Writers Block…or something

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

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.


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.


NO takers.

Not one.

Just thought you should know.

Way to keep us safe, asshats,

Queen of Spain


Dear Kaiser, love of my life, father of my children,

First of all, know that we have arrived in the great Metropolis that is Detroit, Michigan and we are safe. We are now nestled in PJ’s and slippers, sipping tea and dozing off.

Before I fall fast asleep while the children you gave me play with their relatives, know this:

I am never flying across the country with these spawns of Satan ever. again.

You may want to call Spirit Airlines and make sure we have seats for our return flight, as I am pretty sure we are not welcome on their fleet of airplanes ever. again.

You may also want to call any and all convents and or boarding schools for your darling daughter. I believe it might be necessary we ship her somewhere better able to handle M&M grenades and shrieks they could use in Iraq to torture the enemy. Also check with local talent agencies, as I have no doubt she will be a fine actress. She can go from shrieking and crying as though someone was beating her, to coyly smiling at a stranger in a heartbeat.

As for you son, we may need to find him a very good psychologist, because he now has narcolepsy, which he is apparently using as a defense mechanism to block out the horror show that is mother and daughter.

I hope your time at home, in peace, is quiet and rewarding.

All my love,

The Queen

p.s. The Transportation Security Agency and Federal Bureau of Investigations might call to have a word with you. Tell Frank I said “thanks for the donut” and please let Jim know we’ll return his gun and badge just as soon as we can.

Damn Pirates

Good bye to my stitches

Thyroids are for Suckers, II

I talked to the kids every day on the phone while I was in the hospital. They missed me, or so they said.

When I arrived home last night, the Count’s preschool class had helped him make me a sign and it was decorated in hearts-the symbol of love,or so I thought.

Whole Lotta Love

The Kaiser and the kids also made me a sign that seems to be colored with care and thoughtfulness, or so I thought.

Welcome Home Mommy

As it turns out, not only were the kids TOTALLY FINE without me, it seems they were BETTER behaved and happy as clams minus el Mommo.

But it gets better, now that I am home and wanting to hug and squeeze my little bundles…they want nothing to do with me. I look scary, or so I am told. They are freaked out by my bandage and they would be even more freaked out if they caught a glimpse of the frankenmom stitches that are under that wrap.

Grumpy Mommy

I look like a gangsta mom that got cut. I look like someone tried to slit my throat. And so help me if anyone asks, I’m saying I tried to kill myself from the stress of two young children and a husband that wanted to PICK UP CO-EDS on the UCLA campus while I was being operated on.

He had the nurse in love with him in 2 minutes. She gave him one of those cool scrub hats to aid in his co-ed hunt. And we all figured the pick up line “hey, my wife is undergoing surgery, got a few minutes?” was a winner.

The only silver lining going on here is I have mass amounts of pain killers and actual real money coming in from my Second Life real estate ventures…which I will tell you more about later.

Just to review: the kids won’t come near me, I look like frankenmom, the Kaiser is picking up Co-Eds, and I hurt.

Boy, my vicoden-laced blog posts are going to be f-u-n. I may even skip the spell checking, you know…to keep it real.

Pain in the Neck

It hurts.

I have many stories, including my roommate and her family’s fondness to use the word “pussy” while I lay next to her in shock.

I’m still in too much pain and too groggy to do much but say a quick hello. I got home late on Thursday after getting my calcium and magnesium levels stable and today I get to shower. I’m very, very excited, because I am one stanky bitch.


Thanks for all the happy thoughts.

Kraft Singles, Not Just for lunch

I need to know how to get Kraft Cheese out of hair

Shopping Sucks. The End.

I’m the kind of person that finishes her Christmas shopping before Halloween.
Which is why finding myself at Target this morning at 9am, with 7000 other shoppers made me want to kill myself. Right there in the holiday aisle. Dead.
As an added bonus, the Starbuck’s inside the Target was closed. Some crap about some broken machines or something. Yeah. Right. So now there are 7000 uncaffeinated, pissed off shoppers at 9am. Most with non-school aged children still in Pj’s. Mine included. Although Princess Peanut upped everyone by adding her pink monster slippers to the mix instead of regular shoes.
After braving the hell on earth that was a store this close to the holidays, I can only tell you that all you need is http://www.readysetholiday.com. The nice people over there gave me a gift card to make my life easier and guess what? It worked. I got my Dad his gift in all of 20 minutes. Shopped, shipped, and done. Without setting foot in an evil, crowded store.
Normally I’m not a fan of Sears or Kmart, but this time of year, you just can’t go to Pottery Barn for everyone. And as it turns out, they have some really good deals. I like to pretend I can get everyone expensive electronics and all brand name everythings, but who are we kidding here?
If you are stuck for something, they’ve got it all in one place over at www.readysetholiday.com and you won’t have to fight for a cart or walk around aimlessly or spend too much money. OR carry your pink footed, cranky, PJ-wearing toddler while you push a cart through hundreds of other caffeine-needing mothers just trying to grab those few last stocking stuffers and rolls of paper.

I am on the couch nursing a migraine. I blame the shopping. Just do what you need to do online. Shopping sucks. The end.