A Career Woman and A Housewife

Here's the deal, this our blog... This is where we come to write about our lives. The Good. The Bad. The Ugly. And of course, The Beautiful. We welcome anyone to come on in, take a look around and have a few laughs. Nothing makes us happier than nice comments and finding a new BLOG friend. If you can't handle what we have to say, just leave quietly and pretend you've never been here...We will retaliate.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

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

Friday, July 08, 2005

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

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

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!

Friday, July 01, 2005

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