Category Archives: disasters

This Is The Speech I Want To Hear Someday


Like I’ve said before, there are times when doing the emperors bidding wears you down and makes you long for a two week vacation to Tahiti.

Il Duce was especially demanding today when his needs were not getting met within milliseconds of the request going out so it should  come as  no surprise that I’m wrapped up tightly  in a blanket on the second floor of my house typing quietly so he cannot find me using the powers of his super human ears.

Nobody told me there would be days like these. Strange days indeed.

Okay, so I’m being melodramatic but every once in a while I imagine that all the backbreaking work yields spectacular results and he goes supernova during adulthood.

Supernova enough to get mommy a beach house and a jet.

So it is with this in mind that I let myself pretend that I’m sitting in the back of a lavishly furnished hall filled to capacity while my son gives his retirement speech at 25 years of age after selling his gazillion dollar company to some shmuck who REALLY  wanted it.

*Tap* *Tap*

“Is this thing on?”

(muffled laughter)


Wow thank you Bill , for those kind words.

It was indeed four years ago that I came into this building through the creaky industrial metal front door. If I had known then what a roller coaster ride we were in for I might have turned tail and run my motherfucking ass RIGHT back out into the street but thankfully for all of us, I did NOT.

 Ignorance was bliss in those days and we forged ahead with this radical new plan, completely chuffed that we were getting a chance to spread this new groundbreaking technology throughout the world.

I’ll keep it brief but I do want to tell you how much I have appreciated some of the things that make this company so special – not just the business end of things but the people as well.

Comrades, I am leaving but I will be watching your mind-blowing progress with interest from afar. And by “afar” I mean the beach of an uncharted tropical island I’ve purchased.  I am certain you will all go on to achieve far better things than I did. If my legacy to you was time spent building this place up, your legacy to me is one of friendship, loyalty and promise.

I have just one final point to make – that is to thank the only person who is 100% responsible for everything I have achieved in my life, my beloved mother.

There were times that I drove her completely insane, screamed, yelled demanded of her and she never gave up on me. It is by some kind of divine intervention that she did not leave me on a highway overpass after four mind melding hours in traffic that I spent loudly mimicking  the noise  made by the creepy dead child from The Grudge.

I consider myself lucky to never have tasted the punishing tang of soap for the string of jaw dropping profanities that came so fast and furious out of my small mouth from the moment I could speak and the fact that I was never tied up outside on a dog leash to work off excess energy is a testament to her superior parenting.

Those threats I made to throw my siblings into a lava pit that I would purchase when I grew up and got rich were clearly never acted upon and I send my love to my sister and brother who couldn’t be here today.

So here’s to you mom and that sparkling new glass and steel structure I built you overlooking the clear crystal blue sea.

I now raise my glass to you and say farewell.

Get in! I'll drive you to my lava pit!





Filed under am I doing anything right?, bad parenting, beach house, boys with serious attitude, can I have a normal day, difficult child, disasters, failure, il duce is five, inability to think on my feet

The Horrifying Incident Involving the Boy, His Mouth, a 44 Minute Wait on Line, The Word Vagina and Fifty Scandalized, Hungry Patrons

Hey, remember me?

Super freewheeling summertime girl with the wind in her hair, not a care in the world and the family that looked like it jumped off the J. Crew end of summer catalog?

 Yeah, well she shriveled up into a ball and fucking vaporized in a puff of smoke this evening while trying to exert what little parental authority she was still clinging to during a mortifying incident at the jam-packed Friendship Heights Chipotle.

The scene opens with a sun-kissed, seemingly relaxed mother and her cute tanned energetic child engaging in playful banter  and games to bide the time at the end of a very long slow-moving line.

Area power outages have taken out the restaurant computer system and they seem to be processing transactions on some sort of Fred Flintstone rock and chisel credit card contraption.

Mother: Sam, get off the ledge, you might fall.

Sam: This line is long and I’m going to cut it. Let’s walk up there and just give the stupid order. This is terrible AND boring.

Mother: I know, but all these people are waiting just like us so that’s not fair.

Sam: Life is not fair. You say that to your kids all the time so I’m saying it to you now. (sing songy voice) Gonna drive my steamroller over all these stupid people and make them flat, then I’m gonna walk right over them and get my rice, la, la, la…

Mother: Sam! That’s not nice. Stop.

Sam: (under breath) It’s what we really need to do. Make pancake people and less line.

Fifteen more agonizing minutes pass with the levels of buffoonery increasing exponentially.

Mother: (sensing danger) Sam, you want me to pick you up?

Sam: (smiling) sure!

Sam: Hey, I can see your boobs from up here!

Mother: Okay, it’s time for me to put you down now.

Sam: (now rolling on the concrete floor and swatting at the bottom of his mothers sundress) Hey! I can see your vagina if I lift up your dress right?  Gavan taught me that girls penises are called vaginas! You have a vagina (then looking around and pointing to the surrounding women) and you have one, and you too. All ladies do!

Mother smashes her hand over Sam’s mouth

Sam: HEY! mrphh, machina, shtop, I CNTBREAFFFF!!!!!!!!

Mother: Shut it or you will NOT get a Mr. Pibb you fucking deviant animal, hiss.

Mother: (to employee) yea, I’d like three chicken…

Sam: VAGINAS!!!!

Mother: Burritos and one..

Sam: Lady vaginas! We want lady vagina on our burritos.

Mother: (covering Sam’s mouth with the iron force of a thousand livid parents) Just give me four burritos!

Employee:(quizzical look, cartoon question mark over head) burritos?

Mother: YES! Four of them, please hurry for the love of Christ!

Sam: (tearing at his mother’s fingers) pah chinas!!!!!

Mother: throwing cash at the checkout girl) QUICKLY! These four and a small Dr. Pibb.

Sam: Mr. Pibb doesn’t have a vagina cause he’s a boy and he’s got a penis. Mom, don’t you wish you could pee standing up?

Mother: no.

Defeated, she leaves the Chipotle with her head hanging in shame and her small son singing a remarkably catchy song about penises and why they are much more fun than vaginas.

Fade to black, end scene.


Filed under Adventure, adversity, am I doing anything right?, bad parenting, buffoonery, can I have a normal day, delinquints, difficult kids, disasters

Notes From The Open Road

This would have been less blurry if that rude person hadn't knocked into me trying to get to the fireworks.

Because, I’m sorry but what kind of lunatic WOULDN’T want to be confined in a car for sixteen straight hours with three kids and my MOTHER along for the ride?


You’d have to be certifiable not to want a piece of this fucking action.

My husband is kicking himself right about now for missing such an opportunity.

I wrote these words moments before taking off on the Disney extravaganza, and then neglected to follow through in any way, shape or form.

In reality, I destroyed the car trip down in under 13 hours with nary a complaint and barely a peep out of my mother OR my kids.  There were no hijinks or shenanigans that called for punishment or crazy road stories that were worthy of the archives. Just pure unadulterated fast-moving thrills, spills and chills under blue skies and the watchful eye of the mouse.

Since my kool-aid has yet to wear off ,I’ll refrain from posting until I can examine my trip with a little distance and clarity to provide unbiased coverage of all things vacation related, but for the most part no complaints.

If I had to pick a favorite moment though, it would have to be when Il Duce called the Ewok at Star Wars weekends an asshole after he left his picture-taking and autograph post without seeing close to 100 kids that had stood on line in the blistering heat to meet him. I was bracing myself for the crying jags and disappointed sobs of everyone else  when he turned to me with the most frightening calm dead pan and uttered “what a fucking asshole, he just LEFT and now all these babies are going to start crying and hurting my head.”

He cheered himself up later by whacking a clone trooper in the ass with his blaster though. That was one for the photo album.

Notice the culprit in blue sneaking up behind the unsuspecting clone. Ass whacking took place moments afterward.

So now I’m on 36 hours with no sleep after an all night drive home marathon and a couple of 3 am bathroom breaks in  Deliverance territory that were a little sketchy but were are alive and well. Now I am in  need of a long luxurious nap.


Filed under difficult kids, disasters, Disneyworld on crack, I drove to disney and no one got killed

I Have a Secret Affliction!

So much to do, so little time.

The bags are sitting next to the door, packed until they were practically bursting, they are threatening to  open up and spill their contents all over the floor.  Gee, I hope that doesn’t happen because soon I will be singing the Interstate Love Song and flying down route 95 south to visit the mouse.

I won't listen to them Mickey. You and Walt have my heart.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I am making my traditional trek to Disneyworld with three hopped up super excited children in tow. Most of my highbrow friends think that feeding the maw of the mighty fascist machinery behind the happiest place on earth is galling.

Not me. I’m shallow, immature, and naive so this is a match made in heaven.

While I’m getting a lecture about how I could have used that money to go to Paris the only thing I can hear is a thousand demented  tiny multicultural dolls singing “It’s a small word” and subsequently whispering in my ear “Don’t listen to them, just go to Epcot where they have fake Paris, Germany, Mexico AND china!

Then their eyes start to glow and they break into this chant “One of us!One of us!” but I digress

So you get the point, I’m a total Disney sucker.

Overcharge me, hassle me, make me stand of long lines in the tropical heat. Make me feel good once and I’ll love you forever.


Filed under difficult kids, disasters, disneyworld, road trip

Things are Not as They Appear.

This Sunday I had myself a true Judas Iscariot moment.

I denied knowing my own children at the grocery store.

Then I stopped after reading that last line and asked myself  “Hey girl who spent her whole life chained to a pew in parochial school! WHO was it now that denied Jesus three times?” “Why YES you moron that would be Peter.”

Judas sounds so much more theatrical though, so I’m keeping it even thought it is not historically accurate.

While waiting patiently in the checkout line my two boys began to act a little squirrely.

They were redirected to the front of the store near the exits brought there by my beleaguered mother who was lacking her usual sharp tongue and was hanging there like a limp dishrag due to a debilitating migraine.

 This means that the boys were running in circles, screaming about having a girlfriend, punching each other, jumping off the bench my mother was passing out on, smashing the video machine with the dollar rentals and accosting the automatic lotto dispenser.

Two über uptight couples with pursed thin lips were starting to shake their heads in disbelief and exchanging disgusted looks with each other at the volume and sheer audacity of the two unruly boys and their comatose caretaker.

“So rude and disrespectful” noted one.

“Why isn’t she doing anything to control them?” asked the other.

Then Il Duce let loose with a rank profanity followed by a roaring hysterical cackle and I watched them gasp with horror.

They were truly disgusted.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?!” they croaked, looking at me.

I thought for a moment. There were thousands of ways I could go here but I opted for betrayal.

“I know!” I commiserated, as I lugged the rest of my fresh produce onto the belt.

I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I know I should have but it was just so much easier to cut and run regarding knowing this lot than to try to explain them to someone who wouldn’t care.

After scooping my mother up off the bench and driving her back home so she could suffer her mind exploding agony alone on her couch I spoke briefly to the boys about minding their behavior in public. But my pleas fell on deaf ears as they were both fast asleep in the back.


Filed under 1, adversity, am I doing anything right?, bad manners, bad parenting, being shallow and crass, boys with serious attitude, buffoonery, can I have a normal day, cowards, crazy ramblings, disasters, discipline, giving up, I complain too much, I don't know how to end a blog post, i don't like mondays, i love kids, I REALLY DO, I'm not as effective in a bad situation as I thought I would be, kids, kids and parenting, kids that like cursewords, random observations

Pre Cana Insane

Try harder. Your lack of enthusiasm for the program is vexing me.

Once, way back when we tried to always do the right thing, my husband and I had a crazy idea.  He would make an attempt to transition from his godless existence straight into the loving arms of Catholicism before our wedding.  

Since we were getting hitched in a Catholic church in New York  followed immediately by a kick ass reception in one of the biggest wedding factory banquet halls in New jersey (you should have seen the fucking food) we figured this was the way to go.  

Looking back now I know this was neither a good idea nor a rational one. As a matter of fact it may have been the worst idea in a decision-making history littered with disasters.  

I am a garden variety dirt bag Catholic. I guess a nice way to say that is a “lapsed” one. I endured the ruler smacks, the public humiliation and watched my little knee sock wearing friends suffer the same fate.  One of my most vivid memories is of being dragged down the hallway by my left ear trying to keep up with the nun with the Prefontaine sprint. Good times kids!  

Since there was no chance my Roman Catholic crucifix wearing, god fearing mother was going to let me be married on a hedonistic beach by a high priest of funk with a bone in his hair and a shrunken head around his neck, my dream of a bohemian wedding was down the shitter.  

Now the traditional route seemed the way to go.  

We visited the priest, completed some paperwork and got our catholic conversion kit  for savages so we could start my husband down the road to redemption and salvation. Next came the revelation that we would be required to voluntarily commit ourselves to some sort of crazy cult weekend  where we would be forced to live apart, listen to crackpots lecture, be banned from drinking and carousing late at night and made to talk about our fucking feelings. I found myself secretly wondering if they had co-ed dorms for the already fallen in the group since I had no intention of pretending we hadn’t been shacked up for the better part of six years.  

It was called something like Catholic Engaged Encounter and we would need to go.  

My husband’s level-headed nature prevailed and we sent the reservation form in while I secretly hoped they’d be overbooked and give us a pass.  

No such luck.  

Doomsday arrived and we made our way to this retreat like setting hoping for the best but braced for the worst.  

I listened to a fruitloop and her equally batty husband talk about the joys of twenty thousand children flying out of your vag and how you have to make time for date night no matter what! They let their crazy kids run all over the room filled with terrified engaged couples who wanted to bat them away with a stick and run home.  

We also spent time learing the rhythm method of birth control which was fucking useless since I’d been on the kick ass birth control pill for fifteen years. Sorry Catholic lady, reading the calendar combined with pull and pray does not a full proof method make.  

They kept sending us upstairs separately to write in our “journals” about our feelings for one another. My future husband at least made a valiant attempt to communicate while I drew doodles of us escaping and made snarky insulting comments about our relationship.  

When bedtime came I broke the number one rule when I found out my fiance’s roommate had never shown up. I snuck down the hall like a dirty school girl  and stayed there all evening.  Scandalous. 

Finally, we had both endured enough. Mid way through the second day we tip toed out, jumped in our car and took off.  

We ran away from Pre Cana.  

No one noticed.  

My husband never made the full transition to god fearing guilt ridden catholic but we managed to get hitched inside the church without the floor opening up and swallowing us both.   

 Still, I wonder about these life affirming stories I always hear about the transformation couples undergo during these Pre Cana events. How is that possible? I began imagining elaborate escape scenarios from the moment I arrived until I could no longer see the place in the rear view mirror.  

We learned a valuable lesson that day. Events like these are never a good idea, they bring out the worst in both of us. While surrounded by others  having a genuine experience we gave ourselves intense headaches from the amount of eye rolling and brow furrowing we were doing.  Super procreation catholic lady really wanted us to have twenty kids and she was telling us from her heart exactly how to do it but all we had for her was a big serving of disdain.  

Her = good  

Us = bad  

 So looking back I feel like maybe we were a little cowardly and out of sorts so our natural reaction was to flee. The enthusiastic group was better off without us and since we had contributed nothing of value during the sessions we were not missed. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that we continue to inspire sighs of relief every time we half heartedly bail on events like this but it’s just as well. No one needs a couple of nefarious skeptics habitually bringing the group down.


Filed under 1, cowards, disasters, mean, pre cana, running away, why we don't get a lot of invites