And where should I begin?

Im Alive!!!!!!!! In fear that noone will read on without a dramatic, pleading apology, I would first like to say, "I'm sorry." It's been what, forever, well if forever consists of 4 months without blogging then yep, it's been forever! But I think I have some pretty damn good excuses! Housewife explained somewhat for me and that little bugger snuck one in on me when I was computer absent in the wonderful LAS VEGAS, NEVADA!!!! Maybe I should just start there. (i.e. anything previous was just a little fun in the sun, class-work-computer free).

At the end of August, Pumpkinface and I went with my family to Las Vegas. It was the first time my man was on a vacation and what a place to spend your first huh?! There has been some talk lately of high-tailing it out of cold, rainy, western PA therefore, we decided that a trip to the dry, 115 degree heat was in store. Las Vegas was a blast! Nothing illegal went on besides a little gambling and prostitution (KIDDING), but truly, it's a great place to go!

When we got home from Las Vegas, the hell of a Career Woman started right back up. In counting, I am 6.5 months away from graduation! Thank the Good Lord. As soon as we landed, the next morning I began my internship. On top of my internship, I went back to work part time, closed on our house, and continued the wedding plans, and started back up at coursework at Duquesne.

So what would you like to hear about next? Our house? Okay. Well we bought a house a month before we left for vacation. It's a cute little starter home just big enough for us and a bambina-o in the next couple of years! Two bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, living room, bathroom, mudroom, laudry room and that should about do it for the explanations. If I could explain my style in home interior decorating, I would have to say that I am the furtherest away from country designs that you could imagine. When asked how I would describe my taste - my mom and I like to say that we are "shabby sheik." Isn't that just a beautiful term? Besides that, in my home decorating, I'd have to say that if the network that host Extreme Home Makeover were to catch wind of me, let's just say Ty Pennington would be out of a damn job kiddies.

Let's talk about the wedding, shall we? The wedding is in under 9 months now... count it with me: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9 months! Therefore, the plans and lists of things to do are really starting to pick up and on that note... ALL MY DRESSES ARE IN! If that just doesn't make you squeal, I don't know what will!

But with that said, I'm getting tired of typing, and this new found back pain isn't help in the least bit. However, it is nice to be back and hopefully I can get Housewife back on the bandwagon and stirrin' up a little humor for all of our enjoyment. Keep in touch all ya'll! And P.S., "Mole Person," we've had enough of the commericializing yourself on our website. Thanks. Bye.
-Career Woman

Is there anybody still here?

I'm not sure where to even start. I could begin by giving you every excuse I have for not posting but really what would that matter? Not Posting for 2 months is nearly an unforgivable violation of blog etiquette, especially when we just vanish into thin air with out even the courtesy of one those "I'm too overwhelmed to blog, please forgive me" posts. We thought it would just be better to leave everyone hanging...Suspense in fun. No. Actually we are inconsiderate bitches that found something better to do.

Really though...Here it comes...My "I was too overwhelmed to blog, please forgive me" post (only, I'm going to give it to you after the fact) Read on, I'll try to make as true and pathetic as it really is.

This was the very first summer that I didn't have to work since I was 16. And a beautiful, sunny summer at that! So something just snapped in me one day and I thought screw this I'm going to live this summer nothings going to tie me down...I'm gonna get up in the morning and go and not come home til the sun goes down. And that's just what I did. And it was great.And I was extremely tired at the end of the day. I'd love to tell you about my adventures and of course the crazy nutcases that I came across but there is no time right now. I'll save those stories for when I have writter's block.

But just to catch you all up to this point. I almost moved to Virginia just to find out that I will be staying in MASS for another 2 years. I spent some time home in PA over the summer. Bella had her first day of Pre-School on Thursday and both Bella and Sophia will be taking dance this year.
I'm going to have a really hectic schedule but I do solemnly swear to blog a few times a week. My mom is currently here in MASS with me, she has been here for 3 weeks and is leaving Sunday.

As for Career Woman...I can't give you an official excuse for her. I don't know exactly why she hasn't been blogging but I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that she just bought a house and is very busy planning the wedding. And she's been living it up in Vegas for the past week.

Let me know if anyone is still out there!

-Housewife

An Open Letter to The Dumb Girl Who Will One Day Drown in Her Own Ignorance

Dear Dumb Girl Who Will One Day Drown in Her Own Ignorance,

You may not remember me, I was the woman who approached you several weeks ago and asked to purchase some socks for my children so that they could play in the Playland at the McDonald's in which employs you. I may have slipped your mind as I'm sure you have better things to think about...Or perhaps I am a very vivid image and you still call your friends to have a laugh over me. Which ever the case may be, I am writing this letter to inform you that, you my dear, are an ass.

Dumb Girl Who Will One Day Drown in Her Own Ignorance, I went back to your place of work today with my children. My children who again were not wearing socks. In lack of available seating in the normal dining area (and we will call it a dining area because apparently this is a 5 star eating facility because it does not have a drive through), I was forced to sit myself in none other than the Playland area. Upon entering the Playland that is enclosed with sound proof glass and much resembles it's own separate restaurant, I could not help but notice this sign hanging on the door...Visible only to the people sitting inside of the Playland area (which had prevented me from seeing it the last time I was here.) The very site of this said sign made my heart feel all aflutter for 2 very different reasons. Reason #1) My children could now play on the Playland WITH SOCKS THAT I PURCHASED AT...(GASP)....MCDONALD'S after their lunch, get very worn out and maybe even sit still during the movie we are about to go see. Reason #2) It made me want to go behind the counter, find you, drag you into the Playland area, rub your face into the sign and then kick you in the ass just for good measure. And just so you know, I looked for you. You were not there... Or you were hiding from me, that could be possible. But let's just say you were lucky enough to have had the day off. Maybe you were fired for all of your ignorance. That could be possible too. This now makes me wish you had in fact called the manager over to help you laugh at me and then your manager could have rubbed your face into the sign for me. And then sold me some socks.

For all of your stupidity, I am now the crazy woman standing in McDonald's taking a picture of the door. This makes me like you even less. I am at least grateful that I was able to prove my self right and anyone else out there that ever doubted that McDonald's sold socks.

Sincerely,
Housewife

PS. I hate dumb people. I hate dumb people that think they are not dumb. I hate dumb people that think they are not dumb and find it necessary to laugh at me when I AM RIGHT.

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I would like to say that when I first posted this story I got some comments that I would have loved to add to the Asshole Hall of Fame. However, I refrained from doing so because I thought maybe I was taking the tone of the comments wrong and they may have been meant to be in good humor. I get just a tiny bit crazy when someone suggest that I may be wrong about something. Just a little. Any suggestions?

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Yes, I know I act like a child when I get pissed

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Yes, It is not very lady like to rub in my superiorness

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Yes, that last comment just provoked more hate mail for me

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Ok, I'm gonna go think about happy things so I can post about all the HAPPY things that I did today.

TOODLES

-Housewife

Hypochondriac, no?

Okay, so for most of you who know me, I am a well-developed, year-round tanner. I wouldn't call myself an excessive tanner, meaning like I go every day or every other day for that matter, but regardless, I tan and I do it year round. I do it year round because if I didn't, I'd still be pretty (sheesh, let's not run away with this now) but i'd be pastey pretty, and believe me, it's possible. I do not like to be pastey. I like a little color. There's nothing wrong with that. Tanning just makes me feel a whole hell of a lot prettier. And I don't do it because I like the actual tanning process. No way. I hate the sweat, and the heat, and the crowding, and the fighting for an opening, I do it because I like a little color on this face. Again, nothing wrong with that right?

Well...it the midst of being a devoted tanner, I acquire more and more (we'll coin them as beauty marks because I hate the word mole) beauty marks. Beauty marks can be kinda cute, almost sexy in Pumpkinface's eyes, but not when they are like big and black. I've never been blessed with a hairy beauty mark (dread that day), but I received my very first dark one. I don't know if this symbolizes 8 years of tanning resembling an award for perfect attendance or something but whatever the case, I am the wrong person (consciously) to develop such beauty mark. Hell, this is a mole, we'll call it what it is. I have had said mole for quite a few years now, and only recently has it sparked my curiosity as to "hmmm...said mole shouldn't probably be so said black with light brown around it huh?" And then immediately following I freak out.

If you were to ask my mom how many times she has looked at said mole under a flashlight on my breast she'd tell you that she lost count at 5,438 times. Now, I am sure I am not dying, however, nor do I have the desire to brink it. But I run into turmoil when I am approached with the opportunity to either quit tanning or get the damn mole checked so I feel better.

During my week long class at Duquesne back in early June, I studied the mole for lack of funner things to do. I decided that I wanted my dermatologist to take a quick peek at it, remove if necessary (please, no), and off I go to book my next tanning session or put on my suit to lounge poolside. I decided that after much gazing and peering down my shirt while class was going on at my breast I would make an appointment. Well... you gotta love New Castle for the fact that there is one, repeat after me, ONE, dermatologist in the city meaning that the next available appointment with the NURSE PRACTITIONER was today, July 8. So I scheduled it and today I went.

Again, if you know me, not only do I love to tan, but I am deathly afraid of needles or going to a doctor by myself. I was 21 years old getting allergy shots and my mama was still holding my hand. Career Woman + Shots = Embarrassment. But I went reminding myself that mama wouldn't be needed, that she'd simply look at my mole (notice I made that singular), tell me I was fine, lend me her phone to book a tanning appointment, and off I'd go. Well today took a different turn of events, and these turn of events happened without my mama. I got to the doctor's office, waiting 20 minutes to be called in and gave the nurse my information. I stated that I "had a couple moles I'd like the doctor to check out," and she replied with "well, take off all your clothes, you can leave your bra and panties on, and here's a sheet of see-through rough-edged paper to hilariously cover your breasts and vagina with." Aha, what? Yeah, well Career Woman was not well-planned for this doctor's visit. I didn't do the mistake of wearing a thong, but I did sport my lovely, yet see-through Victoria Secret underoo's that are noticeably worse than a thong that only shows your ass. But, I do as they say. I thought I said I had a couple of moles to look at, but apparently she wanted to do a full body scan, that's right my whollleee body, ass cheeks and all. She took a look at the black mole on breast and stated that it was borderline, a-typical - meaning that the mole wasn't bad...yet. "Yet," being the key word. She stated that if she didn't remove the mole and since I was going to continue tanning, she would want me in her office every six months for a check-up. Does this woman know that I do not have my mama to make these decisions for me? I do not have my mama to hold my hand if this woman wants to remove part of breast, and GOD KNOWS, that I do not have that much breast to spare. But I made the decision to be a big girl and attempt to have her take it off without a typical hand-holder.

But the woman just went right for the shot of novacaine when I gave her the okay. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa, lady. Where is the numbing cream? Apparently they only use that on kids, but hey, it's there, I'll use it. Then she stuck the needle in, which isn't all that bad, but then she attempted to slice away. STOP! Hello, I felt the blade. She was all like "is it just a pressure feeling," I said "Um no, it's a knife feeling." But needless to say, I survived the day. Now I am bandaged and praying that the tests come back A-Okay! Moral of the story is, don't leave home without your mama!
-Career Woman

Marriage: Rings VS. Tattoos

Be warned. Housewife is about to get philosophical on you.

Since our first child was born, Big Daddy made talk about getting a tattoo with Isabella's name and also...Mine. This was 4 years ago. He never actually got the tattoo. Mostly because he never found the time or one that he really liked. Partially because I constantly chirped in his ear "Are you sure you really want to tattoo my name on you." This was always followed by a silly conversation consisting of Big Daddy questioning if I was planning on leaving him and me telling him "What if I died tomorrow? Your still young. You would surely remarry. I would want you to. How would your new wife feel about my name on you?" This is truly silly conversation. Reason? Number 1) I would NEVER leave my sweet Big Daddy EVER! And Number 2) If I died and he really got remarried to some bitch, I would haunt the living hell out of them for the rest of their lives!

So years went on of no tattoo and the same silly conversation. Then our second child was born and the tattoo fever attacked Big Daddy again. Same silly conversation. Over time the idea of the tattoo got lost somewhere between switching jobs and moving our lives 624 mile away from the place we call home, New Castle PA. At least I thought it did. Big Daddy hadn't mentioned it in a while.

As you all know we have been spending a lot of time at the beach and on the way to the beach there is a place call Tattoo America that sticks out like a sore thumb along the only road that takes you into Hampton Beach. Of course Big Daddy eyes the place up and down every single time we pass it. One day he pulled in..."Just to look." He came out with this little twinkle in his. I know this twinkle. It's the twinkle that is usually followed by the silly conversation. And it was.

So I tell Big Daddy "Go ahead and get one with Isabella and Sophia's names on it. It will be cute." Big Daddy's reply: "If I'm getting the girl's name put on me, I'm getting all three of my girl's names put on me." Que in silly conversation.

There comes a point when even the strongest people just give in. "OK,OK,OK...If that's what you really want to do, it's your body, go ahead and do it. BUT! (there's always a but) Just remember, I'm not asking you to do this. Your doing this on your own free will." Then I secretly hoped that by me giving my permission, the excitement of the tattoo wouldn't seem so exciting to him anymore. I was wrong.

Guess what we did on The Forth of July...Go ahead guess......

Your getting warmer.....

Bingo!


Ok, here comes the part where I get philosophical on you.

I love Big Daddy more than words can say. We have such an awesome bond between us that it's almost scary. We have all the love, loyalty and trust that a relationship can handle. We talk about growing old together and we mean it. We took vows before God, vows that we meant, vows that we'll keep. If you haven't got the picture...We are in this for life. Neither of us are going anywhere. So why does the fact that he has my name permanently marked on his arm bother me?

I know why I always asked him not to get it. I never wanted it to be a way he proved his love to me. I had this fear that he would get this tattoo and then stop telling me he loved me every day. I was afraid he would think that he made the ultimate devotion my putting my name on him. A devotion that overruled every way there was to show affection like he didn't have to do it anymore because he put my name on him. I also didn't want it to become his defense over every little spat we ever had like him saying" Well I got your name tattooed on me, what have you done?" Also as much as it pains me to admit I care what people think, I didn't want anyone to ever think that I MADE him get my name tattooed on him, ya know? I don't need him to have a tattoo of my name to know that he loves me and I don't want him to think that he needed to do that to prove his love.

And as nice as the tattoo looks. And I must admit it's kind of sexy. I can't help but get this little lump in my throat every time I see it. WHY?????

I've put a lot of though into it these past few days. If I lived in a TV commercial there would be a little transparent tattoo levitating over my head. And this is what I have come up with.

We live in a country where divorce is so common that we make bets at wedding receptions about how long the marriage will last. It's a sad fact. I'm sure all of you have done it or at least thought it once in your life as you watch the bride toss her bouquet over her shoulder. It's gotten to the point where people marry without hesitation cause, Hey if it doesn't work out you can always send for a mail order divorce. My point being...When someone puts a wedding band on your finger it's really not so scary...By the time your mail order divorce goes through, you have already slipped the ring off and tucked it away in your dresser drawer. No harm done.

I never take off my wedding ring. When I look at it, I can't help but smile and see my self standing at the alter marrying the man I always new I would marry someday, I see promise and I see my future. But...I have a cousin who tossed off her wedding ring 1 month after her wedding and did the unthinkable. Why was it so easy for her? 1 month! Did she even take the wedding seriously? Should the ring have been a little tighter and not so easy to remove?

Then it hit me!

Seeing Big Daddy's new tattoo made my marriage to him more real. The fact that it is permanent, the fact that it makes me feel like no matter what happens now I could never leave him because he's going to the grave with MY NAME on him made the fact that marriage is for life, a reality.

So I couldn't help but wonder ( And I type that with my very best Carrie impersonation) Should tattoos be replaced with the traditional wedding band?

If it was made mandatory for couples to make a pit stop at the local tattoo parlor on their way to the wedding reception to get each other names permanently tattooed on their bodies for the rest of their lives, would people actually think twice about who they were marrying and really mean it when they say their vows before God. Would more marriages last? It may take this drastic measure for people to realize that marriage is for real.

At least it would eliminate searching for your marriage license when needed, you could just roll up your sleeve and say see "He's my husband." (Just trying to throw a little humor in there)

After I thought about all this, looking at Big Daddy's tattoo wasn't so scary anymore. I did take my wedding vows seriously. I know that marriage is the real deal. And all of the sudden I was honored and flattered to have my name proudly worn by the man that has my heart and right there next to my precious daughter's names. And every time he rolls back is sleeve and admires the tattoo saying "AWE, I LOVE IT!" I realize that I was reading into this way too much. He genuinely wanted to have us with him where ever he goes and this was his way of making it happen. I can live with that.

-Housewife

P.S. I tried to post pictures of the tattoo, but Hello, Blogger and My Computer hate me.

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UPDATE

Hello and Blogger still hate me but the Kodak Easy Share Photo Gallery has some unconditional and undying love for me so you can go here to see the tattoo!

An Open Letter to Allergies

Um, Hi.

How you begin a letter to something not tangible is beyond me, but I will give it one hell of a Career Woman try. You, allergies, have caused "not nice things" to secrete from every orpheus on my face. You depreciate the value of summer for me. You depreciate the value of having a pool and the need for a nice sun-based tan. And you depreciate the walk out of my garage door to my car. You also depreciate the value of me spending just a little bit extra on my car in order to enjoy automatic windows and a sunroof. I am not able to put down a window or crack my sunroof because in order to drive, one must see. A person can not physically open their eyes and sneeze at the same time. Therefore, when I sneeze, my eyes shut, and considering this occurs every 3-4 seconds during a car ride with windows and sunroofs cracked, I can not see to drive. You have made me a hazard for the city of New Castle. Not only does sneezing incompacitate my vision, but so does itchy, watery eyes. Typically when I get the allergy itch in my eye, I use my freshly vietnamese painted manicured finger nail to scratch the little corners where my eye boogers form leaving them bloodshot red instead of the beautiful baby blue they are known and loved for. What I have half the mind to do is grab the nearest butcher's knife, saw, needle, or razor blade and dig every essence of it's sharpness into my eye socket. But I don't. Instead my dear allergies, I attempt to medicate myself via a cocktail of allergy medicine. This cocktail that I tend to enjoy better than a fresh Olive Garden italian margarita or the el presidente from Chili's includes: 2 Zyrtec, 4 dribbles of eye drops, and nosespray. What a lovely pharmacy I carry in my little Coach purse on a beautiful summer day. After my allergy cocktail, I am quite a sight to be seen. My eyes are tearing, my make-up is watering, and a full blown sneeze attack is warranted after a quick spray. I am a pretty girl dear allergies - you make me not so pretty. I do appreciate you for something however... I am fully aware of Pumpkinface's unconditional love and devotion, because seeing me in this state with watery bloodshot eyes, water pouring out of my nose would likely make any well-deserving man to turn his head and run, but not my Pumpkinface, he hands me a tissue and away we go. But he has some complaints for you as well...Pumpkinface and I have "sleep overs," if you will. My allergies are know to be at their worst in the early morning. Following each sneeze lies a blow. Imagine the horn on a train when it is nearing a crossing and picture that awaking you in your peaceful slumber. Not pleasant, is it?

I will end this on a note of requesting a favor out of your dear allergies. I will deal with this summers humid allergy season with minimal complaints under one condition. My wedding is next summer... in allergy season 2006. I would greatly appreciate your pity and appreciate for my service on your boogers and the pharmaceutical world and allow me to have an allergy free couple of days... if it's not to much to ask.

Sincerely,
Career Woman

A Day in the Life of Housewife

Woke Up: With a terrible back ache. Contemplated sucking down every drug in my medicine cabinet...Then thought, nay forget it, Yo home to Bel-Air.

No. Really.

I then proceeded hobbling to the kitchen singing "I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and yelled to the cabbi yo homes smell ya later looked at my kingdom I was finally there to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air.....

Then as I finished with the little na da na na na na na and did the little headed spin just like the Fresh Prince himself, something in my back snapped and VOILA! Better. Who needs drugs when you have the Fresh Prince? True story.

Took a Shower: Not an easy task when your by yourself with 2 small children. I've tried all the other ways. They are not sufficient. The only way I can get it done is to bring the whole crew into the bathroom with me. Before it was done, I had one small person wearing a Pull Up sitting on the drain with the water rising above my ankles and another small person trying to shave her legs. But we survived. Even the fall as we stepped out of the shower and onto the soaked bathroom floor. There goes my back again. (Mental note: it is absolutely impossible to keep the shower curtain in a closed position when you have a shower full of toddlers).

Out the Door: I had some errands to run today. First stop, STAPLES. Had to get a ink cartridge so I could finish printing pictures for a scrapbook page. The scrapbook that I have neglected for months but now feel pressured to start again because Career Woman is all caught up in the terrible addiction of scrapbooking and it's making me feel like I should really be finishing mine.

Now, I have been to this STAPLES once before. When I first moved here to Mass. I was new and disoriented and just thought that I looked out of place and that is why the people there were so friendly to me. But now, a 10 month resident, I feel comfortable and confident and feel that despite the fact that I can pronounce words correctly, I blend in with the New Englanders rather well. For this, I have no other reason to assume that this particular STAPLES is just where the Freakishly Friendly People work. I felt like the freakin' Queen of England in that place. You couldn't get better service at a Country Club. It was kind of spooky. It would not have surprised me if someone began to massage my feet as I stood in line. Now there are places that you shop where you could expect to have your ass kissed but....STAPLES? Scary. I'm thinking about writing a letter to STAPLES and telling them that I refuse to come back to that store until I'm treated like shit. Would that be weird? Cause seriously people, I'm afraid to go back there...they are Aliens!

Then to the scrapbook store. I actually thought I could look around and maybe even make a purchase in the scrapbook store with my kids with me. Huh. What a fool. I lasted a total of 3 minutes there. I was just a figment of the cashier's imagination. When she wakes up tonight from the sound of kids screaming she'll remember that the stressed out woman carrying the screaming banshee with a troll running at her feet, was in fact real.

Over to the grocery store for a few odd and ends. I had a small fight with Bella over some cupcakes and asked an Asian woman who I'll assume did not speak English to excuse me 5 five time cause she was blocking the aisle way, all while she stood there looking at me like I was naked. Checked to see if I WAS naked. Might explain why the Freakishly Friendly STAPLES People were so nice to me. WASN'T. Then left without gravy because I was too lazy to go up and around the aisle that was guarded by the Asian woman who I'll assume did not speak English.

Then over to McDonald's for lunch. Not my favorite choice, but I was out voted by the Ronald McDonald fan club sitting in car seats behind me. All because of the Playland..whoo-hoo! The very Playland that you cannot "play in" if you are not wearing socks. My very disappointed children who were wearing sandals, did not have socks on. No problem. I'll buy them at the counter. The McDonald's back home sold socks at the counter for $1 a pair. Problem solved. Nope. The half-wit behind the cash register might as well had called the manager over to help her laugh at me. Silly Housewife. Why would you ever think that the McDonald's with out the drive-through would also sell socks like every other effing McDonalds in the universe?
Oh, BTW I found out WHY there are no drive-throughs within a 50 mile radius of me. It apparently "degrades the town." Yes, a drive through supposedly degrades the snootiness of mere existence of Littleton, Acton, Westford, Concord and Lexington. The only way fast food restaurants were allowed to build in these towns were if they did not have a drive-though and were considered a "sit down restaurant." Woopty frickin' Dooo. McDonald's magically becomes a high class eating facility if you just chop off the outside menu and the speaker. After a fit of tears (from the kids, not me) I wander back to my table, clicking my sockless heels together. There's no place like home, There's no place like home, There's no place like home.

Back Home: I stumbled through the door carrying the dead weight of my sleeping baby and 5 bags of groceries, listening to Bella cry because the toy from her Happy Meal that she had to carry in "was too heavy."

Are there any takers out there willing to give me a day off? Anyone? Yoo hooo? Helloooo.

Guess not.

And I didn't even tell you how my evening was.

-Housewife