I don’t watch movies often. Not that I don’t enjoy a good bowl of popcorn and the lights dimmed, its just I seem to always choose sleep or sex or mindless television instead. Not to mention the whole toddler wanting to watch Thomas the Tank Engine and infant screaming stuff. So not only do I not get a chance to watch a movie very often, I always seem to NOT make that choice even when the opportunity arises. I know what you are thinking…but your husband MAKES movies. Just further proof that I suck, I guess.

Recently we joined that mail you the movie club and suddenly, I want to sit and watch movies. I even put my picks in the queue and everything. So when one of my first movies arrived, I…stop the presses….actually sat down and watched. With my husband. Wow.

Now here comes the kick in the ass: It scared the shit out of me. The kind of scared where today, like a week later, I’m still thinking about it. Hollywood bastards.

We watched Spanglish. Adam Sandler. Tea Leoni. Set in, of course, Los Angeles. Without boring you with the plot and stuff, lets just say I am now, terrified of becoming the Tea Leoni character. Terrified. And I think what scares me the most is…I can see it happening. The Kaiser was just as freaked out after the viewing. He was scared of ending up miserable and souless in our pseudo-hollywood/Los Angeles lives. I made him promise not to fall in love with the housekeeper, and I swore to him I’d never do it with our real estate agent. THAT was the conversation we had after the movie.

So why can’t I shake this movie, days later? Because I see myself being neurotic and insecure and controlling. Daily. I see it DAILY. I can see myself thinking I’m doing good by getting the housekeeper’s daughter a scholarship. I can see myself with a chubby daughter. And wanting to help her slim down, in all the wrong ways. I can see myself, bleary eyed and runny nosed, begging my husband to talk things out until we drop. I see myself wanting a summer house at the beach. I see myself waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much.

Here is the other problem, these Los Angeles women are all around me. Its more common for you to see the Nanny pushing the stroller down the street around here. I’ve watched those housekeepers get off the bus and walk to their employers. I have a gardener. I have a pool guy. And my husband does work in the biz. Of course, we’re not like that. But the fear is we could BECOME like that.

So after that freaking movie we also promised to catch eachother before we got caught up in all that crap. So after I dropped the Count off at preschool this morning, and came home with my Starbucks…I balanced it out with talking to my friends and looking at old photos for the upcoming Promapalooza. Because god knows if the Kaiser and I get too Hollywood…those are the people who will call us out. I hope.

On Tuesday Sarah, Alison, Becky, Bridgette, and I will be hosting the 1st ever Promapalooza. We will be posting our old prom/homecoming/dance photos from back in the day. We will be voting on worst dress and worst hair. There will be big hair. There will be 80’s 90’s dresses. There will be much peeing of pants and sarcasm.

Anyone can play along! Just have those photos dusted off and scanned by Tuesday and let one of us know. And as Sarah says…”please make sure you obscure your date unless he personally says you can use his likeness. I don’t want to get sued by anyone’s high school boyfriend.”

God hates me. Both my kids have colds. Again. And while I’d like to blame all the partying we’ve been doing lately (see photo) I think maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with the new “game” the Count picked up at school. Apparently it involves tongues. And girls.

Before the Kaiser starts high-fiving everyone at work and I enroll Count Waffles in military school and Princess Peanut gets sent to the convent, (my parents always threatened to send me there) I’ll explain…

We were getting ready for bed tonight when the Count, very casually, walked over to me and…here it comes… licks my leg.
“What are you doing?”
“I GOT YOU, Mamma!”
Yes, yes. The new game at school is to lick eachother while running around on the playground. Putting aside the obvious “eeeewwww”-factor here, its making me wonder how I will ever win this germ/flu/winter cold battle.
Go ahead and call me nasty names. But I’m not a fan of the perpetually snot-nosed kid. My kids are not, naturally, a runny nose brood. We have friends who’s kids always have some sort of drip. That’s just how they are, their parents say. They really aren’t sick, their parents say. I always nod my head and say “sure” but inside I’m thinking “yeah, right…germ spreaders!” as I reach for the anti-bacterial wipes. These are the same parents that announce an hour into playgroup “yeah, little M. threw up last night and he’s really cranky today, I don’t know what could possibly be wrong.” You are a moron. That is what is wrong. He has the flu. Go the fuck home.
I think Ellen had it right, and playgroups and nursery school should only come with bio-hazard suits during flu season.

I’m going back to wipe more boogers as the Royal Snotfest-the sequel continues.

#1 Yes, your daughters DO look like little sluts in those Halloween outfits. If more than 2 Dads congregate to discuss a) if she’s legal b) if they are real c)if she could possibly be an “aunt” or “mom”—the costume is inappropriate. (editor’s note: remind self of this post when Princess asks to be Daisy Duke/school girl/cheerleader/goth witch/maid/nurse/britney for Halloween.)

#2 If your child is never allowed sugar, and on Halloween you suddenly allow sugar, don’t act surprised and/or shocked when there are a few temper tantrums. And if you take away all the treats your child has collected and substitute them with toys, fruit, or nuts (yes people—nuts, because kids think almonds are the same as tootsie rolls, don’t you know) don’t be surprised and/or shocked when your nearly three year old smacks you/Dad/sister/Grandma.

#3 If you are shocked to discover I’m not the actual Queen of Spain, a Spaniard, or related to the Royal Family of Spain and their new baby maybe you should get out more instead of look for royalty who secretly blog. (editor’s note—yes, I got an angry e-mail from some royal watcher. I am the Queen of Spain because this guy declared it so many, many moons ago. That’s all the explanation I’m giving. )

The multi-talented Ellen has graciously added me to her Court. Go check her out! She’s one of those *must read* blogs!

I did it. I’ve assimilated. I’m simultaneously lauding myself for participating and smacking myself for being so, so, so…soccer mom.

Last night I manned the raffle ticket table at our neighborhood Halloween party. There I am. In all my glory. Tearing those blue tickets. Who knew I had it in me? I’m really good at ripping them, too.

So why does this latest accomplishment of mine (and by latest accomplishment I mean–I showered AND shaved in one day, I fed the toddler something OTHER than spaghetti O’s) have me feeling so dirty?

Because I think I’m cooler than I really am. Because I think I’m somehow above or too cool to be the Mom in the minivan, helping out at the neighborhood Halloween party.

Yet I am the Mom in the minivan. Tearing the blue tickets. Helping out at the neighborhood Halloween party. Hrrrrrrrrmmmmph.

Knives are for wusses.

May all of your husbands leave for work this morning looking just as ridiculous. Happy Halloween. Yeah, I married him.