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Monthly Archives: February 2012

To accept or deny…that is the question.

Getting a friend request from an old boyfriend or a crush you had at one point in your life is like a little gift. My immediate reaction: No way?! Does that prick seriously think I’m going to accept him? Then I think of the fact that I can see his pictures if I do….hmmmm…. So I ponder on it for a day or two. Clearly I would like to deny due to the way he treated me when we broke up and the only way to say “Screw you!” is through a big, fat DENIAL! That decision weighs heavy, wishing he was just public so I could see the mess of a life he has now without giving him the satisfaction of being his “friend”.

So I finally accept because the suspense is killing me and pray his wife is less than appealing and they have some pretty unattractive children together. So very non-Christian of me, I know. But I am only human with a damn good memory.

Then I quickly go to my pictures and delete some freakishly bad ones, change my profile pic to a cute one of me and my family on vacation, pour myself another cup of coffee and delve in to how my life could have ended up. And it’s like unwrapping a present. Thank you God for allowing him a camera to document his life!!

Hold on, quick mention of the fact that I dated two vatos in my early high school years, a smart yet arrogant track star, an attractive alcoholic and a judgmental brainiac in college. I couldn’t pick a type those years and apparently was all over the place trying to figure out who I was a good match for. None of them, apparently. Funny thing is, the vatos in the beginning were the ones I remember to be the nicest and most respectful to me and I’ve honestly wished nothing but good things for them. Now the other ones? I’ve envisioned a life of failure since I moved on and married my dream husband.

The pictures tell a story and I can’t help but see him the same way with his wife as he was with me and I feel bad for her. Does he make her feel like an idiot if she says the wrong thing? And since they have kids does he judge every move she makes with them? Does he undermine her in public?  Does he still have the driest, most cotton mouth kiss? Poor gal. I hope it’s better for her than it was for me.

I had one of them actually write me a long apology message about how bad he has felt over the years at how he treated me. I’m assuming it’s part of a 12 steps program since he had a booze problem. I thought it was nice of him to finally admit he had issues since there were times even years later that I had blamed myself for causing some of his explosions that haunted me.  Now if I still wished upon his demise, then I would have written back a lot of four letter words also including something along the lines of  ‘go to hell’, but since I have yet to hold a grudge with anyone in my life, I’m not starting with him. I had already forgiven him several years ago and since his message it’s become water under the bridge.

And as quick as I look through their lives, I then move on to the UNFRIEND button. Just. Like. That.

The last guy I dated before meeting my husband was an extremely smart Chemistry/PreMed student with straight A’s and a lot of volunteer lab work under his belt…causing me to have to pay for everything during the relationship. Broke ass. Towards the end of our relationship we were on a “break” while I tied one on for a girl’s road trip to Scottsdale, San Diego and Las Vegas to celebrate a few of our 21st birthdays; that’s when I met my soon to be husband. So I came back to Albuquerque in love and officially broke up with him. Four months later I moved to Las Vegas and started my life there without ever looking back.

HOWEVER, one day I got curious when he popped up in PEOPLE YOU MIGHT KNOW and I thought, “Why not?” and requested HIM….and got rejected immediately. Ouch. “How dare he reject me?” I was always a good girlfriend and practically kept him from starvation throughout that year and a half!

I’m assuming he rejected me because his life sucks now; otherwise I’m sure he would have been quick to add me to showcase where he’s at nowadays. And I’m going to keep believing that because I refuse to think that there might be someone in the world who is wishing upon MY demise or using four (and 5 ) letter words in regards to.  Am I the moment in his life that he tries to forget? Nah.

The moment I friend requested him is my biggest Facebook regret since opening my account. I told my husband about it and he thought it was funny and said he wouldn’t blame him. Sheesh, rough crowd.

So I’ve seen most of my exes and have come across some crushes, which all leads me to the conclusion of, “It takes alot of frogs….”


30 is the new 70

Since hitting 30 two years ago, I know two things to be true: I am finally comfortable in my own skin; and that skin is acting like a real bitch. And most recently like a real bitchy teenager.

What happens when that birthday comes around? Yes, I feel more confident and could care less what others might think of me, but I also find myself complaining about things I used to correlate with being “old”.

“Ugh, my neck feels like I got whiplash.” “My hips feel like I just gave birth.” “Another freaking pimple?!?” “My eyelashes are starting to fall out!!” “Why can’t my right knee straighten all the way?” “Where is all this nose hair coming from?!?” “Dude, this shoulder keeps popping so loud when I lift it and it feels like it just popped out of it’s socket!”

Due to my recent breakouts, I am now using honey on my face. Yes, honey. I tell you what, regardless of the 7 boils that appeared immediately after, I am pleased to say that my face is starting to look better than it has since I hit 30. I’ll let you know if that continues OR if ‘Crunchy Betty’ (the site I got this info from) is full of granola along with shit.

And when I stretch in the mornings these days it sounds painful with all the cracks and pops in the oddest places…like my ankles and elbows. Seriously?  My husband, although he can’t say anything since he has his own crap, will just look at me and say in our jokingly way, “Looks like I’m going to have to trade you in for a younger model, babe.” My quick response,  “Just remember what a pain in the ass I was in my early 20s….enjoy that ALL OVER AGAIN with someone who’s not going to make your lunches for work and do your laundry. Yeah, what now?!?” Then we both go back to talking about our health and how we need to make doctor’s appointments and up our glucosamine intake. I totally thought that was for the elderly people waiting in line at the pharmacy.

The part that is bittersweet about getting older together is that my husband keeps getting better looking with age. I find that to be utterly unfair of the double standard in society how men just look more “refined” while we just need more help to make us look less old. For instance, Tom’s starting to get crow’s feet around his eyes and I think it’s hot, but if it were me I would burn a hole in my shoes racing to the closest Botox place I could find…which happens to be my mom who does that for a living. I know, totally cool right?!

“But I’m kind of comfortable with getting older because it’s better than the other option, which is being dead. So I’ll take getting older.” George Clooney

A couple of weeks ago, Tom and I were walking through the casino with the kids after a movie and two “young” women about my age (ha) walked by and totally checked him out and smiled. It was so obvious that my typically oblivious husband uncomfortably looked away and straight at me.  I just giggled and teased him then spanked him on the butt and said, “You still got it, babe!!’ And I could tell it made him feel good; and why shouldn’t it? It’s the same as if I got a second glance. After 10 years of marriage, it’s not crappy to have someone else think you’re attractive. No second thoughts about it, just a quick and harmless ego boost. And when someone checks out your husband it’s a feeling of, “Hell yeah, that’s MY man…AND the father of those kids in front of us. By the way, that was rude.”

About a year ago (yes, I’m still repeating this story) I was on cloud nine when a car full of teens drove by and one yelled “MILF” at me. As gross as that should have been to me, I was inappropriately flattered. Not to mention I had literally just been cleaning the toilets right before heading out the door to pick my daughter up from school. That was a highlight in my momhood and I’m fully aware that it’s pathetic and there should be a moment when it isn’t cool anymore, but the thrill hasn’t faded yet so I’m continuing to relish in it.

The fact that I’m just starting to feel (not mentally, but physically) older is weighing heavy on my mind lately. Is it because I am constantly on the go and my energy level is just naturally going to feel drained?  Maybe. Is it because I truly have issues in my bones? According to Web MD, it’s a definite possibility along with every cancer and disease out there.  Or is it simply a fact of life that as you get older, you start to be more aware of your body and want to preserve it and take the best care of it? Probably. I know, I know, 32 is still young….but if I feel this achy now I’m seriously petrified at how I’ll feel at 62. Will I be decrepit and/or debilitated? So because of these concerns we have decided to go vegetarian, WITH exceptions like cheese. I’m sorry, but I’m not ready for that fake stuff JUST YET.  Stay tuned and I’ll share a few tidbits of my journey in to this interesting new world…and see if it turns my 70  year aged body back to a tri-athletes.

Ok, maybe that was a bit too far. BACK to a normal 30ish year old body who’s a mother of two. That’s a start….

Career of choice: Professional Mom?

“So tell me about your work experience.” “Well, I’ve wiped butts for 7 years. Oh, and I make a mean grilled cheese! Do those count?”

Now that it’s right around the corner I often find myself trying to figure out what I’m going to do when Roman goes back to school in a year and a half. I feel this pressure to find something that’s going to make sense being away from the house ALL DAY. I mean, won’t our dog be lonely by himself all those hours? Won’t the kids need someone home for those 1-2 days a year that they’re home sick? Or when they forget their lunches I can happily bring it to them and pat myself on the back as if I’ve solved life’s problems just by being available? But lately there is an ongoing fear of what comes next since my “work” experience over the past 7 years has consisted of taking care of my family. I don’t know if I’ll be ready for the rejection when the time comes to start applying for jobs and they take one look at my résumé and say, “Dude (yes, I believe this will be the level of job I’m qualified for…where they refer to me as ‘Dude’), you realize you haven’t worked 7 out of the last 10 years we’re asking about, right?” “No, that can’t be right?! I’ve been on the go non-stop those 7 years doing….um, mom stuff.” How do you explain the duties of a stay at home mom without sounding like an idiot and feeling inferior? The duties of a stay at home mom can never truly be measured and will probably never come out well on paper because what do you say? I’ve wiped butts for 7 years.  I wash clean clothes (yes, half of the laundry in the hampers I DO believe is clean clothes thrown in there by lazy hands.) I run about 500 errands in a month. Deal with backtalk without losing my cool. Exert an INSANE amount of patience with not only MY kids but other kids and their parents as well. I handle tantrums and teach manners while also trying to be a good example, which is not always easy to do.  Clean up an endless amount of spills in a day along with standing next to your kid while counting as they clean up the mess they just deliberately made. Making sure my son doesn’t electrocute himself and that my daughter knows that every picture whether it’s a flower, heart or rainbow is treasured while also making my plan of ridding the house of the past weeks worth of flowers, hearts and rainbows without her knowing. Making sure my kids are not los roñosos…the kids with butter teeth, stinky butt or just plain filthy. Being creative in ways to teach lessons, but also know when it’s time to just say, “Because I said so!!” This job could go on and on…but I’ll stop here.

It is a REAL job and I do feel I get paid. Not in the cliché meaning of, “I get paid every day when I look at my child smile and they say ‘I love you mommy’.” Um, not what I’m talking about. I’m saying I get dolla bills yo. I get paid by keeping money in our account by not shelling out the cost of day care, paying for a maid and because I am there to guide my daughter right now in order to maintain a solid educational foundation which saves on the need for private school or tutor. No, those savings aren’t HUGE, but probably around what I would be making at a full-time government job, which is all I’d be able to get anyway. It took me 6 years to get that damn degree in Criminal Justice and when I received my diploma I pretty much wiped my forehead, dusted off my hands and said, “Phew, glad that’s over with!” and it has sat in a frame ever since. It will come in handy if I decide to be a substitute teacher, though…which is another option.

Then of course living in Las Vegas I think about going back to cocktailing for a supplemental income and quickly think of my age and how I’ll have to set a disclaimer on uniforms stating, “Must have a uniform that allows me to wear SPANX underneath and hides my loose and wrinkly belly skin that folds in the middle when I bend forward causing an unsightly mess.” And since it’s Las Vegas and they do their hiring based on Zed Cards, head shots and runway auditions that job opportunity is pretty much null and void. Plus, I just couldn’t picture myself in that line of work anymore anyway.

I regularly think about going back to school to pursue my dream job of being an Advertising Executive. I think about how fun it would be to make commercials and come up with fun ideas to sell products, all while dressed in a designer business suit and wearing a bluetooth. It would take me about another 4 years to get the requirements for that degree and I can start out in the mail room and work my way up to the top….just like all the others did, right? I could be that success story about the mom who lost all hope for her future and made it happen all the way to the most popular commercial during the Superbowl. Then again, I don’t think I have it in me to do what it takes to make that unrealistic dream come true so I’ll graciously leave it to someone with more drive.

And as I ponder what I’m good at, I always come back to being a mom. No, I’m absolutely not the perfect mom. I yell more than I’d like and I’m pretty sure I do damage on a daily basis, but it’s ME that’s inflicting the damage, not outside sources; that’s important to me.  I picture my future and it’s pretty much me being the “Sunny D” mom who tosses her kids and their entourage of friends a beverage after school, fixes them a healthy snack and reads a book off to the side as they play basketball on our full court in the backyard, while a few other kids are enjoying a dip in our pool and say, “Thanks Mrs. H!” “It’s my pleasure, kids!” And then occasionally one of their friends would come to me for advice and I’d give them my thoughts in the coolest and wisest way possible making me the most awesome mom in the neighborhood. Then as our kids start driving I can follow them on a GPS tracker, do research on who they’re with and what they’re doing. This all takes work you know?! Cleaning their rooms will also be a job I embrace…in order to stumble across little tidbits of information. I mean, if I was working full time, would I be the one cleaning their rooms and finding these things and obtaining this much control? Probably not. This future is more like what I want: Kids to have me to come home to who loves them and knows the people they’re hanging out with.

So all I can say is, Tom better kick his heels in to full gear bc that pool, basketball court and GPS tracker sure isn’t happening on it’s own. 🙂

That’s an Executive Membership card, thank you very much!

Anyone that knows me knows that I have an affinity for Costco.

I love that place so much that I get excited just driving around the parking lot looking for a good spot and won’t give up until I feel satisfied with one. All of a sudden it happens; the magical reverse lights on an SUV with no other car in sight. It’s ALL MINE! So I wait. and wait. and wait, allowing other cars to go around and people to stare at me as they have to maneuver their carts past my car.  I pay no mind; they’re just envious of my spot that’s sprung up due to good Karma.  As the person starts to back-up almost nabbing someone (all part of the process of reversing close to the entrance) they finally pull-out and I pull in, smiling with a wave that says, “Thanks for your spot. I’ll enjoy it as much as you did!” 50% of the time I’ll actually get an enthusiastic wave back! With the kids in tow I grab a cart, put my son in the seat without ever getting the legs in the right spot on the first try, since there’s 4 slots to choose from, and make my way in the door by fumbling through my wallet for that freaking membership card. I should be prepared by now, but I’m not nor ever will be.  I flash the greeter my card, still unsure after all of these exact moments on what I need to do. Do I smile? Should I have eye contact? Do I just pretend like this awkward moment doesn’t bother me due to fear of being rude to the lady with the clicker? I wish I could ask someone, but everyone else just seems to walk through with ease. I walk on believing I looked like an idiot with a VIP access card to a nightclub.

But once I’m in, the experience begins.  The initial walk-way stops me every time. In the Winter it’s the rotating heater that welcomes you in to the Costco home. I stand there wondering if there will ever be a time when I might need that warm and cozy item in my house. I want one just to experience that same feeling every day….but I walk on to the next item. In Spring it’s the glass beverage dispenser that I would LOVE to have for that ONE time it might come in handy. But I continue since I realize I’d probably forget it was in a cabinet somewhere and serve lemonade at a party straight out of the bottle like every other time. And that glorious kite I actually did purchase then returned feeling like there should have been a disclaimer that one must be an engineer in order to operate it. I took one look at that sucker out of it’s container and knew it was going to be a pain in my ass. Just like their ginormous inflatable ball that a person can get in the middle of and roll down hills. That thing looked so fun on the box, but take it out and each individual hexagon needed to be aired up. After the pump broke half-way through I attempted to blow it up myself while the kids stood watching the entire time. But fear came when I  realized my Julia Roberts vein in my forehead might actually burst this time, so I stopped.Gotta love the bulging veins we share. I’m practically famous!!

Tom and I brought it back to Costco just as it was and the sweet old man at the “returns only” counter took it back with a smile. Did I need to tell them there was a mysterious hole in it, too? I don’t think so since they seem to have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy with all returns. That’s one of my favorite things about that place since I’ll be damned if I keep something I don’t want…I’ll refrain from sharing all the items I’ve ever returned there since some might prove just how much a dollar means to me.

Summer is just plain fun in Costco. It’s the only time you can walk through the refrigerated areas without shivering, although I always wish I brought a jacket in just to cover a certain area of my body so as not to show the world I was cold, if you know what i mean. I bet some perves just stand by the cheeses just to stare at women walking out of the dairy cooler. What a bunch of sickos! Alright, that thought just entered my mind so next time I come out I’m watching with an eagle eye. Besides perves, the Summer also carries several different ways to “go green”. My weakness? Water bottles. Who knew one could perfect a water bottle as often as CONTIGO does? I have every one they’ve ever come out with and the newest design with the straw is perfection at it’s best….although I did realize that when it’s quiet in church it’s best not to bring that one because it makes a gurgle sounds when you stop. That’s just an FYI, but other than that I give my 2 toe thumbs up! Then we hit Fall and it’s all about Christmas. Christmas, Christmas, Christmas…and I don’t hate it. I browse those two huge aisles of gigantic rolls of wrapping paper, ribbons and bows, gift bags, reindeer, wreaths and every other decoration they have up before Halloween is even over. Thankfully my kids who need Ginko Biloba, do not have the best memory so I also love to take my kids through the toy area to start their mental wishlist because by the time Christmas rolls around they’ve already forgotten and I can pretty much get them whatever I want because at that point they’re so sick of hoping for something that they will just be happy to get anything. Needless to say, I could live in a Christmas store and never get tired of it and Costco pretty much sets my tone for the next 2 months. Thanksgiving who?

And as we stroll through every aisle, I have to also grab the super-sized bottles of Crown Royal and Captain Morgan along with a case of Blue Moon for the house. Boy does that make me feel like a winner. I would seriously love to tell everyone who glances at my cart, “Just so you know, these are for a party we’re having” even though it’s just to stock the liquor cabinet. I feel like a pathetic drunk with my two kids who are also oblivious as I slide those bottles faaaaar underneath the seat so no one will see or judge. I think I might feel like people give a crap way more than they actually do, but it still bothers me nonetheless.

Then we hit every sample we can, including the Glucosamine drink for me…I’ve always contemplated buying it so why not test it out, right? And there’s just something about getting samples there that make the kids LOVE everything. I buy the plain Fage Greek Yogurt for myself, but the kids won’t taste the plain one with honey at home to save their lives. Yet serve it as a sample and they end up licking the bottom of the cup and asking if they can have another one. Still so puzzling to me. The sample carts are so very bittersweet. I can’t believe an older man will elbow his way to the front past a mom and two kids for a piece of licorice, but he won’t get away with it without a little, “Geez” from me; that’ll show the old geezer! But I’ll tell you what, if they have the chimichangas on display you better believe I’ll send Carissa for seconds. I believe those ladies have memories like elephants and I’m always so afraid they’ll call me out for getting another one.

Finishing off my shopping experience in the freezer section, shock myself for the 3rd time on the handles and finally get smart and tap it first before grabbing another one. It’s still a mystery why it happens. I even made a joke out of it to the shopper next to me who then looks at me in a way to tell me I’m all alone in this. Come on people, learn to fake commiserating with someone in order to avoid making them feel like an idiot! Heck, I’ll tell someone I pooped my pants if they divulged it happened to them, just to make them feel less alone. “What?! You crapped your pants in the middle of Target? Me too! I’m sure it happens to more people than you think, just most people won’t admit it. Don’t feel bad!” But for this lady all I was asking for was an, “I know, right?!?! Shocks me every time!”

Now to get in line. This is where I wish I had a 15 year old kid that could just wait in line while I shopped. To all of you who do, but do not utilize them for that, if you see a mother shopping offer up your teenager. I’ll even buy them a hotdog afterward; which happen to be THE BEST dogs in the world! Who cares about the communal condiment dispenser, I load that bad boy UP, but I definitely use my forearm to push the levers down. Who knows what sick junk is on those things? So I give my littlest one the receipt that he ever so excitedly hands to the lady so he can get the world’s crappiest smiley face or to the grumpy one that just draws a line that I like to refer to as “a snake”. Walk my happy ass one aisle down to my car and load up all the bulk food I can store. I pull out of my space (barely missing a person) and watch with giddiness at the car waiting for my amazing spot. You’re welcome and enjoy!  Until next time, Costco. xoxoxo

“$100 an hour?!? You’re crazy! Or wait…am I?”

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When I read to my kids I LOVE to make each character sound different by giving them a New York, Western twang, South of the Border or some other fun accent from who knows where, which the kids love. And so when I hear my daughter read her books out loud to Roman in her pretend British accent I melt and have a moment….but that sweet, tender moment is always ruined with my screwy paranoia of, “Yup. I knew it. My child is developing Foreign Accent Syndrome!!” I worry all too often that because of my actions my kids are going to either be scarred for life, traumatized beyond repair or develop some insanely obscure disorder due to something I’ve done; and having the compulsion to talk in an accent is one that I will absolutely blame myself for since I started the whole thing.

Another example was when I was trying to get my daughter to stop picking her nose a couple of years ago. I tried EVERYTHING short of taping her nostrils shut.  I went so far as telling her there was a snail that lived up there and would bite her finger if it went too far (courtesy of Shel Silverstein’s poem ‘The Sharp Toothed Snail.”)

“Inside everybody’s nose

There lives a sharp-toothed snail.

So if you stick your finger in,

He may bite off your nail.

Stick it farther up inside,

And he may bite your ring off.

Stick it all the way, and he

May bite the whole darn thing off”

Harsh, right?!?  Although, I think she was smart enough to realize I was not telling the truth. That will be another issue we deal with when my son also realizes that “You need to wash your hands or you might get diarrhea,” and “You’ll start to shrink if you drink soda,” aren’t COMPLETELY true, either…but man does it work for them now.  Before I was a parent and I saw a kid pick, pick, picking away I knew, “My kids would NEVER do that.” That actually became my mantra at 19 and 20 when I worked at a child care center thinking I knew what it was like to be a parent. I judged them. I was an idiot. Karma has a funny way of setting things straight though because when she was 3 and 4 her finger practically LIVED in her brain and I was at a loss.  The more I bugged her about picking her nose, the more I worried about what she could do instead like develop  Trichotillomania where one has the impulse to pull their own hair out. So I’ve let up quite a bit due to the debate in my head of nose picking vs. hair pulling? hair pulling or nose picking? I’m pretty sure I’d rather her pick her nose as long as it goes in a tissue. She has grown out of the habit all on her own and thankfully I haven’t seen her pull any strands of hair out…

The first moment of possible future issues with Roman was last week when he threw a tantrum like I had never seen. It was a battle I shouldn’t have picked, but usually he is so easy to reason with and had he been acting like his usual self (he was in “rare” form…don’t you LOVE it when parents use that excuse? But that’s for another post) it wouldn’t have been a problem. But I make mistakes (rarely of course) and live and learn after the fact hoping and praying that that moment of crazy didn’t leave him traumatized forever . As we stood in a bathroom stall, I tried reasoning with him. “You’ve held your pee for 20 minutes and you need to go now so we don’t get half way through shopping and have to come back here with a cart of groceries!” With every flush of the insanely loud toilet and hand dryer that sounds more like a turbo jet taking off he would quickly cover his ears and cry; I swear the Costco bathroom around lunchtime is busier than Grand Central Station! I couldn’t believe how many people came in and out of the friggin’ bathroom while I’m in there having a moment with my 3 year old. And here he was begging me to just go and after seeing his face of despair I picked him up and took him out of Costco. Was he happy to be out of the bathroom? Probably, but you wouldn’t know it with the way he kicked and screamed the entire way to the car because he still wanted to get groceries.  Personally I think it was all about those samples he wasn’t getting; kid will eat sardines if it were on display. But regardless, after we both calmed down and talked about it while lying in his bed, I couldn’t help but worry if I did damage. Is he going to avoid using a public restroom for the rest of his life? Will he have a manic freak attack every time someone uses a hand dryer or flushes a toilet? Will he remember the moment in the stall and have to pay $100 an hour to his therapist in 30 years because of it? Man I hope not.

I think guilt is a mother’s nemesis.


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When I think of how people SHOULD be living with an economy the way it is, I can’t help but wonder how all of these higher-end boutiques on every corner stay in business. I’ve gone in to some of them in Boca Park out of curiosity trying so hard not to make it obvious when I lift the price-tag on things(I think it’s bad etiquette or something?), but when all I hear are crickets chirping because I’m the only one in the store, it’s a little hard to not be noticeable. And as I pass the counter and walk straight to the back to browse the teeny-weeny sale rack I feel judging eyes upon me by the sales clerk. But it’s alright because I’ll be damned if I pay $60 for a tank top with a shiny emblem on it. Ridiculous. The clerk knows I’m in the wrong store since she judged me on the first price-tag I gently put down while I formed the word ‘wow’ with my lips and as I mosey on out she doesn’t even ask me if there’s anything she can help me with. So I get back in my 7 year old car that smells of citrus air freshener covering up oldness and drive around the corner to the Target where I feel so much more at home. As I purchase my Mossimo T-shirt for $7, I smile. Who cares that in a month the t-shirt will form one or several tiny holes right at the waist? I’ll still wear it.

Boutique shopping is obviously not for me.

The other day I had some friends over and they complemented me on my jeans. The proper thing to do is of course say ‘thank you’, but instead I over-shared as I usually do saying, “$6 on the clearance rack at the Gap!” I am excited about my newest favorite jeans and I want to tell the world about them! So I continued telling them about how they were from the clearance rack and as I tried them on I realized the reason for the $6 price tag; they were made for a woman who was 6 and a half feet tall. But I knew that at that price I would find somewhere to wear them; or cut them to shorts; or donate them. No way was I leaving without those $6 jeans. And to my surprise, the first wash shrunk them up to the perfect fit. And that is why I share the price and story with everyone who says something about them, which has been quite a few! However, I tend to share the price of just about everything I buy. Last Fall I was on a mission to find some nice boots I could wear with anything and since I had been wanting them for a couple of years I figured I’d look in the higher end stores for a really badass pair. Well, to my dismay there aren’t very many boots that look nice on super ridiculous chicken legs and I ended up throwing in the towel with a realization that I needed to start doing more calf raises. Then my mom sees a pair through the window of a shoe store and the boots had ADJUSTABLE buckles to fit everyone’s calves!! Sun shined on my day and because of how inexpensive they were I ended up getting them in both black and brown. Score! I have gotten more compliments on them than any other item I’ve owned so when someone says, “CUTE boots, Serena!” I over-share yet again, “Dude. You won’t believe it. I got these at ROBERT WAYNE for $29.99!!” Did they ASK me the price? No, but I feel it was my duty as a thrifty shopper to share my exciting find.

Just like for Christmas this year. Tom’s “gift” or more like “verbal voucher” was a free pass to go shopping (within reason, he added). I do believe that was his last minute idea once he realized after wrapping the gifts that I had one lonely little present under the tree amongst several for the rest of the family and he felt bad. So, December 26th I sat staring at the computer trying to decide if I wanted more bang for my buck or just a couple of nice items…well, since I’m not a shopper I chose quantity over quality since I wasn’t sure how long it would be until I had that opportunity again. Next dilemma was waiting for my Facebook friends to tell me where to go since I like to run everything by 375 people before I make a decision that big. The winner was my friend who suggested Kohl’s since she also posted a coupon; HECK YEAH! Is Kohl’s the most FAB place to shop? Who the heck cares? I tell you what, there were no crickets chirping in THAT store and people were flailing their coupons and Kohl’s cash happy as can be….and I felt the same. I enjoyed every second of the 4 racks holding Lauren Conrad’s line. Have you seen it? The girl’s got STYLE man, and thanks to her I feel I do, too. Someone at my daughter’s school said, “Love your cardigan, Serena!” Once again…”You know the show The Hills? Remember Lauren Conrad? It’s from her line at Kohl’s and was like $17.99!” I know, I know. I need to stop with the over-sharing, but LC rocked my socks!!

But I have to admit that I have a HUGE double standard when it comes to sharing the prices on things. For instance, a while back my good friend and I went to a pool at one of the hotels just to lounge out. Not something we do…well, ever again since that one time. Anyway, as we laid out our things we realized we were placed next to the most obnoxious group of true Vegas idiots. You know the ones who never grow up and love to feed off of each other’s shittiness? Not to mention, they brought their kids to be witnesses to it all. After my friend and I shared a few ‘wtf’ glances at eachother, they started packing up their stuff. One of the boys ran in the opposite direction and his mom yells, “Get the F&@% back here you F^&*@%# idiot!” This boy is about 3, MAYBE 4. She must have seen our faces because she said, “You’ll understand when YOU have kids!” As much as we were flattered by the thought that we still possibly looked too young to have kids, we were also shocked and both replied in unison, “We each have two.” “Then you understand.” silence. I mean, what do you say when you know you’ll never see this twit again? Soon after, she brings her stroller over to the front of our lounge chairs for who knows what reason other than to entertain us, I guess. And as she’s complaining the whole time while packing up the stuff for her little baby she proceeded to share in her crappy way as she strategically places her hand on her arm where a boulder resides on her ring finger. She wanted to make sure we saw it in case we missed it the first few times she flailed it around, “(sigh) This stroller is f*@%#$^ stupid already. It cost us over a grand for this and I can’t even get the bag underneath it. I mean, it’s like the Maserati of strollers you guys.” Uncomfortable silence, yet again. We look at each other wondering if the other one was going to say something back. Did she want us to marvel in all it’s glory? Say, ‘Oh my gawd, you are SO totally rich and fabulous! That just completely wiped away the fact that you called your son a F&@%^$ idiot two minutes ago! You are amaaaaAAAAaazing!!!!!!!” But we didn’t. And as her entourage of douch baggery walked off with all the kids crying, we couldn’t help but laugh and wonder, “Are some people REALLY like that???” My answer: Yes, yes they are. At least here in Las Vegas there are definitely people that fall under that same category of Narcissism.

So if you’re at a party where everyone around you has a Gucci or Louis Vuitton duffle bag they use to carry their phone and lip-gloss and you’re feeling inadequate with your COACH, just invite me over. I’ll show up with my GAP clearance bin wristlet and tell everyone who even glances my way where I got it and how much it cost me ($9.99). That’s my favor to you and you’re welcome for that.

¡Bienvenidos! (Welcome!)

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¡CHALE, HOMESKILLET! (pronounced chaw-le…with the short e sound) The title alone makes me grin because I use this term A LOT, but usually only in my head. The phrase means something like, “HECK NO, DUDE!” Most people who would use the term chale would also follow it with homes. That’s the proper chicano way to say it…but I like homeskillet because it suits me better.  I’m from Albuquerque, NM so around family and friends there I can talk in Spanish slang, but in my day to day life here in Las Vegas I just don’t think I’ll get anything but blank stares of confusion here in suburbia.  I am Hispanic. Full blooded and TOTALLY embarrassed that I only speak Spanglish at best. I’ve always blamed my parents for not teaching me the language, but at some point I have to take responsibility for never learning it of my own accord. However, I am looking in to Rosetta Stone….but like a lot of things in my life I worry I’ll start it and never finish just like that other “Learn Spanish Quickly” CD collection I bought about 6 years ago when our daughter was just an infant. She never gave me 10 seconds to pee much less learn Spanish. Who knew babies were sOOooo needy?!? Well those went in to the pile of books at a garage sale and I ended up getting 1/7th of my money back. Not too shabby I’d say! Better than getting suckered by a swindler who talked me in to giving him both strollers for half the price of one. The thought of that still bugs me. My inability to negotiate is a problem and not sure I’ll ever conquer that one in this lifetime. I’ll just chalk that one up to a loss like so many other things.

I married a whitey and therefore my kids are now halfers (new term I just made up…you’re free to use it) however they look NOTHING like my side of the family as much as my grandma will say my son is a spitting image of my dad. She’s funny. Yes, they have some of my traits like my son has my eyes which I DO get from my dad, my daughter has my lips and possibly cuticles (??), but no one would ever put them together with my side of the family…which is why I think it would be totally bad-ass for them to learn Spanish. Not by me of course since all I know is basic vocabulary, some slang and if conjugating a verb was something that could save mine and my family’s lives from torture we’d all be totally screwed. However, I do want us to learn it by immersing ourselves in a Spanish speaking community in a gorgeous town outside of Madrid and come out fluent. My tall, blondish haired, light skinned halfers would spout off Spanish at parties when no one was expecting it and I would relish in all the envy. I can see it now…but as of this moment they know ‘panza’ which is slang for belly, sí, chale, espérate and beso along with a few other vocabulary words and phrases I learned throughout my 4 years of Spanish classes and lifetime of hearing my grandparents speak. Although, they ARE fluent (I say this with the utmost embarrassment) in my made up Spanish language. An example would be andalubioso maxamillioso, meaning ‘hurry up’ (real word simply being ‘andale’). Or chipolorrancito, my screwy made up word for ‘just a little bit’ even though I do know it’s ‘poquito’. I tell you I am doing more damage to this whole possibility of them being bilingual every day because one day they are going to use one of my falsities with a fluent speaker and quickly learn that their mom was full of shit. “Sí, chipolorrancito salsa por favor.” ¿Um…QUE?!?

I come from a very proud Hispanic family and will always stay true to my heritage por vida! (Wow, I’m impressing myself!) My dad is the proudest of anyone and when I first brought Tom to meet my dad, he referred to him the whole time as Tomás. He said it jokingly, but if you know my dad you know that there was some underlying hope behind it all that maybe when we got married Tom might actually change his last name to MY Spanish maiden name Gallegos that my dad was ever so proud of and pronounces it with such power that you can’t help but stand a little taller afterward.  Since he had no sons he needed a miraculous son-in-law to carry on the family name, which Tom of course did not (go figure, dad) and when I took his strong German one I went through a bit of an identity crisis as if that was all that was keeping me connected to my heritage and even 10 years later I still think my name sounds a little silly.  What’s funny is my husband, having grown up in Tucson and mostly dating Latinas, is brown on the inside of that big, German exterior. Unfortunately because of that I used to feel like even more of an imposter considering his ex was bilingual. Bitch. I bet she doesn’t even know how to pronounce congoloranchismo. That’s another one with no real translation.  I just use it whenever I feel like saying something meaningful. Chew on that one you bilingual (actually, I think she might be trilingual) nitwit who is now working in the FBI or CIA or some other totally awesome job. But I bet she secretly wishes she could be a stay at home mom JUST LIKE ME. Hey, my degree is in Criminal Justice so I could do what she’s doing (like I had dreamed of for years) IF I wanted to, but I’d rather stay at home and not have a clue what I’m going to do in a year and a half when my son starts school. I’ve considered substituting at the elementary school, which I think takes a close second to the FBI on my list of dream jobs.

I’m obviously not a writer. I mostly blame the fact that I was too advanced in high school (I promise this is a true story…I used to be smart) that while taking my English class my senior year I also got credit for both Eng 101 AND 102 bc it was a “college” level class. I call bullshit on that one. In no way, shape or form did I write endless amounts of papers and learn all of the grammatical terms like my friends did in college. Hell, if I Googled “grammar” I bet I have never heard half of those terms.  I thought at the time I was lucky, but like everything else the wisdom that comes with age tells me that I should have just taken college courses IN COLLEGE!! Because of that, I am now shitty at writing even after a college degree. I’m 32 and can’t write sentences without run-ons and everything else (again, no clue) that might tick off an obnoxious grammar expert. If you are that person, this is my disclaimer to you: Don’t bother leaving a rude comment bc it won’t make a difference since I have absolutely no desire to learn the correct way to form a sentence or paragraph and all of that nonsense.  However, I enjoy talking and so this will be my words as I would say them in person. I use a lot of dot dot dots, commas where they probably shouldn’t go, parenthesis, the word ‘dude’ and yes I will use the occasional (or not so occasional) “bad word” when I see fit…but just know that I’m also whispering when I use one. In fact, when I typed “shitty at writing” my voice went down a couple of notches out of respect for you. You’re welcome for that.

So there it is. My background in a super quick nutshell. I have so much more to share and once I feel more comfortable blogging I’m sure in no time I’ll be sharing things I will probably regret. So now it’s time to talk about how wonderful life is along with how shitty it can be…and everything in between. ¡Orale!