Face Punches

I have never been punched in the face.

I can't decide if it's something I'm missing out on or not. I mean, nothing gets the ol' adrenaline flowing like a good punch to the face, right? Well, I assume... I wouldn't know, of course, having lived my life in the shades of grey afforded to the punch-less.

I know it would hurt, but wouldn't it also make me feel alive??? Alive in a way I've never felt before???

Truth be told, not only have I never been punched in the face, I've never even been in a fight. Not counting the literal millions of scraps I got into with my brother growing up. Sibling fights aren't "real fights" in the grand scheme of things, after all.

I'm talking about a bar fight. Or a street fight. Or a Wal-Mart fight over a Playstation on Black Friday. The kind of fight that escalates from some simple smack-talking, a few "bitches" being exchanged, one person calling the other ugly or fat, and then someone reaching their hand out, grabbing a fistful of hair, and IT. IS. ON.!!! Screaming, punching, rolling around on the floor, YES!!! The drama, the unbridled drama, of a fight with a stranger!!! Oh, how I long for it.

Okay, not really.

But kinda.

I think it's because I am your typical non-confrontational sort. I would prefer to go with the flow, stuff my feelings, and pretend like everything is fine rather than start business with someone. Confrontation is to be avoided at all costs. If a giant lady with a mustache at Wal-Mart tried to steal my Playstation, I would probably hold onto it as long as possible then call her a filthy name under my breath as she walked away with it under her lumpy arm.

I will go out on a limb here and broadly generalize that most women use words as weapons rather than fists and fingernails. This combined with being a complete weenie, has led to my fascination with the mentality of a physically aggressive woman.

How does she make the transition from talking behind someone's back to slapping someone's face? At what point does it become okay to reach out and grab the hair? Did she not go to Kindergarten and learn "we don't hit"? Is her medulla oblongata too small or perhaps she's "got all them teeth but no toothbrush" (yet another ancient movie reference for ya)?

Important questions, all. And questions that I will probably never get the chance to answer for myself, sadly. I will never have the opportunity to be punched in the face by another lady. Curse you, wonderful parents who taught me to be nice!!! (Just joking Mommy, I would never actually curse you. I'm not in trouble now, am I?). My ween-itude is so deeply ingrained that I can't even begin to imagine a scenario in which I would pull someone's hair or they would scream at me, "Bitch, it's ooowwwwwnnnnn!!!" and take me to the floor.

Maybe I'll just add it to my "bucket list" (someone please come up with a better term for that, it has to be the cheesiest thing in the universe), something to look forward to in the nursing home years.... "Punch in the face and/or chick fight." Right underneath "get a boob job."

Have a wonderful week everyone, and try not to get punched in the face. And if you do, tell me all about it.

P.S. I was doing "research" for this blog, watching video after video of women with questionable upbringings duking it out in the street, and I learned something that I feel is important to share. Should you ever find yourself involved in a kerfuffle, please friends, take them to the ground, sit on them, and start flailing. It is essential to be the person on top. Safety first.

Facebook, I Love Thee

I feel like stay at home Moms have a different relationship with Facebook than the rest of the world.

It's not just a "social networking tool" or somewhere to indulge your narcissism or a place to catch up with friends.

It is a lifeline. It is a shining beacon of hope and reassurance that there is, in fact, a world outside of this house. A world full of people... People who have conversations... People who get dressed in real clothes and leave their houses to do things... People who aren't three feet tall and constantly screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

There are times during the winter months when I am literally (well, not literally, but in all practical application), trapped in my tiny house with my two extremely loud children. No escape, no way out, no one to smooth down my frazzled hair that is standing on end and reassure me that everything will be alright.

It is during these trying times, when we are feeling friendless and alone, standing at the border of Crazy Town and McNutville, that we turn to Facebook.

Yes, it sounds silly, but Facebook takes on a new sense of gravity when it is your only link to the outside world. There are elements in it that cannot be found in the daily life of a stay at home Mom (or at least in the daily life of this one) that at a certain point she craves.

Drama, adventure, pictures of cats, political debate, cryptic semi-sinister status updates!!! It's all there, just waiting to be checked up on when you take your lunch break. And by lunch break I mean five minutes sitting at the computer while snarfing your food because your children are momentarily silent and still.

Some people avoid drama and political debates (let's face it, nobody avoids pictures of cats), but I relish them... I relish them with relish, that's how much I relish them. Not my own drama or political debates, of course (other than the drama created by girl children, which is considerable, but not terribly enthralling), but other people's.

I see a controversial political opinion and I am clicking on that thing like a cricket in the summer... Um... I think I just made up that analogy (not even sure if crickets actually click), but you get the point. Have you decided to post an open letter of a status update to someone that's pissing you off? You now have a devoted reader of your posts, me... And keep 'em coming, because I crave drama like a Mandy craves carbs... Which is a LOT.

I know it's horrible, but I can't help it! I am a curious sort (some may call it snoopy) and Facebook has provided me a little window into people's lives that I am not above peeping (okay, staring) into. Friends of friends that leave dramatic comments? Oh yes, prepare to be peeped on. On Facebook. Not in real life. I'm not a peeper in real life.

Again, I know it's horrible, but I have a valid excuse... The general drudgery and boredom that seeps into one's bones while doing housework and laundry requires an outlet. Not only for me, but for the health and safety of all that dwell in this house. That outlet is Facebook. And yes, you may be judging me for all my peepy snooping and saying that I have no life of my own and that's why I so love the Facebook drama of others... Um, yeah, of course! That's sort of the point.

So please, if you are thinking about posting something nasty about someone who pissed you off... Do it. For my sake.

Stand Up Comedy Starter Kit

Well, it's official... I talk to myself. Constantly. It's not as bad as it sounds... Okay, well maybe it is.

To be perfectly honest, I have always been an accomplished self-talker. I remember staring at myself in the mirror as a teenager... Uh, wait... I mean, child, I was little, definitely not a teenager, cause that would be embarrassing... Anyway, I would stare at myself in the mirror and recite dramatic monologues that I made up and practice crying on command. "No... No, the doctor said I only have six months to live... But I will prove him wrong. I will survive!!! Because I... I... I love you!!! Boo hoo hoo, waaaaah, tear, tear, wrinkled up sad face." End scene.

Who knew that my ridiculous bathroom cry monologues would serve me later in life? Serve is a relative term, mind you... I have been practicing my stand up comedy by talking out loud to myself and trying not to be embarrassed by it. I have to admit, I am much, much worse than I thought I would be. I get so damn nervous that my voice comes out all tight and I sound exactly like I did when I said the special prayer at my high school graduation (yes, they let La Diabla say the prayer at graduation... I can't explain it. Fools! Muah ha ha ha!!!). This is when I'm alone, what am I going to do with a room full of people?!?

"Hi, my name is Mandy and I'm 31 years old. If you can believe it, this is my first time doing this." Oh my God, how humiliating, I am the most ridiculous person in the world!!! That's it!!! That is absolutely it, I can't do this in front of people. I'll die. Everyone will feel sorry for me." That's my inner monologue. Comforting, isn't it?

As the date closes in on me, I have been feeling a little frantic. I have been writing bits like a mad woman in my notebook... Breaking out in random cold sweats... I have been doing weird things... For instance, I created a stand up comedy kit for myself... It includes a wire whisk, my notebook, and a glass of wine.


Perhaps I should explain the significance of the items included in my handy dandy stand up comedy kit...

The notebook: Contains my "amazing" comedy bits and other extremely weird stuff I'm glad nobody else has ever seen.

The wire whisk: Of course, is the perfect substitute for a microphone. I have spent an alarming number of hours of my life singing into a wire whisk, just ask my Mom.

The glass of wine: To calm the nerves... Perhaps I should make it a whole bottle?

Considering the amount of butterflies I get in my stomach when I picture myself onstage in the comedy club with only my (questionable) wit and a (real) microphone, I'm thinking of adding a shot of tequila to the kit. Tequila has butterfly-killing properties, right???

So, if you see me in my car with no passenger having a conversation, you know why... I'm just honing my skills.

I hope haven't confirmed all of your fears that I am, in fact, barely holding onto sanity.

I also hope that you all have a wonderful week! Thank you so much for taking your time and reading my silly little blog, it means the world to me!!!

Warping the Future Generation

See what I mean about letting things slide? I start putting my blog in late and now look at me! I am sitting at my computer, not only on a Tuesday, but on a Tuesday afternoon, typing my Friday blog. Outrageous. I really need to get a hold of myself before I completely go off the rails.

Have you ever created a moment with your children? We are not talking about a beautiful moment. No, this moment is something you realize even as it's happening, is warping your children. This moment is the beginning of a story your children will tell their friends as an example of how truly weird, how truly and completely lame you are and always have been.

I created one of those moments with my almost nine year old daughter last Saturday. Even as it was happening, I could feel it. I knew it. Yet I was powerless to stop it.

The girls and I were almost home after a visit with my parents, jamming out to my amazingly cool loud music, when Bohemian Rhapsody came onto my ipod. I squeaked in delight (yes, I squeak when I am delighted) and turned the music up even louder. I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my daughter had a rather skeptical look on her face and was not bobbing her head along in the normal fashion.

"This is the coolest song ever!!!" I said loudly to make myself heard over the semi-deafening sound of Queen. The skeptical look remained. "Seriously, Bugs, you just have to give it a second to get good. It'll get good, I promise." To emphasize my point, I began heartily singing along, pausing to glance back and make sure she was truly getting it. She was looking at me in the rear view mirror, half-heartedly bobbing her head, trying her best to like it.

I believe that at this point any normal person would have just admitted defeat and realized that Bohemian Rhapsody is not for everyone, especially an almost nine year old girl whose musical sensibilities lean firmly toward the Rihannas and Justin Biebers of the world. Looking back, I realize that Freddie Mercury singing, "Mama, just killed a man..." may have permanently damaged my child's psyche.

I was far too caught up in expanding her musical horizons to realize that at the time. It was like I was having an out of body experience... I could see myself being way too enthusiastic, I could see the manic gleam in my eye, hear the too-loud singing... But I was powerless to stop it. I was a freight train of ridiculousness barreling toward the end of the "my kid thinks I'm cool" tracks, and I had gathered so much momentum there was no stopping me.

I should have reined myself in. But instead, I did something unthinkable... Something so all-encompassingly pathetic...

I waited for my moment, waving one fist and singing as loudly as I could... And I did it. I actually yelled, "This is it!!! Check this out!!!" And proceeded to re-enact the scene from Wayne's World in the front of my maroon Mom-mobile. With two small children in the backseat.

It was the saddest of all the heavy metal headbangs. It was the headbang of a woman desperately trying to make her cheesy old people music appealing to her child. The headbang of a woman whose references are from 20 years ago. 20 YEARS!!! I feel sick right now just typing that. And my wrinkles hurt. It was the headbang of a woman who still, somewhere inside, believed that headbanging was inherently cool.

When it was over, I looked at her in the rear view mirror again. She was frozen, her eyes wide, and was no longer even attempting to bob along to the music.

"Um... Did you like that song? It's cool!! Right?!?" My daughter looked at me with sympathy. "Yeah Mom, it was great. It was... It was really good." Is there anything more shameful than being the object of pity to a child?

If I had any sense at all, I would have just let it go. Instead, I tried to explain myself. "It's from a movie from when I was a kid. It was an awesome movie! It's so hilarious. I'll show you the clip of it when we get home." She tried to summon up some enthusiasm for it, but I could tell she was just humoring me.

The second we got home, we marched directly in to the computer and got on YouTube. The following is the exact video that I forced my poor innocent child to watch:



I absorbed it with gleeful nostalgia. I can't explain how happy it makes me inside. This movie is buried so deeply in my psyche that I haven't seen it for at least 10 years and can still recite the entire scene. I wish I could say that I didn't indulge myself in that recitation as my daughter sat next to me and tried her best to pay attention.

I turned and said, "Well Bugs, what did you think?" She took a moment to answer, looking thoughtful. Had I turned her? Had I been able to make my child appreciate the full spectrum of amazing that is Bohemian Rhapsody and Wayne's World? Had I managed to dodge the bullet of being the dreaded... "Uncool Mom"? I never dreamed that I wouldn't be able to cruise by on my charm until she was was at least 13 before she realized what a hopeless dork I am.

"Mom, what was wrong with that guy? What party did he go to? Why was he sitting in the middle of the street? What's a spew???"

She doesn't even know what "spew" means??? "Spew" is a reference that is so old-fashioned my child has never heard of it???

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no... I am old. Ooooooollllllddddddd!!! I'm melting. Meeeeeelllllltttttttiiiiiinnnnnnggggg into a pile of wrinkles and the stench of old lady perfume!!!

I suppose my daughter probably had her suspicions about me before, but with this incident I confirmed it beyond any shadow of a doubt... In song and in dance... (Why did I dance? Why??? It's my weakest category, I know that!!!)

I am not even remotely cool, "with it", or "hip" (there's another reference from an old movie for you!). I am a dorky old cheese ball that will in the future humiliate my daughter on more than one occasion.

I might as well accept it. I can hear myself aging even further as I type this...

But once I accept it, I can have some fun with it maybe... Get creative with my embarrassing antics. Look out Bugs, in just a few short years I can perform my Bohemian Rhapsody for your friends!!!