornaments, or in my case, heirloom sticks from the Depression handed down from my grandma (no lie) would not likely grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.  But I think even my stick-covered tree is pretty.  So, anyone can win!  

Here are a couple examples:

Ugly Tree - This could win a prize!! 

Beautiful Tree

Um, yeah.  If this is your house, you get both prizes.

The contest is open until December 20th at 9am, at which point judging will begin.  The winners will be notified by email and will be featured in December 21st's WTF Friday post.

If you have any questions, you are taking this way too seriously.  But feel free to email them to me anyway.  I love emails.  Especially when they aren't trying to sell me Cialis or anabolic steroids. Neither of which I have any use for.  Bourbon and Zanax... that's another story.

Disco Balls and Cabbage... My Kind Of Christmas

Non-Traditional Holiday Traditions, Martini-Style

So, the three cents I will get in ad revenue will not make up for the $14 it cost me to create this post.  That is how important Christmas is to me.  I Freaking LOVE Christmas!  And I'm old, so it's not even because I get presents.  I love the tradition of it, even though no one would disagree that my "traditions" are a bit, um, non-traditional. 

 

Take Christmas Dinner. When I was growing up, everyone would pile into the car on Christmas Eve and go to grandmas house in Kenosha, Wisconsin.  Kenosha, if ya don't know, is a little enclave of ethnic diversity, dominated by Italians, but with lots of Eastern Europeans sprinkled in for good measure.  My family would be one of those Eastern European sprinkles.  And apparently, in Eastern Europe, sausage (pronounced Saaaaaaa-sage) is a big deal.  So unlike most families who have baked ham or a beautiful roast turkey, we would have kielbasa and sauerkraut. 

 

I went to Grandmas every Christmas Eve for over 20 years before trying this delicacy purely because it looks like something that was barfed up by a cat, and the smell could gag a maggot.

 

Turns out it is actually quite yummy. I finally got the balls to try it the last Christmas I trekked back to Kenosha, when I was like 26.  There was plenty of alcohol involved...mostly so I could make it through the evening with my family.  To set the scene a little, my aunts and uncles think beer can wind chimes are holiday décor, and someone always winds up falling into the tree, which until 2005 was decorated with real candles.   

 

Well, Grandma has passed, and now that I have kids I insist on doing Christmas at my house.  So now, my family has to pile in the car to come to Indianapolis every Christmas Eve, and guess what's on the table?  Yep.  Kielbasa and Sauerkraut.  Every. Christmas. 

-----

Another non-traditional "tradition" that screams Christmas to me, but would likely leave most people thinking they're at a roller rink in the 80's, is Disco.  Macho Man by The Village People and It's Raining Men recorded by The Weather Girls in particular.  So, I guess it's your traditional Gay Disco Christmas...

 

Every year I would come home a couple days before Christmas and help "decorate" my parents house.  Decorating really only consisted of putting a silver bell on top of the TV and frocking whatever raggedy Christmas tree reject was left in the parking lot of the bar down the street.  Sorry dad, your trees were kinda... um, scraggly.

 

 

And since my folks aren't really Christmas Crazies, we always had lame ass non-Christmas-Christmas music.  Those Darned Accordions was my mom's favorite.  And since my brother and I patently agree that accordion music SUCKS, and would rather suck on the broken tree lights than listen to it, we instituted Gay Disco Christmas.  We'd put on one of those compilation albums, like Disco Favorites Number 87, and skid around on the floor in our socks trying not to knock down the tree as we launched glass balls from varying distances toward said tree.  At the end, one of us would hoist the other one up just high enough so they could grab the pathetic top branch to attach the crowning hula Santa.  You know, those hula dolls you put on your dashboard?  Yeah, our tree topper was one of those. But Santa in a grass skirt.  

 

All the while, belting out lines like "I'm gonna go out, and let myself get, absolutely soaking wetttttt!"  And "Dinggggg, Dinggggg, Dinggggg,.... You can ring my be-e-e-el, ring my bell. Ding Dong Ding, Ringalingaling". 

 

See.  Gay Disco Christmas.  Who wouldn't love that tradition?  

 

So, here is where my $14.00 investment comes in.  I thought I would create a little video to get you, my kind reader, into the Gay Disco Christmas spirit.  Enjoy!

 

You Can Go Ahead and Buy My Book...

So I'm a published author!

 

 

Actually, I was already a published author.  Little known fact: I used to be an academic and, well, I wrote about stuff with authoritay.  Mostly about pirates (the Arrgh kind, not the Chinese kind who make fake DVD's) and about voting behavior and ideology, media and... oh, you're yawning?  Awesome.  Glad a decade of my life's hard work bores you.  Well, it bored the crap out of me too, quite frankly. But, out of all those years of binge drinking and dorkitude at the university, I got at least one article published in a somewhat respected journal.  Well, it was respected until they let me in.  It was a pretty cool study that compared the substance of political information (i.e. what you and I call "news") reported by The Daily Show vs. network news during the '04 election.  Turns out, funny news is also more substantive and is better retained in the memory.  You can check out the study here. 

 

And, well, duh.  I blog all the time because I think what I have to say is read-worthy. Am I a delusional published author?  Probably.  But it turns out at least a couple other people agree enough to have slapped some of my crazy in an ebook (along with some other crazy from some other hilarious moms).  You can check out the collection of funny from Life Well Blogged here.  It's an e-book for Kindle.  I don't have a Kindle.  But I think it's just about time for me to get one ;)  And all the proceeds of the book (not my new Kindle) go to Hurricane Sandy relief (so I don't get a goddamn dime.  Boo!!!). 

 

 But, Yay!! Charity!!  

 

I am flattered and honored that these gals thought I'd be a good fit for their collection.  And I hope you all run out and download it ASAP!  I can't wait to read it myself on my new Kindle (Oh, Amazon... how I love thee ;)  And just so you know, I will be writing this purchase off as a business deduction.  I mean, I am a published author.  That's kind of my job now.

 

Yay me!  New Job! 

WTF Friday: Episode 6

The Bloggess, Liquor Store Doctors, and Leprosy

 

Welcome to the sixth episode of WTF Friday at 3 Monkeys and a Martini!

As you may know, there has been a no-pants saga which has recently ended due to the purchase of several ill-fitting pairs of Target pants.  Hey, they may be too long and they may Add-A-Dick-To-Me with their lumpy crotchness, but they are pants.  And they are all mine!  Muuhhuuuaaahha! 

It is truly amazing what a pair of pants (and a new sweater or five) can do for your self esteem.  I've even showered in the last two days!  And I plan to go out of the house... in public... to buy food.  And I am not even going to go to Walmart.  "Whoa, slow down!  Don't get crazy on me," you may be saying, but my new pants have created a monster.  I may even slap on some mascara and bronzer.  Look out Mr. Martini, I am on the prowl.  Meeoow!

But seriously, I think my Target pants have helped me become somewhat acceptable.  Or at least not toxic.  I say that because I woke up to this in my in-box this morning:

Her highness The Bloggess, follows me on Twitter!  WTF?  Have I made it or what?  Nevermind she follows like 18k other people.  And nevermind she will never read my blog. And nevermind the fact that this will never result in a dime in my pocket.  It is still pretty damn awesome.  I still think pants are overrated, but maybe, just maybe, these new pants will open some doors for me.

Speaking of doors...

Aside from that nugget of awesomeness, I have been feeling quite crappy.  I went to a "doctor", which is an indication of the seriousness of my feeling of crappiness since I only go to a doctor when a human being begins to protrude from my vag.  This "doctor" was actually a Voodoo Priestess/nurse practitioner/wholesale meat distributor whose office was located in the back of a liquor store.  Hey... I have a high deductible.  I gotta do what I can to save on healthcare costs.

So I see this woman right after a man with what appeared to be leprosy jumped off her examining table.  I tell her my ear hurts.  I have a sneaking suspicion she has yet to wash her hands as she grabs a used Kleenex to wipe off her ear-looky-inny-thingy.  I am fairly certain at this point my ear is going to hurt a hell of a lot more in the days to come, judging by the left-over ear on the floor from the leper guy who just left.  I tell the kids to cover their mouths, and for all that is good and holy, do not touch ANYTHING!  As a reward for good behavior, you will receive a Purell bath upon exiting this facility.  Hope you have no open wounds.

Turns out, all the backaches, headaches, coughing, swollen glands, and ear pain are benign symptoms of nothingness.  See, there is clearly nothing wrong with me.   Silly me.  "Use wam compress on both side of head.  Gargol wit sal wotor" she says.  Gargle with frickin salt water?  What, am I Amish?  What the frig ever happened to Zithromax?  I came here for one thing, and one thing only.  Drugs.  And judging by your clientele you have access to the good stuff.  Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme. 

So yesterday I spent the bulk of the day on the couch with a heating pad pressed up against my ear, one of those self-heating backache wrap things tied around my neck, a bottle of Tylenol stuffed in my bra, and I guzzled sal wotor once an hour until I puked.  And guess what?  I still feel like crap. 

Ironically, I just received a follow-up call from said Voodoo-meat distributor nurse.  I said I still feel like crap, and consciously coughed into the phone.  Her response, "Oh... take cuple mo day to feel bettah."  Thanks.  Bitch.

WTF?

The Target Mirror Box Of Horror

I got some pants... and a dose of reality

So I did it.  I bought some pants.  That's right y'all!  I took a moment yesterday, piled the kids in the cruiser and took 'em to Target.  Why Target?  Because it was a one-stop-shop.  I needed some apples.  And toilet paper.  And a baby-proof latch thing.  And I figured, hell, while I'm at it, I'll get some pants.   I wanted to go to the fancy maternity store, but that would have required dressing for the occasion, (i.e. wearing something that didn't already have a ketchup stain on it, and a nicer pair of pants).  So now that I have Target pants, maybe I'll get to the maternity store.  Likely not, but whatevs.

In any case, I learned a couple things yesterday while clothes shopping for the first time in like 3 years.
1) Even cheap clothes are over priced.
2) Liz Lange (the in-house Target maternity "designer") has clearly never been knocked-up.
3) Whoever designs the clothes for "women" sized chicks, are not in fact, women.
4) I have some body issues.  Which was not helped by the fact that my 5 year old literally pointed and laughed at me when I took off my skirt to try on pants.   Dick. 

So, I've gained a bit of weight during this pregnancy.  Like 25 pounds already.  And there is no stopping in sight.  For those who don't know me in real life, I am 5' 2" and built a bit like a hobbit.  So any extra poundage is visibly noticeable almost immediately upon scarfing down that plate of pasta.  And it has been this way my whole life.  Because I am a larger small person, I have had serious self image issues since I was a little girl.  And it all started when some jackhat doctor told me I was obese when I was 12.

That little comment set off a lifetime of self-image issues, culminating in a decade long "battle" with anorexia. I use "battle" in quotations because at the time it was not a battle... it was a way of life.  See, you starve yourself in an effort to get to a point where you like what you see in the mirror.  The battle is not with the lack-of eating part of the equation; rather, it is in the liking what you see part.  But everyone acts as though the disorder lies in the eating part of any eating disorder.  That you must simply learn to have a healthy relationship with food.  They would be the same assholes who call 12 year old girls obese.

The disorder part stems from a magnanimous lack of self-esteem that drives every thought, every decision, every choice that you make.  And that is not something that can be solved overnight with a magic pill, or with therapy, or with success (i.e. starving yourself down to a size zero).  I tried all three.  You don't simply wake up one morning and think "wow, that single grapefruit a day has really made me beautiful.  I think I'll have a ham sandwich now, 'cause I'm a hottie potatie and I'm all better".  You may finally wake up and think, "Damnit, I'm having a ham sandwich because this eating celery sticks thing blows", but you still live forever with the fear of being fat and ugly.  That never goes away. Never.

Maturity helped me conquer those demons a bit, but it was entirely by default.  Looking like a Top Model no longer is the most important thing when you've got little people who rely on you for their very survival.  The constant fear of being fat and ugly that once literally consumed me has become really small, pushed deep down, and is weighted down with cement shoes of things that really matter... like being able to pay the bills, keeping my kids safe, and being a good role model.  And it helps that I have a husband who makes me feel beautiful everyday.  Just having him by my side as my life partner is a constant reminder of my success at conquering this disorder.  When I left my first husband, he said to me in reference to my now-husband, "Do you think he would have had anything to do with you when you were a fat cow?".  Those words stung more than a stab to the heart.  But I can say without a doubt, "Yes, assface, he would.  'Cause he is.  And he thinks I'm beautiful even with some extra poundage".  Our two (almost three) children are evidence of that. 

So, I realized--standing in the mirror box of horror at Target with a five year old laughing at my pants-less cellulite laden ass--that I definitely need to get to the gym once this pregnancy is over.  And I should maybe start being a bit more conscientious of what I consume (what, you mean macaroni and cheese has carbs?  Shit!).  And although I now have to wear a tent as a winter coat, it is all fleeting.  It is not me.  I am a beautiful girl with some extra weight.  And you know what?  It doesn't define me.  It doesn't consume me.  It doesn't determine my self worth.  Not anymore.  These two little monkeys do.  And it is for them that I will hit the treadmill.  Not so they can have the hottest mama at the school play (although, I'll be honest, that is a motivator).  Rather, it's so they will have a healthy mama who has many years of playtime left.  So I can give them the time they need to become men.  Real men.  Men who don't value a woman by the size of her ass, but rather by the size of her heart.  Men who know a good thing when they see it and will stop at nothing to get it, keep it, nourish it, and cherish it.

Men just like their father. 

WTF Friday: Episode 5

An (Almost) Pants-less Moving Day

 



Man, it seems like a decade since I last had a second to write.  And I have missed it so much.  I have even been punishing myself by being a twitterhole since I've been such a bloghole lately.  What is a twitterhole or a bloghole?  Someone who rarely participates in either.  And there is always hilarity going on in the blogs I follow, and the antics from the people I follow on Twitter make a pants-less life worth living, so I've been really punishing myself. 

But we were moving.  And as you likely know, moving S-U-C-K-S.  Like, a lot a bunch.  And one would think with all the experience I have, I'd be good at it.  Yeah, not so much.  You may have read my last post about needing pants.  Let's just say on the day of the big move (which was actually more like 64 hours) I found myself with literally no pants.  None.  Mr. Martini and I had gotten up at 5am to make one last packing push before the movers got there, and upon looking around, panic ensued.  I think the words were, "Why the falafel haven't we packed yet!!!??!!" (except I never say falafel).  And a frantic, sweaty, panicked, craze-induced frenzy of dumping drawers, and toys, and file cabinets full of junk into random un-marked boxes began.  During the madness, I had found a clean pair of yoga pants (ill-fitting of course, but clean) that I quickly pulled aside and put on top of a box while running to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth.  When I exited, my pants were gone, and there were about 400 newly packed anonymous boxes standing tall as a disheveled Mr. Martini continued throwing random crap to and fro. 

"Where the hell are my pants?", I yelled.  Now mind you, I had already thrown the 3-day-old-funked-up-pants I had been wearing into some other random box filled with dried flowers, some hood ornaments, kitchen utensils, an accordion, and Twizzlers; which was of course, no where to be found.  And by that time, neither was Mr. Martini.

Ohhhh shazam!  You can imagine the fury.  I mean, come on!  I had just recently written about my lack of pants and how mad it makes me.   And now you literally take the only clean pair of ill-fitting pants I own away on a day when strangers will see me, and I already haven't showered in three days?  So I did what any gal in my position would do... stormed around the house in my under-roos swearing like a sailor, throwing things around like a spoiled 3 year old.  Oh yeah... and the reason I was so pissed was because I also had to give a presentation at my son's school that day.  Score!

My husband doesn't read my blog, but he had been made aware of the no-pants post.  He KNOWS!!! When I finally confronted him, his sweaty, befuddled look told me everything I needed to know: "I don't know where the hell your pants are, and to be honest, I don't give a damn."  Luckily I found the three-day-old-funked-up pants I had been wearing, so I slapped those on.  I Fabreezed myself before heading over to the school, and stopped at the store on my way for cupcakes.  I figured if a smelly, un-make-uped, dirty, almost pants-less mom walked in to my school with cupcakes, all I'd remember is that she was awesome.  So I gave it a shot.  I think it worked, although I did try to keep my distance.

---

This move was surprisingly smooth.  Our movers were super fast and even charged less than they estimated, and that NEVER happens.  We even got the house mostly cleaned out for the new owners. But because we don't like to do anything the easy way, like a bunch of dumbasses we had the power shut off just so we would have to scramble around in the dark with flash lights trying to hide things we couldn't illegally dump (sorry about that broken crib you guys will eventually find in the potting shed... and the four full trash cans.  And the garage full of paint. Oh, and that broken jogging stroller... Whoopsies ;) 

So, we're all moved into our new house, which I love.  I have never actually said that about a house that I live in, so that is kind of a big deal.  We even had a lovely make-shift Thanksgiving dinner, and we are slowly unpacking all the random boxes of crap.  Life is starting to normalize.

And guess what?

I still haven't found any damn pants. 

Who Needs Pants When You Have Ham Hock Legs?

It has come to my attention that I'm surrounded by needy bastards.  People who need time, people who need attention, people who need money, people who need approval, people who need a good kick in the pants... and to be perfectly honest, I have become really, really, annoyed.

This little personal epiphany may seem trite or obvious to some; just walk into a Walmart and you'll see a gaggle of mouth-breathers  surrounding the free yogurt sample chick screaming "Pick Me, Pick Me!!".  I mean, intellectually I know this neediness thing is nothing new.  I see it at least once a week... at the Walmart.  But it has become like nails on a chalk board to me, where I used to be able to let noise like that just roll off my back.  I think the real reason all this neediness has pissed me off to such a considerable degree is because I keep my needs and wants to myself.  Mostly in an effort to be low maintenance. My mother will begin raucous laughter here.  To which I respond, just wait until nursing home time.  Muhauuhaahaa! 

So I thought, since we're all being so damn self-involved here, that I would share a list of my secret needs and wants.  This may or may not be something you'll want to print and post on the fridge as a Christmas list.

NEEDS:
1) I need pants.  There, I said it.  I don't have one goddamned pair of pants that fit.  Not one.
2) I need more money for the finer things in life.  Like pants.

WANTS:
1) I want pants. That fit.

2) I want more money. For pants.  That fit.

3) I want some stability.  This will be the 7th time I have moved in the last 6 years.  I just want to settle down. I'm hoping this is it, seeing as how I am going to set myself on fire like a protesting monk if the subject of moving is even broached in my house within the next 5 years. I hate fire.  So yeah. Stability now!

4) I want to feel appreciated.  This is probably something every mom/wife can identify with.  I do your laundry.  I make your dinners. I do the dishes, clean move stuff around the house, make sure you have books to read and toys to play with. I clean your poop. And on top of all I do for you, I take care of our children.

5) I want some friends.  Like, real ones.  I haven't put much stock in the whole friendship thing since all mine dumped me during my divorce, but I realize that having someone to vent to is clearly a good thing.  But really, maybe not (see needy bastards above).

6) I want to be needy without feeling selfish.  If I have learned one thing from all the needy bastards out there, it is this: It's okay to think about "you" once in a while. That is something I need to work on (maybe this should go on the Need list?).

7) I want to be nicer. But only to a select few.  I am actually too nice to most people.  In fact, I can't think of a single person that deserves more niceness from me.  Just forget number 7.  Dick.

8) I want to know that my kids are going to be safe, happy, and strong.  I do my best everyday to make this happen, and every night I pray to God that he'll/she'll intervene and make sure I don't turn them into needy little bastards.  See, no matter how hard you try, you will always feel like you're not mom-enough.  I want to feel "mom-enough".

9) I want to get a real haircut.  I have cut my own hair for the past 5 years, and I started because I couldn't understand why I was paying someone $90 every six weeks to make me look like Harry from Dumb and Dumber.  I can do that for free.  And although I give myself the best haircuts I have ever gotten, it is a week-long process.  And I don't even have pants. Why the hell would it make sense that I spend that kind of time on something no one will ever notice?

10) I want one of those Roomba robot vacuums.  Mine broke and the floor is a mess.

11) I want my ankles back.  Every day I put on shoes and think about how I once had cute girly legs.  Now I have ham hocks. And ham hocks stuffed into Nike's is not a look I would recommend for anyone.  Especially for someone wearing no pants.