Hollywood comes to the burbs

I have been on hiatus for some time, and to my loyal followers (all 2 of you) I sincerely apologize.

It appears that the rumor to film an Ashton Kutcher movie in my neighborhood is actually a true statement. I decided to give lady luck a try at a recent open casting call held at the local elementary school cafeteria (nothing but the best.)

If Lionsgate films is looking for a stressed out mother, a screaming two year-old, and one impatient 4 year-old then we have a good shot at a part. However, that hasn't stopped me from trying to get my back or legs cast in the film. Each day, I take to the streets of my neighborhood in my best workout clothes (clothes normally reserved for knocking around rather than running around) hoping for a chance to be cast as "jogger in background." A title that I take quite seriously.

Up until a few weeks ago, I could have given 2 shits about celebrities or my fulfillment of my 15 mintues. But there is something about being a part of filming that plays into the main reason we love movies, escapism. Either way, I don't give a shit. The hollywood bug has bitten me, and I am loving every childish minute of running past construction workers and set designers.

Happy Hour

There's a place where your single life, and your life as a mother and wife collide. It doesn't happen often. Sometimes it's a high school friend, a weathered photograph, or in my case an antiquated playlist from a resurrected ipod.

There was a time when I looked forward to happy hour. What was once a time for loud music, libations, and high calorie appetizers, now became known as the "Five'O'Clock freakout." And why not? It's the pocket of time that hangs in the suspense of dinner duties and down time. This would also explain Oprah and Dr.Phil's air times.

It's not uncommon for me to try to recreate this festive atmosphere within the confines of my own living room. My kids get in on the action, and take to the dance floor a.k.a the foyer. But tonight to my dismay and utter disappointment my ipod (and for want of a better word) took a dump. So I fumbled through a mass of co-ax cables and phone lines until I found what I was looking for, my first ipod. Already a geriatric at the mere age of six, it's health took a turn for the worse last year when I went for a run with it on the beach. Honestly, electronics should be aged in dog years.

This was not just my first ipod, but my first playlist. Mr. Wendel by Arrested Development brought my children running from all directions. I love to watch children dance. Good or bad, they are going with it. Kind of reminds you of that crazy AND extremely drunk relative at your wedding busting a move to the macarena.

For the sake of experimenting I left it on the shuffle mode as I spun my kids in circles until they were too dizzy to stand up. Hey, don't knock till you've tried it! The next song was "It's All Been Done", from the Stunt album by the Bare Naked Ladies. I wonder what the hell happened to them? Oh yeah, they suck! Yet, at the age of 23 I thought their music not only spoke to me but inspired me. For me, music is a sort of time machine that transports me to a different place. Tonight I was surrounded by the promises I felt in my youth, and the reality that I am living them.

Motherhood in the Raw....: Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Motherhood in the Raw....: Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Just in time for halloween comes spooky stories of doomed pets.

One morning just two short weeks ago, I dragged myself out of bed and sat on the sofa staring into space. For me, this is just the magic of waking up. As the coffee maker began to gurgle and spurt, I reached wearily for my paper. But what to my wondering eyes should appear? Do my eyes deceive me, or did I just see a small creepy shadow darting to and fro? It had been years since I had seen a rodent in my home, but the movement was unmistakable. Did I mention that I am deathly afraid of rats and mice? Forget the coffee, I was awake on pure adrenaline alone. So, I did what any self-respecting fraidy cat would do. I let out a half-ass scream,and jumped to a safe place...like the nearest elevated surface. My heart was pounding and my hands shook at the sheer horror of the situation.

Growing up, I always wanted a dog of my own, that's why my mother got me hamsters. Occasionally, they would break out of their orange and plastic containers with tubes leading to nowhere, and seek out new adventures in the house. The first hamster, and oddly enough the only one to die of natural causes, was named Moses.
Moses, was our most beloved hamster and had pretty brown and white markings.
He seemed to love to be smothered so having kids around was the ideal situation. Just over two years later Moses was enjoying his golden years, when he was struck down with what the vet called a stroke. His funeral was heartbreaking for myself and my siblings. I can still picture his "coffin", an old shoebox from a pair of beloved Florsheims purchased 10 years earlier. In our grief, my mother took us to Petland for our next victim, I mean pet. I picked an albino, teddy bear hamster. He was appropriately named, Popcorn. I loved Popcorn, but his affections were not returned. Each night, like the mentally deranged hamster that he was, he would climb to the top of his cage and drop 3ft or the equivalent of jumping out of your second story window. This would continue round the clock and into the wee hours of the morning!
Later I was told, that albino animals tend to go insane. This information would have been helpful at the time of our purchase. He also was the most aggressive, and bit the shit out of me on several occasions. I had to quit telling my mom about his attacks to avoid being dragged to the family MD for yet ANOTHER tetnis shot. His fate was sealed when one night, in an attempt to free himself from the confines of his human captors, he tried squeezing through the bars of his cage. My sister found him the next morning, while I was at a sleepover.

My next pet, Muffin was a gentle soul with long fluffy hair and unique markings. In his desperation to be free, he ate away at the bottom of his cage and ingested metal shavings which caused him to bloat to the size of a water balloon. After giving him tums and Altoids he succumbed to his fate the following morning.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking of those stories was the tale of Sniffles.
Sniffles, met his fate one unbearably hot Florida afternoon in the summer of '83'. We had decided to go sightseeing for the day, and upon my Grandmother's assurance that he would be ok, we left him on the front seat of our 81 Chevy pickup. Well, you guessed it, we returned too late from our day trip. Sniffles had literally "fried" to the bottom of the cage like a tater tot.

Funny to think that their deaths brought much more laughter than their lives.
It's been over 24 years since I have owned a rodent as a pet. And it's been more than a week, since I have seen hide nor hair of our uninvited house guest. Maybe it's time to pull up the traps and put down cages!

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Birthdays and other hooplas

My son celebrated his 4th birthday this past weekend. My parents who made the trip up from the Florida, were here to celebrate as well. We kicked off our weekend festivities with a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant a 30-minute drive away. Which is coincidently how long it takes to get to any restaurant or even our local Target for that matter. We were welcomed at the door by our usual over solicitous server, and shown to our table. My son had come home earlier in the day complaining of being to cold, which is not uncommon for him since he thinks anything below 85 degrees is too frigid. His aversion to the cold is matched by his dislike for any music that does not sound like Bobby Darin or big band. Sometimes I think he is an 80year-old trapped in a 4 year-old body. I love this about him, as I always wanted a child that was an old soul. Anywho, we were seated immediately and handed sticky menus with the usual fare served in Mexican restaurants. I ordered the number 3, aka the Speedy Gonzalez. In anticipation of a scalding hot plate, piled high with warm substandard ground meat, and iceberg lettuce, I instead felt new warmth pooling on my pants leg. It took me a few seconds to realize that projectile puke had landed on my jeans, the menu and possibly a line cook. It's parental moments like these, where you really feel like you are having an out of body experience. I surveyed the situation, and realized that it was coming from my lap where my son had decided to hang out while ordering. Within 20 or 30 very long seconds, I was running to the bathroom with a crying 4 year old under my arm, my hand cupped over his mouth. My first thought was, "is this shit really happening to me right now?" My second was, "Am I really running through a crowded Mexican restaurant on a Friday night with a blubbering 4 year-old physically holding back puke from spilling on the floor?" Ah!! WTF!! We hung out in the bathroom, which was remarkably clean and slipped out when the coast was clear. By morning Grey was feeling much better, and seemed that he had recovered enough to enjoy his birthday. And I got to enjoy the joy in his eyes from the simpler things in life like a birthday hug, and a chocolate cupcake.

Motherhood in the Raw....: Wax On Wax Off

Motherhood in the Raw....: Wax On Wax Off

Wax On Wax Off

One little cobweb led to my mass hysteria as I spent the entire day cleaning windows, baseboards, showers.... the works! It sucked. My shoulders are killing me, and I keep waiting for Mr. Miyagi to show me that all my hard work paid off as I was really learning some kick ass karate moves rather than JUST scrubbing toilets. Don't get me wrong this shit needed to be done, but maybe spread out along say....4 weeks give or take. I'm no overachiever, more like the "lazy mans load" when it comes to completing mass to-do lists.

Despite or in spite of my exhaustion, I managed to feed and bathe the kids by 8pm. During bath time, my son's imagination plan took a turn for the creepy when he busted out a low-key scratchy voice. His new pirate character sounds more like Danny from the Shining. Seriously, I keep expecting him to say, "redrum, REDRUM!"

This morning I am feeling a hungover from my cleaning spree. Miyagi say, "drink lots of beer tonight and take motrin, or feel like squashed grape."