Thursday, June 7, 2012

The Breakup

Dear Facebook,
It's not you, it's me. Sort of. I am done with you. I jumped into this relationship thinking it would be fun and cheeky, but I was wrong. I have learned not jump in during political posts, keep my distance from those stupid games and have tried not to offend anyone with my atheist left wing viewpoints (while the same curtousey has been ignored). I convinced myself I didn't care when people deleted me (strangely a hurtful act of spite). I am not sure when animity became uncool, but between facebook, twitter, instagram and the blogsphere not only can I tell you what several of my acquiantces ate for breakfast, what kind of hair day they are having and there affinity towards The Royal Wedding and thirsty Thursdays, I can also give you there personal religious beliefs (most often extreme) and their (also most often extreme) political dislike of the current administration (both Bush and Obama). This information is useless in my real life. Somehow, Mark Zuckerberg made gossip viral and boring. But I can't just blame the crazies that insist on updating me with their infants bowel movements, I do obsessively check my facebook app (damn you smart phones, that is a whole seperate post), but in recent months I rarely update my status or post pictures. I think part of my phobia towards updates stems from the reality that every time I apply for a job or accept a new friend they know things about me that I would not necessarly tell them in an interview. Mind you, I feel like a I am pretty mild mannered (in the facebook realm, in reality I am kind of a pill) but still I wouldn't show a prosepective employer articles I find interesting or how I think it is stupid that babies are not born with all there teeth (what a pain in the ass 2 years of teething is). Also, my oldest son, Kaeden, is in school now, which ushers in a whole new legion of Facebook requests. And as desperate as I am for mom friends I would prefer to do it the old fashion way. You know, texting. Once I accept a friend request those actual strangers are let into my world. And while I like knowing what college they went to or that they like a good time, it is surreal that they can know my kids birthday themes from 2007, how many drinks I had last Saturday and judge my past hair styles. Then they can arrive at conclusions that I may or may not be wanting to send, without ever having a conversation with me. I am aware that I control what is seen to the outside world, and I have a very sparse facebook account (now), but have have zero control about what is posted about me and even less control over how people perceive me proclaiming "Margarita Mondays" at 10am in December.

In somewhat ironic fashion, I happen to be a very social person, but I think facebook hinders that. I currently have over 500 friends in cyberspace (totally bragging). I would say I have seen 100 in the past year and about 10 in the past month. So why do I need/like having all of these other people somewhat in my life? What is the fascination with seeing people you knew in elementary school on your computer? I also think this takes away from the actual friendships I deeply care about and want to nurture. The time I spend "liking" an acquaitances wedding pictures could be spent on the phone with my best friend. Not to mention the housework and tiny humans that are neglected due to my slight addiction. I truly wish I could be actual friends with 500 people. It would be awesome and fun and you would never run out of conversations to have, but that's not possible. And I know, it is silly that I have a blog in which I am pretty much an open book and I am concerned about privacy and perception. Maybe it is different to me because I control it or maybe it is because no one reads my ramblings. Either way, the blog seems more useful. If I spend hours looking at my blog at the very least I get a couple paragraphs of my life documented, but with Facebook I cannot count the number of wasted hours I have spent "liking" pictures of my friends mom's weekend get away with the "girls" at 2am.

I feel like I am leaving a party early, like something really awesome may happen and I won't be around to see it. More people will get married, divorced, have babies, post obnoxious articles/videos/pictures, and apart of me will miss it (I am a sucker for a cute baby pic and any link to a groupon like site). But how much awesome can really happen when your parents now have a page covered in Glenn Beck clips and animal cruelty videos (I WISH i wish making that up).

I wrote this, in part, because I don't like when people disappear from my friends list. I always assume they deleted me and hate my face and my kids and all of my life decisions (I am super self involved). If I could be one of those people who never logs into Facebook and only is there for the party invites, I would totally stay. But I am obsessive compulsive, and Facebook has become my new black jack (I miss my gambling addiction). I had the same issues with my MySpace account, and luckily got out before that became one giant music ad (which have you seen the log in page for FB, it is starting, watch out). I cannot not check it, I don't know why. And then when I do check I feel like I know what is going on in my friends lives (for about 2 hours) when in actuality that is impossible to gleam from a hundred characters and a few mobile pictures. Also, as with all things, this fad of instant gratification of useless gossip will soon pass. The days of everyone answering a poignant question with, "I'll google it" are numbered. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but I am willing to put money that my teenage kids will never have a Facebook account and will be lacking political leadership because their parents peers all have you tube videos of them dancing on a bar in Vegas.

Side note: Number of facebook breaks I took while writing this fairly short blog, 7. The app is officially deleted. Good riddance.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

To breed or not to breed

Most people that birth three children would be reasonable (and responsible) and throw in the urge to procreate. I have, somehow, convinced Matt that we should consider having another child. And this took awhile, but he has assured me if there is a fourth child he is naming it after his favorite childhood cartoon and not loving it until it starts paying rent. And, I know, from the sound of the majority of my writing you may think I hate the tiny humans. Not true, I like them, a lot. Enough to let another one take up residency in my body again. Seeing as we had Kaeden by mistake and then the twins were obviously only supposed to be one well behaved child and not two pyros, this hypothtical fourth child has been scrutinized fairly heavily. Some of our worries include:

What if my eggs are exponential? I know that I would be able to handle one more child fairly easily. We are baby experts at this point. It would really be more of an accessory than a person to me. I may even keep it in my purse, like those small yappy dogs (the last two sentences were a joke to display how easily I would be able adapt from 3 to 4 kids, don't alert CPS). But if by some freak of nature I end up pregnant with twins or higher order multiples I would be seriously tempted to throw myself down the stairs.

Do I ever want to join the working class? Theoretically, I am only a couple of years away from being able to getting a job and contribute to the household (well I contribute by doing this:, go buy an invite). I am more referring to my lofty goal of teaching the youth of America Algebra and History and fixing the public school system, totally achievable, and being outside of my house. I am not one of those women who is very good at being domestic nor do I enjoy it. I hate cleaning, but I am anal retentive about the house being clean. I don't/can't cook, but like my kids to eat healthy (not saying I can't be easily talked into ordering a pizza). If these tasks that I deem horrible I could pay someone else to do while I work at a job I may or may not like (assuming it doesn't involve cooking/cleaning I would most likely love it) that would be ideal for me. Also, I feel it is important for me, my family and my marriage to be independent at times. I am a working woman at heart, I love my kids and I love that I am able to stay home with them when they are little, but for me, once they start grade school it is time to start focusing on a career, mainly so one day we can send them to college. However, if we were to have another baby these hopes and dreams of a two middle working class parents would vanish for another five years. You may ask why don't you just stick that 4th kid you obviously aren't going to love as much as the others in daycare? Well, people, daycare is super expensive around these parts, don't think I haven't checked.

Right now my life is pretty easy. Not as easy as being childless and single and mortgage free, but easy compared to two years ago. We have a home big enough for us, but would probably be a little cramped if we added another human. Since January I have not changed a diaper. Which is a HUGE deal, because I changed/bought diapers for 6 years before that. If I spent $30 a week on diapers (which is conservative, with twins) since 2006 I have spent well over $9,000. NINE GRAND on something my children shit in, it angers me just typing that sentence. In addition to the fiscal drawbacks, our kids get along really well and can play for hours with little encouragement (nagging) from me. It's kind of nice not being needed every second of the day. The twins are not that bored when Kaeden is off at school because they have each other to mess around with and when he gets home they missed him so much they just want to hang with him. This is probably my biggest concern if we were to have another person. Who would it hang out with? How would I be able to work if the infant isn't accepted into the gang by the others. The lines are already drawn, the twins are a closed party and Kaeden is in school and not too fond of babies as it is. I fear the child may be neglected by it's siblings, leaving all of the socializing to me (which is not really what I am looking to do, I kind of just want to snuggle and love the thing, not be it's buddy). I never thought this gig would get easier, but turns out the twins are pretty awesome little toddlers (I wrote this before they shoved a whole BOTTLE of medicine, a million bobby pins and all of Baileys hair accessories down the toilet, forcing Matt to remove said toilet from the ground and to fix it).

I HATE being pregnant. Totally would rather do anything else than gestate for 9 (really 10) freaking months. I realize that I am one of the lucky ones. The one who can get pregnant with a thought and a smile, not only that but I can carry twins in my uterus (which in mom world is a big deal), but it is zero fun and not something I am particularly proud of. I get violently sick and cranky and fat and I have to feel my emotions. This is the top of the list on why I don't want to go another round. There is not one thing I like about being pregnant (ok, the feeling the kid kick you is cool for about a week and the "I made a person" thing is awesome, but other than that, nothing) The reasons for having a child are (to me) fairly obvious, to everyone else I seem borderline crazy:

I want a super big family. Really big and loud. I want to have Thanksgiving at my house in 30 years and not have enough space for everyone to sit down and eat "big". Matt argues that we already have a big family. And we are very loud. Maybe I should readjust my thinking in this area, but it is a weird thing I have. Without my obnoxiously big family (extended mainly) I would have had way less fun and turned out way more screwed up. Our brothers/sisters are not procreating anytime soon so I feel the need to provide this network for my kids with my own aching uterus. If Matt and I turn into really shitty parents/people one day, they will need each other for support.

I love my kids a lot, and I am a pretty damn good at raising them. Not saying I am going to win any awards or god forbid ever open/go near/think about a daycare, but my kids are all healthy and happy. And that is my main goal for this age group. Eventually I would like them to contribute more to this world than their own health and happiness, but hell, isn't that what my whole blog/life is about. Being happy? Whoa, deep. On a non game changing note, we make extremely attractive people. Like surprisingly attractive. Matt and I aren't winning any beauty contests (however, I dare you to go into a wit/sarcasm contest with us) and yet we produce really good looking humans. This world needs more blue eyes and dimples, right?

I don't "feel" done. I think this is probably normal for a 27 year old to feel, but most 27 year olds don't have three kids and if they do they are likely not the type to really think thoughtfully about getting pregnant again (I can stereotype like that because they are my people). My friends my age are just starting to "settle down" and by "settle down" I mean they are considering not binge drinking every night, so I am still years away from being surrounded by lots of friends babies (a favor I have been doing for them for years). So if you are in your late 20's/early 30's, are my friend and in a somewhat committed relationship, I kindly request that you start making some babies.

This not so sudden urge to expand the family once again can be attributed, in part, to social networking. The constant pregnancy updates and newborn baby pictures of my Facebook friends are doing nothing but adding fuel the fire that is my burning ovaries. Seeing a small baby on a screen, quiet and looking peaceful and snugly is far from the reality of a newborn, but that is all I see when scrolling through the hundreds of baby pictures at my finger tips. I also design baby announcements and baby shower invites all day, so I am constantly sifting through someone else's baby happiness. The babies on my computer screen are sweet, innocent beings. I am aware that they projectile poop across rooms and are opposed to sleeping, but this doesn't translate when I am navigating the complex web of the babies that live in my screen. The irony of it all is when I meet someone, in real life, with four kids or hear someone is having a fourth child I literally gasp. Gasp, as in aloud, shocked like. I assume they are either apart of a certain religion or obviously had a birth control mishap or actually insane. But when I think of it for me and my family I feel like it totally makes sense.

Good news: In recent days I have swayed more to the side of barrenness. I went to a baby shower recently and did my normal snuggling of the babies, but it wasn't so much of a "I am going to sneak your small baby in my purse" snuggle as a "You are tiny and I love you, where the eff did your mom go" snuggle. I was also not feeling so hot to begin with and between the babies and the heat I felt like the walls were closing in on my already lost youth. My knee jerk reaction was to do something irresponsible (think go to Mexico for a taco or spend the grocery money on booze) but I didn't, because I have responsibilities, and for being youth killing leaches, I couldn't get home fast enough to see them.

And on a completely unrealated note, HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY D!

To my most loyal reader (who is not contractually obligated to proof read for me, cough, Matt, cough):

I could not tell you exactly when we met (and I have been trying really hard to remember, because I thought it would be a fun anecodote to start off with, but , alas, I cannot recall), all I know is that since that time we have never not been friends. You are the person I call on good days and the bad. Even the times I call you and say sentences like, "I may be pregnant with a stranger's baby" or "I think I am going to sell my body for cash" you never lecture or degrade me, but calm me from whatever drama I have created. You never say anything behind my back that you wouldn't say to my face (well, I don't think so, if you do, don't tell me). And I know after you read this post I will get a text with sarcastically hilarious encouragement on how I should most definitely continue populating the planet, because no matter how bad an idea is that I have, you always think it is a good/funny one. I hate when you call me "sweetheart" and a "paper pusher." I hate even more when you don't respond to texts promptly or even suggest that I get an ankle tattoo. And don't get me started on the cigarettes, but despite those annoying habits, there are few people who love pop music, country concerts, football games, golf days, seedy karaoke lounges and a good book as much as me and you (read "The Hunger Games" goddammit). Thank you for being brown, it makes my always growing liberal heart happy. You are the only person who thinks me throwing my golf clubs across the green is hilarious, instead of what it actually is: an adult temper tantrum. I am fairly confident that you like me more when I am beyond wasted and/or writing blog posts, so happy birthday old man, this year you got both. You are loyal and kind and witty and smart and I cannot imagine my world without your friendship.
Pads game
Ignoring my sweet dance moves
A few of my favorite people

Monday, November 14, 2011


About 9 months ago we moved across town. Which is a good thing. Matt drove an hour to work EACH WAY everyday for 4 years. We were also residing in our very small, sad, not suitable for six living creatures, condo. Heres the catch, I have zero friends in my new neighborhood. My closest friend lives nearly an 45 minutes away. And I am slowly losing it. While I love all my tiny humans, if I have to spend one more day analyzing the transformers saga through the eyes of my borderline genius/anal retentive son I may transform onto a decipticon (dork joke, Kaeden would die laughing, so think I am funny). I need to have a conversation with someone who is over 3 feet tall (and yes, I am discriminating against midgets) and isn't contractually obligated (Matt). When my son started school I thought I would make a ton of hip, cool, mom friends. I thought a made friends easily, the cashiers at Target always love me. Then I sat and thought about my friend group. The people I still keep in contact with on a fairly constant basis, that like me and I reciprocate (the 500 Facebook friends are not counted).

Here are my friend statistics:
3: Grade School
1: Junior High
1: High School
2: My cousins married them
2: Matts friends

After analysis, it is fairly clear that I suck as a human being. My most popular days ocured when I was 5, I have steadliy become more lame. Which is fine, but totally shatters my idea that I can befriend a stranger. I have no problem talking to people. Not a shy bone in my body. But once I start talking to the cool school moms I can tell they hate me. One of my few friends suggested I get them drunk, another suggested I flirt with them. I don't think those tactics are going to work. Plan B.

Here is my want ad that may or may not be posted on a my local Craigslist, depends on how desperate I get:

Wanted: A mom-friend. Actually any-type of friend, sans kids may actually be a benefit (I really don't like kids I don't share a blood line with). If you do have kids, I don't want to talk about them, the cute things they said or about how "advanced" they are. No one does. Everyone loves their kids and we all know you are lying when you say that Junior walks on water. The upside to being a mom friend is that our schedules would be similar. I have friends that are willing to hang out with me (even despite the distance) but I am not met with much enthusiasm when I suggest we go to a playground mid morning or we could go out at night but only until 9pm, because I wake up at 6am to wet diapers, a cranky kindergartner and an unconscious husband.

Must drink. But I will not be they sorry lady that holds your hair back after happy hour, I would like to befriend a classy drunk, thank you. Oh and if you ever cry while drinking I will pretend not to know you and jump in my van and leave you stranded in a puddle of tears vulnerable to the nearest cougar catcher.

Speaking of the mini van, you have to love it. You cannot be one of those women who care about cars, purses, designers, etc. I am not versed in the ways of fancy things, nor do I care to be. I also don't care what you are wearing (unless it is sweat pants) or what you drive (unless it breaks down all the time and I am the sucker that has to pick you up). I take it back, you can care about the finer things in life, but know that I don't, and will think you are shallow and mustn't read books. If you talk to me about your new $4,000 purse I may steal it and sell it or accidently spill my cheap wine on it.

Religious fanatics need not apply. I am decidedly un-religious (that is a less harsh term for those of you who don't like the "A" word). However, I went to a Christian school K-12, so I can kick your newly converted ass in any Bible trivia, so there is no need to share the gospel with me. And I swear if you break out a tract with the cross as the bridge I will turn the cross into a phallic symbol if given the opportunity. Let it be noted, I am VERY respectful about peoples religious beliefs (most of my family is EXTREMELY religious), I demand the same respect for my lack in beliefs, reasonable right?

Crazy liberal atheists need not apply. I get it, I am one of you. I am mad and jagged too, but don't you people get tired. I like how bottled water tastes. And I get it, there is no one electable in the GOP. Prop 8 was too confusing and illegal. Jon Stewart is shockingly sexy for a 5'7 old Jewish man. I know, I know. Let's stop talking about our bumper stickers and start talking about your parental relationship issues. Far more interesting.

Please don't be one of those women who hackles loudly. Like football and start a fantasy team with me. Don't sleep with my husband, say obligatory comments about my adorable shoes and I will reciprocate.

If you are a gay man, you win.

About me: Married, lots of kids. They are cuter than yours, so just get over it. I am 26 and may be having a quarter life crisis. Not sure, but I cried while watching "Diego" because an animal needed rescuing and I wasn't sure that Diego was going to make it (he did, crisis adverted). I am a mess on most days, luckily I can rock a messy bun with the best of them. I am OCD and crazy organized, I freak out daily about the toy bins mixing the matchbox cars and monster trucks (WHY would you mix those two, completely different purposes). I like wine and reading and if you combine those two with the beach I am the happiest girl in the world. I am fiercly loyal and if given the opprtunity to get in a bar fight defending your honor I will find a way out using wit and non violent tactics, so we don't break a heel.

I should be clear, I like my current friends. But they are normal 20 somethings that have their own lives to attend to. Being lawyers, curing cancer and running successful business' leaves little time to drive an hour to basically be ignored while I tend to the needs of my very loud people. I definitely do not want to replace those people, I would just like an agreeable filler person to kill time with until I can hang with my real friends. Is that too much to ask?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

A facelift

Today I woke up and decided to give some love to my much neglected blog. I know that no one believes me, but I have upwards of 20 "draft" posts just waiting to be edited down (word minimums were never an issue for this ego maniac). Despite having more material than the Bible (yep, that was edited down too folks, God and I are both chatty, so much in common) I couldn't bear put them up on my broken blog, the ugliest blog to have ever been published. It pains me to think of all those surely genius posts about feces and puke just rotting away in a draft folder. And I have only my husband to blame.

When I first started blogging I asked my husband to get it up for me (that's what she said), because when I took my vows I thought I never had to learn anything about computers/internet again. He obliged me. Even when I said, "Why did you make it so ugly?" After very specific instructions and lots of annoying emails about .jpg files, he finally made it not ugly. And then it broke. I don't know where my pretty blog went, but it is gone. Somewhere in the inter web, tangled in all of it's beauty. Since then I have been pestering Matt to fix it. But here is where my blogs prettiness shows up on my husbands non existent scrambled to do list:

6)Those other Kids
7)The woman who folds my socks (that would be me, for all you slow readers)
568) The woman who folds my socks wants me to fix her blog. I don't know what/why. Not going to do it.

So I sat my lazy ass down and figured it out. I still don't like it and HATE my header picture, but I am calling it a work in progress and thanking Shabby Blogs for her amazing designs so my computer illiterate brain can concentrate on world peace (or how to get my jiggly ass in a bathing suit in 2 weeks).

Why the sudden interest in the bliggity-blog you ask? Mainly because if I spend one more minute on Facebook looking at your distant cousins bad wedding pictures I will surely send inappropriate emails commenting on the bridesmaids lip hair. That and my husband canceled cable, because he secretly wants me to go insane. How I am supposed to function without my daily fix of Jon Stewart or watching those crazy bitches on The Real Housewives of (I don't give a crap, just keep acting psycho).

Along with this new blogging phase I have decided to 86 the pet names, simply because it turned my stomach when my actual real life friends refereed to my kids by their made up names. It was cute and endearing, I know. But even I was annoyed by it.

Whoa, big change is happening. Who needs middle eastern revolutions when you have me?

Here is a name key, to make sure your brain never has to function:
Husband Face: Matt
K-Dog: Kaeden
Big J: Jackson
Itty-Bitty: Bailey

I will probably still refer to my friends by pseudonyms. They didn't ask for me to be all crazy and get plastered across the web. Where as the people I birthed (or married) I now control their potential google notoriety (insert evil laugh).

Congratulations, I am back, with a vengance, pages (AMAZING, I feel like a REAL webpage), and a butt load of material.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Merry Effing Christmas

The holiday season blows. I hate to be a grinch about it all, but it this year it does. I am usually Cindy Who and so excited about every stupid holiday song Husband Face is annoyed to tears. But this year we didn't even get a tree until today (usually it is purchased and decorated by the day after Thanksgiving, not joking). I am just not my usually merry self. I am guessing it is one or a combination of several of the following:

1. My daughter decided to pick up an emotional disorder. Awesome. Like having all of these crack crazed babies wasn't hard enough, I now have a two year old that twists her hair so often and forcefully she is balding. Diagnosed by my pediatrician as trichotillomania, he also said that the reason it is falling out now is due to the dry weather we are having. I am still on the fence about the diagnosis. All of my kids have twirllled their hair while falling asleep or watching tv, it is like their pacifier, so I am wary about labeling a 2 year old with 7 syllable anxiety disorder, seems a little intense. In the same breath, she does look like she is going through chemo. When we are out in public and I try to punish her all of the bystanders think I am Satan for reprimanding the poor cancer baby. Bitches, she is a stubborn little thing, not cancer ridden, move on. I can deal with a little baby pattern balding, whatever, but it has accelerated at such a rate that I haven't had time to cope with the situation. I am trying my best not to bring it up to her (if I mention it she gets really upset), she wears mittens duct taped to her pajamas at bedtime and always his a head full of leave in conditioner, however I think it has gone beyond repair and I may have to take her to get a pixie cut this week. Additionally, her twin brother has the hair of pop star Justin Bieber and she resembles a little alien. To sprinkle salt in the wound the only reason I decided to have a second child was the possibility of having a girl and my main excitement about the girl thing was the adorable hair accessories. I made over 50 bows/headbands when I was pregnant with the twins. Don't judge me. I was bed ridden and my hot glue gun was my BFF.

2. We are selling our home. Correction, we are trying to sell our home. We have had a few borderline offensive offers and what seems like a million people have seen it, but for the most part things are not happening like I had hoped. Fist of all, trying to prepare your home for potential buyers to come through and judge every carpet stain and smudged mirror is nearly impossible to successfully do with 3 kids nipping at my ankles. Then there is all the weekend projects we have to complete. I don't have a problem with doing all that stupid stuff so much as I do paying for it. Dumping money into a home you wish was out of your life is extremely painful. I neglected to mention that the main reason we are selling is due to our horrific neighbors. You think you have it bad with a barking dog or occasional loud party, oh no my friends, my neighbors are out for blood. They hate me, my kids, my dog, my car, etc... It is crazy and a whole separate blog that I will shout from the rooftops when this home is a distant memory. But the worst part is how much I love our home. It is cute and has a yard opening up to a park (key for the children to burn off energy before their strictly enforced naps). We bought the place as a foreclosure and put a ton of work into it once we moved in. And yes, we outgrew it the day we moved into it (I found out I was having the twins a month after we closed escrow) but I have always said that it has made us one of those close families, like the Cosby's, but white and poorer (a doctor and a lawyer, really, that is like the earning potential lottery).

Update: Since writing this my children have literally burnt down their room. Not joking, blog post deltailing their craziness is written, just need to add pics to complete the mess. The aroma of smoke hitting you as soon as you open the door should make this place a lot easier to sell.

3. The best friend has left the building. Actually the continent. She decided to go teach English to Korean children. I tried to convince her that my kids suck at English and to just stay in my garage, teach them some words or commas or whatever, indefinitely. Strangely living a metropolitan lifestyle in a foreign city sounded more appealing to her than my suburban one car garage. Whatever. This makes me seem codependent, but I am not, promise. By no means are either of us those type of women that must hang out every day and braid each others hair. Oh no, we mock those people. However, there has never been a year in my life (since I was 5) when we were not in constant communication with one another. We went through K-12 together and then remained in the San Diego for college. Hell, we even went to the same college. And know she has left me. High and dry for what has been presented as a year adventure, I have a sneaking suspicion will evolve into a lifetime of foreign men, countries and food. It is kind of gross/sad that I didn't have to cultivate deep relationships past the age of five, now I am reaping those consequences. South Korea has shitty Internet and is like a day and a half ahead of my time zone. We have also concluded that we are the only people using video chat for non sexual reasons and happy hour via the interwebs is near impossible. Additionally, I am so jealous of her Korean escapades. As much as I love living the housewife wet dream, it would be amazing to be able to pick up and just go live anywhere, just for the hell of it.

As a side note: I do have pretty amazing friends here. But I am a hard person to peg. The 25 year old mom of three little kids who curses too often, drinks too much and probably won't agree with anything you say just for the hell of it, is not the most popular girl. Moms don't want to be my friend because of the aforementioned reasons and people my own age have way too much free time on their hands and don't seem to really understand all the responsibilities I have everyday, regardless of the hangover...

4. We are sick. Always. This nasal headache (accompanied by a lovely hacking cough) will follow me to my grave. And the kids just pass it to each other like dirty hookers. No one in my family has been 100% healthy since the twins were born. It is zero fun spending money you don't have, for a holiday you don't believe in, while sick. Can it be January?

I know I will be fine and snap out of this funk, but this is my bitchy blog post. Tomorrow (or maybe the day after) I will post one about how my kids ooze cuteness or something humerous involving their puke. It has been a rough week/month/year. I am sure I will experience a Christmas miracle soon enough, but I wouldn't bet any virgin births on it.