…because this is how ALL theme park trips MUST end…
Writers Block…or something
March 29, 2007 by 12 Comments
Since I’ve returned home from New York, I’ve tried several times a day to blog.
To tell you about my sex life.
To tell you about my monster children…and how angelic they were for their father and horrific they are for me.
To tell you about being away from my kids and husband and how it’s made me more sane.
But I can’t seem to write. I’ve been cleaning, and cooking, going to the gym (I know…shocking), making plans for a weekend double birthday bash at Disneyland, planning a date night with the Kaiser, and sowing seeds in the spring garden.
So since I can’t seem to put together a sentence this week…tell me what you’ve been doing. Or offer some writing exercises, because I’m stuck.
🙁
Dear TSA
March 25, 2007 by 18 Comments
Dear Transportation Security Agency,
Do you have any idea the fear I had boarding a JetBlue flight from NYC’s JFK airport to Burbank, land of Jay Leno, California???
You see, as you know (because I called you 6 times)I lost my California Driver’s License somewhere around Madison Square Garden and the Empire State Building. I had no intention of losing my only photo ID. It was not some sort of ploy to make your life harder. It was not some sort of trick to keep you on the phone with me, a frantic mother of two, while you should be out tracking terrorists and hijacking people’s toothpaste and water bottles and, oh yeah-as I learned, jelly sandwiches. We all know how terribly explosive those Smucker’s people are. Smucker’s just sounds evil, I agree.
Anyway, i admit I was a bit of a pain in your ass. You see, I wanted to make sure I could, say, get home from New York. I had gotten to New York so, silly me, I wanted to get home from that great city.
Your nice agents assured me it was possible to return home, as planned. All I needed was two non-photo forms of ID. That’s it. They didn’t have to be originals. They could just be faxed to the hotel. But, I was told by your really well informed agents, there must be TWO pieces of faxed paper, and they both must contain the copies of two government issued documents. I was told this could be my social security card, my birth certificate, my marriage license, my divorce decree (not that I have one), or something like that. This, I was told, was the ONLY way I was getting on that plane home. The ONLY way I would ever see my wonderful husband and darling children again.
It’s not like I could rent a car without a driver’s license. Its not like I could use my credit card for a train ticket without a photo ID. No, I needed those two forms of ID, and my adoring Kaiser went through closet after closet, box after box and came away victorious.With two children tugging at his pants, he faxed the documents to the hotel. I waiting in a long line at the front desk and, eventually, walked away with the holy grail of paper.
I held the envelope tightly in my hand while I went up 10 floors to my room. I tucked the envelope away in a safe spot, awaiting the time and date of my return flight. I called your agents again and again…and maybe again. I needed to be sure these documents, tucked between my panties and my pj’s…would be my ticket home.
Yes, the agents told me…over and over. The documents would be fine, but they would be scrutinized. I would go through a more formal search, and I would be allowed to board the flight if my documents were in order.
Finally, the time came. With documents in hand I approached security…shaking. The Kaiser was on standby, waiting to hear if I made it through. Friends were on standby, waiting to come get me if they needed to, and my mother was on standby, convinced this was all a ploy to stay on vacation longer.
Security looked at my boarding pass, asked for my ID. I explained the situation and handed them my envelope of precious documents.
They didn’t even look at them.
Not a glance. Not a…hmmm…let me see what we have here.
Nothing.
I kept trying to hand security types my papers…someone needed to see these. SOMEONE needed to LOOK at my PROOF that I was NOT a terrorist.
Hello…ANYONE WANT TO SEE THESE?????
NO takers.
Not one.
Just thought you should know.
Way to keep us safe, asshats,
Queen of Spain
NYC
March 23, 2007 by 11 Comments
So what’s a California girl to do in rainy NYC with NO photo ID???
Go to a Knicks game, of course.
Yes, I’m in New York City for BlogHer Business and I’ve lost my driver’s license. Everyone has been very helpful, not at all bitchy and flippant like the many movies and shows about New York have lead me to believe.
Truth is, the Kaiser has to find all kinds of documentation in our Los Angeles home that then must be faxed to this hotel before I can board my flight back to the West Coast on Saturday. So I’m being really nice to the New Yorkers in the event I’m stuck here forever. Which would be fine. Because the food is really good and the original Macy’s in right down the block.
My mother thinks this is all just a ploy so I can get my stay away from real life extended. I would agree with her, if it weren’t for my son’s birthday. You see, I get home on Saturday…when he turns 4. I have to be there. I MUST be there. I can’t miss my child’s birthday.
Everyone start a Kaiser chant now please…FIND THAT STUFF. FIND THAT STUFF.
Mommy Guilt
March 21, 2007 by 12 Comments
Today I kissed my children goodbye, hugged and kissed my husband goodbye, and boarded a very full flight.
I sat next to an obnoxious woman with a terrible perm, draped in an awful, black, mink coat…she shoved her tabloids near my arm rest and popped her gum. We flew just like this, across the entire length of the United States.
I landed in a cold airport, and was driven by a nice Polish man to my hotel. I ordered some food, had a drink, took a bath.
Not once did I feel guilty for having left my children. Not once did I feel like I should call, or return home…or even send an email.
However, I feel guilt for NOT feeling guilt.
What a terrible thing. To feel guilt over not feeling guilt. Here I am, in New York, on business and I am feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. Devra, oh Devra…Help me.
For those who do not know, Devra is the foremost expert on Mommy Guilt. Qualified to speak on the subject, despite those credentials having been left out of a recent Washington Post story including her name and her wonderful book. None the less, here I am, 3,000 miles from my children, away for the FIRST TIME EVER (except for the birth of one and my recent surgery) and I am not worried. I am not feeling pain or longing.
Oy. I’m a terrible mother.
Maybe tomorrow I will miss them horribly. Tonight, I just want to sleep in peace, for the first time, alone, in 4-years.
sticking with the tampon theme…
March 19, 2007 by 25 Comments
Dear Wendi Aarons of Austin, Texas,
I puffy heart you.
QofS
AN OPEN LETTER TO
MR. JAMES THATCHER,
BRAND MANAGER,
PROCTER & GAMBLE.
Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from “the curse”? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my “time of the month” is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call “an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.” Isn’t the human body amazing?
As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers’ monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. This brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: “Have a Happy Period.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness- actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything “happy” about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlza and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like “Put down the Hammer” or “Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong”? Or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep.
Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX
MR. JAMES THATCHER,
BRAND MANAGER,
PROCTER & GAMBLE.
Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from “the curse”? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my “time of the month” is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call “an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.” Isn’t the human body amazing?
As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers’ monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. This brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: “Have a Happy Period.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness- actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything “happy” about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlza and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like “Put down the Hammer” or “Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong”? Or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep.
Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX
http://www.scribd.com/doc/14124/Maximadness
Its the Great Tampon Charlie Brown!
March 19, 2007 by 8 Comments
My kids love Charlie Brown. My daughter says “Oh Good Grief” all the time and my son thinks every dog should look and act like Snoopy.
I love it. Finally some shows I can watch with them that give me the warm fuzzies about my own childhood.
Today while watching the Valentine tivo’d Peanuts…Count Waffles amused himself by going through my backpack. Normally I’d stop him, but I knew there wasn’t much in there as I have FINALLY finished unpacking from our recent trip.
Of course he finds the pens and the airline ticket stubs. He also finds my pads and tampons. Oh boy. Here we go.
I’m half paying attention as I surf blogs and second life, and don’t realize he’s taken a tampon out of the wrapper and is studying it. Oh boy.
Mommy, is this a shooter blaster?
Um…not, not exactly.
But look, it shoots out…see?
Yes it does, but that is for girls. Girls use it when they have blood, remember?
Oh, but why?
Well, so I don’t get messy.
But PigPen likes being messy.
Yes, PigPen does like being messy.
So I can play with this, like a shooter blaster, then you don’t need it and can be messy like PigPen.
Well, I don’t want to be messy like PigPen, and those are not toys.
Fine, but Charlie Brown would play with it. He would use it as a shooter blaster and give it to pig pen with the blood.
No, honey, really…these are not toys and lets not talk about them being bloody.
Well, that girl wouldn’t kiss them. She doesn’t like dog lips with Snoopy or blood lips. Did you know she didn’t like blood lips.
Oh my God…this conversation is getting out of hand.
Its not in my hand Mommy, it goes in your pees.
Ok. Stop.
Well I don’t want it play with it, it won’t go back in.
Ok. Just give it me, and don’t play with these anymore, ok?
Maybe I”ll just use the pillow diapers instead.
No. No. No…..here, have a sucker.
Sigh. Did I mention he’s 4 on Saturday? 4 and playing with tampons. What a life.
Fear Me
March 16, 2007 by 19 Comments
I’m failing miserably at being intimidating.
Last night my son talked of all the places on earth he wanted to visit some day and one was “where the gypsies live.”
All this child knows of “gypsies” is it’s where he will be sold when he is naughty.
And he’s so afraid, he wants to visit. I’ve been selling him to the gypsies a LOT lately.
I don’t necessarily subscribe to fear parenting. I don’t want my children shaking and peeing themselves when they’ve colored on the walls, but there is something to be said for knowing Mom will beat your ass if you back talk. What I can not seem to figure out, however, is how to make them fear me without giving them something to really fear.
Confused yet? Yeah…me too.
I remember my dad always threatening the belt. He never used it, of course, but so help me if he cracked it once I was stopped dead in my tracks. I don’t have a belt. I don’t even have a stick, and I’m pretty sure my kids already know I won’t hit them. Smart little shits seem to know it so well, they use it against me…
I don’t think they are running all over me. I just don’t want to have to make good on that sale-how much could I get for a blue eyed, blonde boy? I would think that would at least pay off the house.
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