Halloween for Adults: Your Dos & Don’ts
Let’s face it, Halloween is the best time of year for your inner-child to come out and play. Here are some dos and don’ts for your Halloween experience this year, like, being creepy, but not land yourself in jail kind of creepy and ending up on some registry, scoring the best candy (I mean, not that shit that’ll take out your dentures or aging teeth), getting wasted on pumpkin beer and Halloween cocktails (yes, there are MANY), and picking the perfect costume (no Disney princes or princess’ welcome here – grow the fuck up!). Happy haunting, kids. Here’s to finding your loophole to youth.
DO
- Wear makeup or a mask to avoid the heckling of teenage assholes and the “what the’s” from adults with no soul who opens the door and dare to not give you candy (you know where they live, am I right?)
- Throw some eggs at that vile teenager next door who kicked your cat and called you fat. DISCLAIMER: Getaway vehicle, preferably something with a motor, needed. Our knees and backs hurt. Those fuckers are stupid but fast
- MUST: Do NOT dare go trick-or-treating sans alcohol. We may be old but we’re not masochists! Plus, everything is funnier when drunk. Especially your dumb neighbor’s toupee and their kid’s lazy eye
- Play hide-and-go-seek in a graveyard. It’s still fun (remember, you’re adults, in costumes, drinking in a graveyard. FUN). While there, pick a plot for you and a loved one. Just saying, the clock’s not moving backward, friends
- Scare the shit out of a random stranger. Not too young, that’s just cruel. Not too old, their heart is at risk. A viable option: some mangy teenager who farted in your general direction will do.
- Go to where the rich people live. Or, your local mafia houses. Guaranteed to not get candy corn, Clark Bars, Charleston Chews, or anything taffy (remember, you are old and so are your teeth). Almost always guaranteed to get king-sized candy bars. Score!
- Watch Freddie, or Jason, or those crazy kids in the cornfields or under the stairs movies and drink spiced rum and apple cider while you’re already toasted from drinking and trick-or-treating with face makeup running down your face and old farts partaking in all the glory using run-on sentences because you’re so drunk and you think that it’s really funny because you’re so old
DON’T
- Bring your friend who has kids or borrow their kid to go trick-or-treating. This is about YOU reliving your youth. Don’t squander this once a year opportunity by bringing the rug rats. Plus, they’ll out cute you in every way and make you look a little bit too tall
- Wear any costume a Disney character has worn, a twenty-one-year-old would wear (slutty firewoman, nurse…). Gravity is real, lest we not forget. Men, well, hide your beer belly and shave your beard – dead give-away
- Stay in all night and hand out candy. Get the fuck outta the house and start ringing some goddamn bells, friends! It’s called “please take one”
- Watch children’s Halloween movies. Unless it’s Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin because, duh! That was our time, folks. And, Charles M. Schulz will always rock
- Be sober. I repeat, DON’T BE SOBER. Scaring children, ridiculous cult movies, and trick-or-treating is a lot more fun when drunk. Remember, you only live once and you spent all of your youth doing it sans booze. This year, you’re a booze bag… and don’t you forget it!
- Get so drunk that you start crying on your friend’s shoulder about how you miss your childhood and that being an adult is scary and hard. NO! Halloween is supposed to be scary. Not your fucking divorce or stupid marketing job. #growthefuckup
- Complain that you’ve had too much sugar. Man up
- Bob for apples. That should NEVER have been okay. Disgusting… just absolutely, totally, mind-blowingly, freakin’ disgusting. Hello, influenza!
Okay, now that you know the dos and don’ts of this crazy thing we call Halloween, get out there and start your wild rumpus! Uuhh… I mean, go out there and stir some shit up, yo!
The Resurrection of FGG
This blog post is to announce the resurrection of FGG and why the hell I’ve been gone for so long. It’s been a crazy fucking ride since my last post (Easter!), and a boat load of things have happened to me and my life in this seemingly short, yet incredibly long, period of time.
Why did I stop posting? Well, from May-June, my work life was INSANE. I had 4 separate concerts, a talent show, and was taking classes for my admin program – as “luck” would have it, the most challenging course I have ever taken in my life. On top of that, I was trying to keep up with my blog, newsletters, podcast, and photography. Not to mention, I’m a mom. I see approximately 700 students twice/week and then run home to my four year old, Greyson – the cutest thang since the Care Bears. 😉 For a week in early May, my body felt super out of whack. It felt like it was preparing for a heart attack. For real. Then, one day, after work, I was playing corn hole with my lil’ Care Bear, and suddenly felt numb. I felt tingling all over my body, was pale white, and about to faint. I sat down and told my husband at the time (yup, that story is coming, so just stay tuned) that I was having a heart attack. After an ER trip, an EKG that “was not pristine,” to quote my amazing doctor, and complete numbness on the left side of my body, shoulder to toe, a slew of intense tests, and my husband yelling at me in the room (yeah, he was always good at doing that when I was sick or in the hospital), and the possibility of a small stroke, it turned out to be a panic attack. Now, if you’ve never experienced one you simply cannot relate, you just can’t. I now know what a heart attack would feel like – for real. My body manifests stress in a craaazzzzy way. It’s very physical for me. When I went to see my doc a few days later for a follow-up, she asked me about my life. When I told her my day-to-day, week-to-week, she seemed genuinely stunned. She then asked me if I could “stop doing some of those many things that I do.” I was fucking agast! I was like, “I was just blogging on my computer whilst waiting for this appointment!” However, she was right. Something had to give. So, the blog, photography, newsletters, and podcast had the brakes put on. The clincher was social media. I went full on MIA. I have to say that it actually felt fucking great. Today will be my first day back on social media since around the time of my last blog post.
I thought that all of that shit, all of that shedding of self, had helped, but only a bit. I was still frazzled and began experiencing anxiety, my old foe, 7 days a week. WTF?! I shed that shit 7 years ago! It was the fucking tumor that I finally cut out after suffering my entire life from it! My meds weren’t even carrying the slack at this point. So, I survived the rest of the school year (I’m a music teacher) and reevaluated my life. My sister, her 3 YO, and her mastiff were living in my house, as she was getting a well-needed divorce. This is when I, too, realized that I was next in line for a well-needed divorce. Things between my ex and I had been “off” since before Greyson was born when we were still living in China. He deserves someone far more suited to his personality, his political beliefs, and his hobbies. That person is not me. And, I deserve the same.
Fast forwarding, I went away for ten days in the beginning of the summer, got back, got an apartment, moved out days later, and now am in the midst of a shitty divorce. Writing and blogging are two fantastic outlets for me. So, I figured, it’s time to hop back on the bandwagon. I’ve adjusted my work schedule a bit so it’s a tad more conducive to my sanity, I have a two-bedroom apartment to tend to as opposed to a gigantic house and garden, though I miss my garden daily, I have started meditating again and gone back to the gym, so, I hope that I am able to keep up my blogging etc. I’ve casually, and I mean very casually, started writing another book (check out my link above in “My books!”), this time about my life. It’s been a WILD ride since I’ve been born. I’m calling it, “F is for F**k.” I thought my next book would be a humorous tale about motherhood again, but alas, all of these ideas for my bio have been flooding my brain.
To end this post, I won’t promise I’m totally back because I have to see how this fits into my new life, but I hope to be posting weekly with recipes and lots of Heather “gab.” Cheers to a new and fresh start!
Some pics of my summer:
FGG’s Favorite Fashion Styles of 2019
FGG’s Favorite Fashion Styles of 2019!!! And, of course, my least favorite. 😉 Honestly, I love the art of the runway. The beautiful clothes and makeup that mostly, would never be worn off of a runway in that fashion. It’s incredibly creative, breathtakingly beautiful, and artistically advanced for one’s time… or so I believe.
I LOVE me some good style! I love it soooo much that I’ve forced myself into doing Beach Body. Why? You may ask. Well, because I myself want to be donning these amazing styles in 2019! As you’ve probably heard me say, more than once, I desperately miss my wardrobe. The beautiful cloth, colors, patterns… I could go on in this dramatically ridiculous style, but I won’t. 😉 Some of my wardrobe still has tags attached to them. The quickness in which I gained weight is unparalleled. Okay, let me have my dramatic license back. But seriously, it was incredibly rapid. I woke up one day, looked in the mirror, saw a picture of myself, and was like, “what the fuck shit is THIS?!?!” Then I died about a thousand deaths. Fast forwarding, switched meds, curbed appetite, lost 15 lbs, and then the universe (my body) pressed pause. Summer is on the horizon. Yeah, it’s February, however, we all know that we blink and voila! It is among us. I refuse to hibernate in my mother’s house in NY this summer – again. Avoiding friends, old classmates etc due to my horrifying embarrassment of said fatness. Fuck that. I will be back to my usual 135 and will truly embrace it. I will finally feel thankful to be that weight. I am swearing to myself that I won’t think I still need to shed some lbs. Crazy in hindsight!
Anyway, back to Beach Body (BB). The 21 day fix. This is where I’m at. As my friend Angella quite aptly put it, “Do a blog post tonight called, ‘Am I crazy for buying colored Tupperware and thinking it will change my life?!'” LOL. If you don’t know anything about BB, the colored Tupperware reference is hilarious. BB gives you multiple colored Tupperware in various sizes for your portions and for specific food groups. They make it easy. Also, depressing. I almost began flapping my wings and tweeting aloud until I realized, “Shit, I’m almost a bird, and these are human sized portions. Well, I guess that’s better than being a whale! Unless of course we were taking about the afterlife, reincarnation, in that case, I choose ‘whale.'” I’ll let you know how it all progresses. I am envisioning myself in these dope drapes below as major inspo for my old bod back. 😉 Are you in the same boat? Leave a comment and let’s start a conversation! -FGG
PS- I am choosing this song b/c damn! I definitely have “more back” than ever before. That part, I can live with. 😉
MY FAVORITE STYLES OF 2019!!!
SEQUINS, HIPPIE, FRINGE, CAPES, EARLY 90’S/VALLEY GIRL/NEON, COWGIRL, 80’S SLEEVES, PUFF SHOULDERS, NEUTRAL/KHAKI
*IMAGE FROM VOGUE
*IMAGE FROM VOGUE
*IMAGE FROM ELLE
(THE FEATURED IMAGE FOR THIS POST IS NEON – FROM VOGUE)
*IMAGE FROM WWD
*GIF FROM ELLE
*CHRISTIAN VIERIG/GETTY IMAGES
MY LEAST FAVORITE FASHION STYLES OF 2019
CRAZY COUTURE, SCARF PRINTS, BUILT-IN LAYERING, GRAPHIC STRIPES
*GIF FROM ELLE
*IMAGE FROM WWD
*IMAGE FROM VOGUE
“Transportation” in Beijing
Okay, so this is a chapter from my book, “Crazy China Sh**.” Click HERE for a link to the book on Amazon. Driving around this city by motorbike, taxi, tuk-tuk, rickshaw, bicycle, or shit! Even your feet! Was a crazy experience… especially when you first arrive. I was an expat who taught at an international school for 5 years in Beijing. The chapter below will give you a direct lens into the insanity of transportation in this city… along with some humor, of course. 😉 Enjoy! Happy Friday!
PS- I chose the video below for a few reasons. One, because I first heard it last week on the opening scene for Bosch, season 3. I instantly googled it and fell in love. I looked for sheet music online but alas, nada. So, now I’m going to have to learn it by ear. Ugh. The song is titled, “Going Home.” China was my home for 5 years. As more time passes (I’ve been back in the US for 2 1/2 years now), I miss it more and more. I came back to OR because I loved it here when I lived in Portland from 2006-2009. It was the only place that ever felt like a real home. Trying to make roots now… this can be hard for someone like me. 😉 Anyway, enjoy this incredibly beautiful tune.
PPS- Sorry! Since Nimbus themes has updated my Foodblogger Pro theme, it has totally screwed up WordPress. I can barely scroll, can’t add media (have to do it manually), the blocks are absurd, and cannot insert a “read more” tag, which is what I was wanting to do here. If you are looking for a theme for your blog, steer very clear of Foodblogger Pro. It was great, and now, it blows. I’ll be changing my theme very soon. A facelift for the blog! 😉
Chapter 6
The Ol’ R9 & Other Forms of Transport
Right, so if you’re a Beijing expat, you already understand where exactly this is going. At first, I thought to myself, “Awesome! You totally get to ride a motorbike and look super f’ing sweet whilst doin’ it!” My inner badass biker, or for some, chic and cool European, self came flooding out. Now this is already after the fact that I quickly—very, very quickly—came to realize that taxis were and are a waking nightmare. My favorite thing is when people insist they never get picked up because they’re a foreigner. Honestly, ninety-nine percent of the time, I’d call bullshit on that. This chapter, summed up in a polite sentence, would ring out: “Taxis, tuk-tuks, bikes, OH MY!”
There were so many times when the taxi driver would ask you where you’re going, and then tell you, “No,” in Chinese, of course (reminder: taxi drivers, store clerks, and most people here do not speak a lick of English… a lick…). Why, you ask? Well, because they’re not going that way. I was not under the impression that taxi drivers had “a way” they were going. In Beijing, apparently they do. The first time I got in a taxi here, I thought I was going to die. Where was the seat belt? Why were we going so unbelievably fast and weaving in and out of traffic (on the highways, during the times it wasn’t a parking lot). Why is the taxi driver almost falling asleep? (One time, I got out because he pretty much did, in the middle of an intersection.) Why, oh why is this stench so horrid that hanging my head out of the window like a dog is the only recourse? Not every taxi stinks, but, oh Lord, so very many do! I am also extremely sensitive to smell. Once, my husband, who literally can’t smell shit, said, “I gotta get out of this taxi… now. I’ve really got to get out. I’m going be sick.” If you knew him, you’d know that actually meant something.
To be fair, the taxi drivers in Beijing are grossly underpaid and overworked. Their hours are horrifying (hence why so many look like they’re going to pass out… they are!). I’ve seen so many drivers sleeping with their feet out the window on the side of the road. I always think to myself, “Man, that sucks!” I’ve had some pretty funny and entertaining taxi rides as well. Some amazing folk drive around here, for sure! For me, they’ve helped create a culture that I consider to be Beijing.
Tuk-tuk? What the heck is that? It is what looks like a box of metal placed on top of motor bike, with fumes that could choke the life out of your brain cells; crumble in a crash, leading to a horrendous death; and try to extort you on a foreign price for a ride. But damn, I love them! They are the quickest, and often the most efficient, way to get around Beijing, as long as you’re not going too far. However, when I was pregnant, I made a very conscious effort not to take them because of the crazy-ass fumes. Again, there were no seat belts, sometimes no door on one side, or a broken door, and a seat cushion that isn’t attached and often has you sliding around. In my opinion, it’s really only comfortable for one person. They’re wildly unsafe and also illegal (the government sometimes has a week or two where they crack down on them), but they’re super stinkin’ handy in a jam, especially if you’re waiting at night in Sanlitun for a taxi ride. Oy vey! Good luck! There are also rickshaws (like a carriage but pulled by a very weak bicycle with a motor), but you really can’t be going very far, and they are only around in very populated areas such as Sanlitun.
Oh, our good ol’ R9’s! For those of you who are reading this and are not a fellow Beijing expat, let me explain. The R9 is the most popular of motor bikes that expats typically drive. There is also this other super cool lookin’ one that people drive, but it is nameless. Anyway, the issue with the R9 is that it is gas operated. Why is this an issue, you ask? Well at first, it wasn’t, not at all when we arrived in 2011. However, since the government has cracked down on illegal bikes, it most definitely is an issue. All of a sudden, two out of three gas stations would turn us down for gas. You needed to have a bike license. Then the expat response was to go and buy a fake license. This worked six out of every ten times until it simply almost never worked. This is when my hubby and many others discontinued their sweet, badass ride. Many lovely issues occurred, being a fine owner of an R9. The throttle would get stuck while driving, the engine would stop running, or as my friend put it, “sound like he rode to school with little mice in the engine,” and a variety of other super unsafe issues.
My ultimate favorite incident happened back in 2012. Our very good friend (J), decided to lighten the day with a ridiculously humorous email regarding the good ol’ R9. Below are the delightful email transactions that made my afternoon.
Dear Sir/Madam,
I have been in possession of an R9 for a month now. It is still sweeping through the streets of Beijing like a Chinese Ducati. I believe this qualifies it for inclusion in your top ten of longest running R9s. It has an amazing 433 kms on the clock. Unfortunately, I have hit a problem.
To judge by the noise coming from the rear of my fine craft, a small family of field mice have taken up residence in the rear wheel arch. The only way to silence them, for about half a kilometre at best, is to slam over a speed hump or pothole as fast as one’s bollocks can stand.
I wondered if this was a common fault on the R9 and if there is a known solution. I am thinking of introducing a large cat, preferably from a family of distinguished “ratters,” to the rear half of the bike in the hope that this solves the problem.
Best regards,
J
I believe that you should find a cat that is specifically not “distinguished” LOL. I think you’ve really stuck it to Ducati this morning as well. They’ll be reeling over this comparison all morning… not very nice, J. 😉
-H
I must say that some of the cats I’ve seen around Beijing look the furthest thing from distinguished.
-T
Is it sad to say that this ridiculous yet funny conversation is most likely going to be the highlight of my workday?
-H
I’ve missed these sorts of emails and conversations since we’ve left. We actually had one between the three of us the day I wrote this. I’ve made some pretty good friends here and certainly have had some more than entertaining moments—many of them on the ol’ R9.
I, myself, wanted a bike as well. A few months after Thomas purchased his, I went and got the bike that I deemed to be the coolest, cutest, most badass, most functional bike for myself. A Vespa. Haha. I kid, I kid, not a real Vespa, a Chinese fake Vespa, of course! Betty (my buttercup yellow “Vespa”) cost me a pretty penny. I kid, I kid, yet again. The bitch was dirt cheap. She ran me about USD 350. I love her, and I’ve missed her dearly since I left. Every time I hop on to get to work, I lose another piece of her. She’s been falling apart at the seams forever but is still totally kickin’ it. “Yes she can!” Tribe Called Quest reference (for you cool folk). And she does (insert wink here). Anyway, she is an electric bike, so I have no issues with gas or the cops, only distance. One of the best moments that Betty and I have shared together was when I was driving to work, and I noticed my throttle stopped working. No worries, it started again. “Wait, it stopped again while crossing the intersection at Yaojayuan. Oh shit. Going to brake. Wait, what? My left brake is now working as my throttle when engaged? Holy shit! Is this amazing or terrifying? Oh well, I can get to work at least.” This is the inner dialogue that became so stupidly normal but should not have been even remotely okay. Yes, I finally got it fixed.
These are the batshit crazy and totally insane ways we got around here. No one even bats that batshit crazy eye anymore. I can’t remember the last time I got into a taxi and thought to myself, “Shit, he’s going fast, too fast,” or, “Shit, he’s totally going to hit that car/person/tuk-tuk. Wait, brake, brake, BRAKE!” or, “Shit, we’re weaving, weaving too fast. This is crazy! I’m going to die! And in fucking Beijing!” Yeah, those thoughts and feelings were abolished from my body and brain approximately one month after my arrival. May we all be safe another day…
My Podcast!!!
Okay, it’s finally official! The first 3 episodes of my podcast, “One More Sip of Whine: Motherhood in the Raw,” are now available! Currently, my podcasts are available on Libsyn. Click HERE to bring you directly to the podcasts! Soon, they will also be available on iTunes, Google Play, and Stitcher! There are descriptions for each episode. My bilingual etc episode is my first one ever! Followed by druggies etc, and finally, fix or fuck etc. A variety of both educational and emotional, but always entertaining and funny! Let me know your thoughts! I’ll always take ideas and opinions, as they’ll be loads of growth throughout this podcasting journey. Ahhh!!! So exciting! -FGG
Red Alert (A parody of Adele’s “Hello”)
“Beijing issues red alerts when pollutants are forecast to push the air-quality index higher than 200 for at least four days, above 300 for two or more days or higher than 500 for 24 hours.” -CNN
Find the CNN article here. What that means is that schools, factories etc must shut down until the air clears.
Red Alert (A parody of Adele’s “Hello”) is something I wrote when I was still living in Beijing, China. The song had just been released, and I had these ridiculous lines about the Beijing smog that I had conjured up in my mind. So, I realized I needed to write them down. I have no idea how I decided to turn it into a parody of Adele’s “Hello,” but I did! And thus the birth of Red Alert. For those of you who aren’t familiar with China’s air, it is a very real problem. Beijing and other major cities are particularly effected by it. Everyday, I didn’t check the weather, I checked the AQI (air quality index) provided by the American Embassy. If it was over 200, as it often was, I wore a mask outside, and the children at my international school were not allowed to play outdoors. By the time I left Beijing, I had quite the collection of masks. Obviously, I had to turn them into a fashion accessory, duh! Our homes (expats) all had air purifiers in every room, as did the international schools. Sometimes, the sky was yellow in color, and there is NO mistaking the smell of bad pollution. It had an impact on my health as well. I think the highest I ever saw the AQI climb was 700+ (when the scale went that high). So fucking nuts!
I wrote an article about my exiting Beijing if you’re interested in more info. Click here to bring you directly to the link. Also, I wrote a very candid, raw, hopefully humorous, and foul-mouthed book about the difficulties I faced whilst living there. Of course I loved the shit out of it, however, there were SO MANY ridiculous and challenging aspects of life as an expat in Beijing, that I felt compelled to write a book about it! So I did. It is called, “Crazy China Shit.” Click here for the Amazon link. It will be available in paperback soon, too.
PS- Duh! Of course this is the video for this post! 😉
Red Alert Means Nothin’ Here (A parody of Adele’s “Hello”)
Hello, it’s me
I was hopin’ for some clean air
that I could use to breathe
For my lungs,
oh please
If you could rain and blow the wind
We’d really like the breeze
Expat friends, can ya hear me?
I’m in my mask dreamin’ of the days when I could see
The buildings out my window, oh please
I’ve forgotten how it felt when the air was fresh and clean
We need pollution gone forever,
or at least for today
Red Alert means nothin’ here!
All it does is instill fear!
My sister, and my mom, text me all the time,
“Oh my God! You Okay? Get outta that grime!”
If the AQI is far too high, six hundred in the freakin’ sky,
Maybe, our school, will close for the day,
stay at home, Facetime friends, and watch Youku in pj’s…
Oh yeah, mm-hmm
Hello, how are you?
It’s so typical of me to want the air so nice and clean
For my breathin’, oh yeah
The students need to leave the room
I need to feel fresh air
And it’s no secret that the both of us
Are running out of time
I know how it really feels,
You smell the air and it reveals,
That the sky is yellow, my lungs are at risk,
The children, stuck inside, and they’re makin’ me sick.
If they don’t get to go outside! I know I’m gonna lose my mind.
They’re cooped up everyday if it’s two hundred or more,
AQI, when can we, open our door?
To breathe clean?
Clean air
To breath clean?
Clean air
To breath clean?
Clean air
To breath clean?
To breath clean
I know from the outside, if the smog is stinkin’ then I’ll cry!
I’m sorry that we are, livin’ this way,
It’s a nightmare, that we, will have to stay.
Please wear your mask so tightly, you do not wanna breathe,
Toxic air that will harm you, you sit there and seethe, yellow smog, you astound me, oh why can’t you leave?
Carboholics Anonymous (CA)
Carboholics Anonymous (CA) – Confessions & 12 steps to recovery
1- Hi, my name is Heather, and I’m a carboholic. (Sweet relief! I’ve officially admitted my addiction out loud).
I call my sponsor daily with my insatiable cravings to dive mouth first into the nearest loaf of bread I can find.
2- God? Shit! I’m an atheist.
Okay, I can do this. I believe that Mother Nature doesn’t want me to have fat thighs and a bloated belly. I’ll serve you, dearest Mother.
3- Fuck. God, again? Not knockin’ it, but how does this work for me? Okay, back to Mother Nature.
I believe that you have the power to heal me of my sinful carb cravings. I am in control of what I shovel into my carb-loving grill. Dearest Mother, give me the strength to beat a bagel, tear up my toast, and punch a pasta in the fucking face! Yummm pasta, I mean, uuuuhhh, shit! That’ll give you an extra dimple and a thick thigh! Die, pasta, die!
4- Resentment!
I resent being raised on Italian food. Pasta, pasta, PASTA! All with bread and some watery zucchini for greens. Mom, I resent you for creating and enabling my addiction. I am now triggered every time I smell bread in the oven, pasta boiling on the stove, and rice in the cooker, all wafting directly into my carb-loving nose! I feel ashamed that I ate mykid’s pizza, I mean like shoveled it, machine-mouth style, with a case of the mega munchies. I told him his dad ate it. Bread! I want you SO badly! You’re such a tease! A wicked witchy woman! You’ve put your spell on me, and I can’t resist your scent, your warmth, your taste! Damn it! You’re such a bitch! But, I drool when in your beautiful presence.
5- I confess! There! I said it.
Okay, carbs not only taste guh-reat (writing this isn’t helping the cravings at all by the way) but they’re my comfort, my “safe space.” I could wrap myself up on a bed with a blanket of warm bread and feel like the angels above were showering me with safety and love. Then, I’d eat it all and, “Oh, the guilt! I’ve lost my comfort and caved into my craving! Sourdough, my dearest, sponsor! I need you – now!”
6- I’ll change! I’ll face my imperfections and shameful behaviors that led me down this wicked path to pasta and all things carb!
When I have 3 cocktails, I stick my head in the fridge and into a Tupperware of pasta. Think, “A Christmas Story.” Randy, his mom, “show me how the little piggies eat.” Yup. No words necessary. When “Aunt Flow” comes to town, I survive on homemade mac ’n’ cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For dessert? Yup! You guessed it! More mac ’n’ cheese. When I get in a fight with my husband, I envision myself whacking him, beating him, repeatedly on the head with a long, large loaf of almost stale French bread. When I’m done, to get rid of the evidence, the prints and weapon, I throw that bitch in the microwave and shove it down my throat leaving no crumb behind.
7- “Motherest” of all mothers in all the lands, moons, and solar systems above:
Dear Mother Nature, I ask of you to remove, erase, totally wipe out (like the fiercest of surfs), and release holy hell upon my addiction, my unhinged behavior, my unhealthy union with my biggest of loves — carbs. I surrender myself to you!
How arrogant I was to think that carbs would love me back as much as I had loved them! I gave them all of me, and in turn, for what? For tree trunks that walk, tires for my once svelte stomach, and an unhealthy, unforgiving, obsessive relationship.
8- Those I’ve harmed, hindered, and hated because my addiction got the best of me:
Little dude, every person I’ve ever dated (we’ll sum it up like that), my thighs, my parents.
9- Please, oh pretty, pretty, please! Forgive me!
To little dude: Sorry for face diving your pizza. To every person I ever dated: Sorry for the tweakin’ out, bitchin’ out, freakin’ out moments when I was jonesin’ — hard. I just needed a taste, a teeny, tiny little taste! To my thighs: Oh babes, I had you in tip-top shape. I am SOOO sorry for your slide into the depths of true chunkiness. Also, because I know how badly you want to be reunited with the beautiful, sexy, skinny ladies in the wardrobe upstairs. They’re missin’ you like crazy. To my parents: I apologize for all of the pasta, bread, and cans of beans I stole from your pantry when I was living in the city and was totally poor. I came home to raid. Once, I ate pasta with ranch dressing while sitting on the bathtub in the kitchen of my Manhattan apartment. All because I had no money and needed the comfort of my old friend, Spaghetti.
10- Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m right, but it’s allll good.
I might envision bombing the Safeway/Trader Joe parking lot, but I’ll keep it to myself, take a deep breath, and remember that it is I who is in control of my actions. I’ll keep the “fuck yous!” and kicking of car bumpers under wraps.
11- “Tommy, Can You Hear Me?”
I hear you, I feel you, I see you. I shall meditate to keep this roller coaster of a mind on its rightful path, or I’ll ride it so many times, I’ll puke. I won’t think of cream cheese caressing the outside of an everything bagel. I won’t think about a floppy slice of pizza dripping oil onto my watering tongue. I won’t think about slurping up spaghetti in the way that my mother admonished me for: “Never eat spaghetti on a date, it’s like you don’t know how to use a fork,” she said. I was 16. She was correct. No, no, no. I’ll simply think about unicorns, rainbows, David Boreanaz, and everything but the bagel.
12- Roll out the red carpet! I have seen the light!
Oh wait, that was just daybreak?
Back to step 1: Wash, rinse, repeat…
*Image found @: https://www.visionpt.com.au/studios/camberwell/articles/nutrition/nutrition-made-simple-carbohydrates
B is for Bath Time & Brandy
“B is for Bath Time & Brandy,” is a chapter from my book, One More Sip of Whine. I had sent my book to one agent, an incredibly dope and off the charts agent, and as expected, heard nothing. I went too big for sure. I thought, “go big or go home, right?” was a good first step. It was not. I’ve been thinking about sending it out into the world again – actually, I’ve just been too fucking lazy to do it – until I have been obsessing over this book, “Crushing It!” – in which I mentioned in my previous post. I have SO much that I want to do in order to shift my life, my career, in such a totally major way that I may just self-publish this. I’m wanting to focus on all of the other awesome odds and ends that I need to push forward and pursue in a very serious kind of way. If anyone has any thoughts on whether I should self-publish, please feel free to leave me a comment! Also, if you want to read more chapters from this book, click on the tab at the top of the screen that says, “my books.”
“B is for Bath Time & Brandy,” is a funny chapter about the hells of bathing and/or showering your little one in their first two years on this earth. If you’re a momma or dadster, and are reliving these painful memories as you read, I implore you, crack open a lil’ somethin’ – somethin’ to numb the vicious pains of such horrid memories. Cheers, to all the moms and dads suffering with the bath time blues. I hear ya… the struggle feels real. 😉
*image found on Google Images via sillybunt.com
B is for Bath Time & Brandy
I WAS IN NEW YORK VISITING MY MOTHER a little over a year ago, and she was constantly volunteering to give Greyson a bath. I was so baffled by this. Then, when I finally told her she didn’t have to feel obligated to take on this horrible nightly duty, she said, “I love giving the grandkids baths! I’ve always loved bathing babies!” (She’s had 5, yes 5 children by the way.) “Eh-hem, what? Are you some sort of masochist? Have you taken some happy pills today?” I did not say these words verbatim, however, I most certainly was thinking them. Kids are squirmy and slippery, hate to get their heads wet, require about 6 hands to safely and effectively get the job done, and throw water out of the tub, and I don’t know about you, but I feel as though I need some sort of back-y-otomy after this torturous ritual is through. Alas, this is not the job for me. As Greyson got older, I thought maybe popping him in the shower with me would not only be easier, but more time efficient, as well. This newfound idea was as fleeting as a fairy. It went down like this:
Shower #1: I tried to shave my legs. No room. Jumping toddler. Shaving cream missing from my leg. Child licked said shaving cream off of my leg, only to say, “Mmmm…yummy!”
Shower #2:
G: Mommy, you have a penis?
ME: No, Mommy has a vagina. Girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis.
Shower continues. I wash my hair and suddenly scream, shampoo streaming down my face and into my eye. My child has poked me with his finger right into my va-jay-jay while joyously laughing. “VAGINA!”
Shower #3: Greyson thought that jumping up and down, trying to “stomp Mommy,” was fun. This was not fun at all. In fact, it fucking hurt! Also, he decided that helping wash me and eating soap off of his hands was the new shower time fashion… Fuck showers.
Night #4: Back to the hellacious nightly bath time routine. Surely this is better than poking, prodding, and licking me in the shower.
I decided I needed something else, something with the ability to help me relax and let the bath time blues just roll off of my tightened shoulders, something with a bit of a kick, yet with a smile. Something smoother than my baby’s bottom but stronger than his screaming shrieks. Ah-ha! And this was the “ah-ha” moment of the week, of the month, in fact! This is when “B” was not only for bath time, but for brandy. Bath time with brandy… ahhhh… and bath times have never been so very, very sweet.
China Book Coming Soon!
Okay, so I’m even more excited about my China book making it out into the world than I was about my first e-cookbook! I started an outline of ridiculous stories that were happening to me and the people around me when I first moved to Beijing, China in 2011. This outline grew & grew over the five years that I was there. I finally began writing it my final year when I was alone with Greyson (my then newborn) every night. My husband was at work spending quiet time on his master’s so that he could change careers. Lots of craziness was going on and I needed an outlet. I thought it would be INSANELY difficult to put pen to paper and actually gather these thoughts, this outline, and try to form it into an actual book. Alas, it was not! It was word vomit spewing out of my mouth faster than my pen could move! I had never written a book before this and was surprised at how quickly and easily this process was moving along. It was f***ing awesome! I originally wrote it for my friends and family so that they could understand what expat life was truly like for me. It was impossible to share those stories when you had a 15 hour time difference and didn’t often have the opportunity to chat with people. When I did have a moment to talk with friends or family I wanted to tell the nicer stories, the shinier ones that were fun and exciting. I didn’t want to run through my daily horrors. That being said, this book, “Crazy China Sh**,” is about the insanity of being an expat in China. It’s told through my own personal lens and through stories from fellow expats as well. It’s foul-mouthed, funny, absurd, and almost unbelievable at times. Whether you plan on ever visiting or living abroad in such a place, it is a good read that will hopefully make you laugh out loud and appreciate the insanity of an expats life in China, or any other incredibly foreign place. Coming soon to Amazon! This book will be available in print, Kindle, and eventually, Audible as well. Woo-hoo! Here is a snippet to get you excited…
Chapter 1
ASININE ALICE
“Oh Alice, Alice, Alice.” This is a phrase I muttered on many occasions and on many days, often followed by many a stream of complete and utter verbal diarrhea. Alice was my welcome wagon upon arriving in Beijing. She continued to be this force of insanity in my life until she retired, two years ago. Judging by how quickly she went gray, from the day I met her until the day she left, I’d say it wasn’t a retirement as much as a timely retreat to save any ounce of sanity she had left. Okay, I feel badly about this introduction of Alice. She was, in fact, a very, very nice individual. However, as incredibly nice as she was, Alice was also incredibly inept and incompetent. (Incompetence will be a running theme in this book and quite possibly, or rather almost definitely, deserved an appearance in the title.) Alice’s job is to assist the foreign staff with their living needs. I’m not sure she ever read her job description.
Funny, my heart rate has literally just spiked whilst starting this chapter. This is a bad sign for my health and the future of this book. It could also be the fact that I’ve had two coffees, two oolong teas, and am on my second giant glass of red wine. No, no, we’ll go with the first of these two statements. Onwards.
When I was a teen, Go Ask Alice was one of my favorite books. I was tempted to name this chapter just that until I realized it would’ve read more like, “Go Ask Who? Are you f’ing insane?” or, “Great, just great! Like my problem wasn’t big enough already, now I have to go ask Alice?” and it would just have continued like this: “Instead of Alice having a serious problem with drugs, she had a serious problem with the most basic skill sets of her job.” The chapter title, “For F*** Sake, Alice!” would also be fitting.
Easy Vegan Mexican & Italian Inspired Food Cookbook
Easy Vegan Mexican & Italian Inspired Food Cookbook is my FIRST published e-cookbook! I wanted to thank everyone who has purchased it, and encourage you all to write me a review! If this is the first time you’re hearing about it, then check it out on Amazon for a mere $2.99! Every recipe comes with a music and drink pairing. The music is hyperlinked to send you directly to the YouTube video as well! You don’t need a Kindle to read it. The Kindle is a free download that will most likely automatically download on your device with purchase of the book. You can read it on any device! Let me know your thoughts in the comments as well. Remember, I now have Heyoya so you can leave me a voice comment, too. So cool! Hope you’re enjoying for those of you who have purchased my Easy Vegan Mexican & Italian Inspired Food Cookbook. Love, FGG
Sipping My Way to Sanity
Cheers to all you mamas out there who just might be, “Sipping Your Way to Sanity.” Here’s to those who’ve had a killer day at work and came back to a tantrum. To those who’ve tried to leave their house an hour earlier but were busy wrangling the herd. To those who have wanted to basically stick their fingers in their ears, scream “LALALALALAAAAA” and pretend, for a mere moment in time, a blip in reality, that they never had children. This post, my fellow mamas, is for you…
Sipping My Way to Sanity
THERE IS LITTLE MEDINCINE that cures the insane to sane, the child shrieking shouts to child chill-outs, the husband headaches to husband halos. Little in the way of help for such abhorrent ailments. You can’t yell, can’t pray, can’t plead your way to the sanity Gods and Goddesses. When nothing else seems to work, and you feel defeated yet again, this simple solution might find you well: I’ve come to realize that you can most certainly, and should surely, start sipping your way to sanity. This is a skill in which I’ve become quite adept.
Sip, slurp, “Sure!”
Sip, slurp, “What?! No problem!”
Sip, slurp, “Spilt milk? Who cares!”
If I had a prescription pad it would read:
“One glass of wine per hour. Not to exceed one bottle per day.”
And, that would be my doctor’s handwriting. Barely legible, but kinda cute. (Side note: WordPress won’t allow me to keep my original and adorable font). An unnecessary point that I thought I’d share.
The problem with this is that we shouldn’t be drinking a bottle of wine per day. I wish that were an acceptable thing to do and that I wouldn’t be a shit teacher, colleague, and mom if I opted to imbibe daily in such a fashion. In fact, I wish that style was in fashion! I’d rock the shit out of it! Quick! Someone get Gucci into the wine making industry! I think this would make the winos of the world look more acceptable. Though, I think my face would get fat, my liver further damaged (four years of college plus about ten more because my mind never left that ‘university of booze’), and I’d most likely stop going to the gym (God bless Zumba classes and treadmills with TVs), and in turn gain an additional thigh, which Lord knows I most certainly can’t afford to gain. I sometimes pretend there is a parallel universe where all of the “no, you shouldn’t-s” are “yes, you should-s” and vice versa. Yes, I could see myself in a perfectly pretty place like that.
I had a crazy day at work last week. My students were fucking mental, and getting ready for multiple concerts makes my anxiety soar through the roof. You’d never know it by looking at me but I truly detest the weeks leading up to performances. The day itself? Totally cool as shit. Ugh. I came home and G-man was sick and in quite a mood, it was raining hard, again (note-to-self, this is what makes Oregon so beautiful so I should forgive Mother Nature…again), and I totally forgot to go to the store for food. What’s worse? I. Was out. Of wine! How could I have let this happen?! Someone upstairs must hate me today (rule of thumb for mothers: place blame elsewhere…always). So, instead of going to get food, I plopped my kiddo in the stroller, walked with the speed of light to the wine store next door (yes, next door- a blessing or curse in disguise… you decide) and voila! Bought myself a sultry and too expensive beautiful bottle of Pinot Noir. Oh, yes, I did. “Food? Pshhh… I’ll throw some things in a pan!” “Crying baby? Double ppshh! I’ll turn on the tube while I throw things in a pan.’ “Students and looming dark concert cloud following my sanity to hell? Triple pshhh! I’ll drink that shit away!” I confess, those are the days where I very well might have the entire bottle of wine. Plus, that shit spoils if you leave it overnight, right? (wink)
In reality, at the end of the day, all is forgiven. When my little man tells me, “Mommy, Ms. J (his nanny) doesn’t have eyeballs,” or “When I get older I’ll have a vagina then, okay?” or “Mommy, you need lemon for the hummus. You don’t know?” After he had gotten me all of the hummus ingredients without me reminding him, and I had actually forgotten the lemon. What a precious piece of pie. He’s my main squeeze, and it is he who is truly my best medicine.
One More Sip of Whine
A holiday gift to yours truly was to get a move on with my book, “One More Sip of Whine.” It’s a book comprised of short stories about my adventure thus far, as a mother. It’s raw, real, honest, foul-mouthed, and I hope, hilarious. *Side note: As I write this, I am at a ‘child play land venue’ downtown Portland. Why do I love it? My child is amongst the other batshit crazy kiddos in what looks like a cage in a kiddie jungle, as I sit and type this with a glass of pinot grigio. Bless the man or woman who created this space. I think I’m in love with you… *Back to business: I’ve previously shared a few of my chapters (each short story is a chapter) with you all and thought that I’d share the beginning of the book: My introduction, and the shortest and very first chapter of my book, “Dear Abby.” I’m SO excited that my book has been through its beta readers and is now in the editing process! Do I realize the harsh reality of getting a book published? I think I do. I’m totally stoked about it anyway and am proud of myself for attempting to move in this direction!
I wrote another book about my experience as an expat in Beijing, China that I will self-publish when this current book is all said and done. It’s called, “Crazy China Sh#% (Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? I do).” This book was written to better explain to my friends and family what my life was truly like on a daily basis whilst living in such a foreign place. I’ve just started 2 new books as well. My first ever, to be self-published, e-cookbook AND a book that details Greyson’s life as a 3 year old, month-by-month. Writing is my therapy and a place that lets me escape and relax, a comfy pocket of my life to retreat to. That being said, I love cooking & eating food just as much, hence this blog! And, I did name it foodgalleygab… let us not forget the ‘gab’ portion of this space and place! I’d love to hear your opinions on my intro and first chapter, or opinions on any of the other 3 chapters that I’ve previously posted. Many thanks and I hope you enjoy this crazy book journey with me, as I’ll post the whole process as it happens. Happy Saturday!
“One More Sip of Whine”
Introduction
I NEVER THOUGHT I’D BE WRITING this book because no one could’ve ever prepared me for the absolute insane and yet, insanely wonderful ins and outs of motherhood. There are no words, however, I’ve tried to use many in this book to describe to you my experiences. Did I ever expect that a little person would be poking me in the vajajay and screaming “vagiiinnnaaa!” Or shouting like a madman “I’m crazy, mommy! I’m so many women!” Excuse me? No, I absolutely did not expect this to be my life. It’s a totally and completely, crazy and fucked up ride. I’m not going to preach to you about the latest studies in child rearing because I’m making my own up as I go. Unless, of course, the study states something that I’m already doing right, in that case, I win. Killin’ it as a mama. I have no idea why I thought when I became a mother I’d be in the elite five percent of motherhood. I’ve been knocked off that pedestal… hard. Those elite moms are often what I will refer to as the ‘mother shamers’ in this book. Also, it’s a code name for ‘not taking responsibility and feeling totally okay about my batshit crazy child rearing ways.’ I’ll get all real on ya at times and explain the seriousness of some of my struggles, but the rest? Well, that’s just a comical twist on the fact that bringing a kid into this world challenges every last sane and sleep deprived bone in your body. And, that sometimes, I think a glass of wine is the best medicine for almost all child related ailments (for you of course, not your child, I’m not that much of an asshole).
It’s the moments when your kid escapes the shower wearing his underwear on the top of his head while shouting “I’m so cute!” And, now you’re running late to a birthday party only to notice you failed to put mascara on both eyes after you’re miles away from home, but your new philosophy since becoming a mom has become “fuck it!” To virtually every facet of your life. Phew! Words to live by. When the word ‘sex’ is something you think you remember from your college years, and the word ‘poop’ is something you use in almost every sentence. When you think the world is over because your child might not be going to Princeton, when in fact, he has yet to begin preschool, and you’ve not figured out why all the mother shamers got on that shit while their kid was still in utero. Yes, it’s all of these beautiful moments that at the end of the day, make your life so totally weird and nuts but somehow, makes it the best life you’ve ever lived.
My lil’ man is the coolest little shit on the block. His name is Greyson and he rocks at life. He was born in Beijing, China because I was working there at the time and I think that makes him even more rad. He is bilingual and bad ass and I love him more than Brad Pitt. G is the reason my world spins so crooked but so right. My husband, bless his Scottish heart, deals with our shit daily and I think is entertained by our unpredictable ways. And this, folks, is my life.
DEAR ABBY
DEAR ABBY:
I’m a total mess! I’ve screwed up and this mistake can’t be taken back. I’m losing my shit and it all began with me getting stupid drunk in Shanghai on Valentine’s Day almost three years ago. I mean, I could barely see straight kinda drunk. Weeks later, I found out I had done it; I’d gone and gotten myself good and knocked up. Fast forwarding, I now have this little baby… fast forwarding some more, I now have this little toddler… and his dad, my husband. My boobs have never felt the same and I barely breast fed (which I cried about daily for 6 months and am pretty sure I’ve been added to the Motherhood of Shame list. You don’t believe me? I assure you, it’s real. It’s a secret, or really, not so secret society of mother ‘shamers’), I’m developing cellulite overnight, my baby hair is coming in at a rapid rate and I regularly look like Alfalfa, my husband tells me I’m sexy and I tell him to ‘shut up’ because we both know that’s a big fat lie, and I’ve ignored my friends for approximately two years now guaranteeing me little return in the friendship department. I love my child but I think I love my brandy and wine almost as much. I thought I was a tiger mom but now I think I may be the most underachieving mother and wife who’s ever lived; and guess what, I’m TOTALLY okay with that! What’s wrong with me?! Am I going to hell in a hand basket with an empty bottle of booze?! Surely, the Devil knows this is my worst fate, and I will, therefore, receive just that. What can I do to score some sweet points with the Mother Goddesses? I’m a good person, I swear! Wait, I don’t think I’m supposed to swear. See! I don’t even know the rules of this sick and twisted game they’re calling “motherhood.” Help me, Abby! Help!
-MOMMIE DEAREST
DEAR MOMMIE DEAREST:
Has it occurred to you that you may be affecting your husband’s self-confidence and possibly giving your child a litany of bad examples with your love affair of alcohol and general disregard for the people in your life? You say you’re a ‘good person’ but this may not be the side of yourself that you’re letting your child, husband, and friends see or get to know. I’m not advocating for ‘tiger mom’s’, however, I do not think accepting failure is the alternative you should take. Perhaps reflect on the impact of your actions to others and to yourself, and then slowly make positive changes like thanking your husband and spending quality time playing with your child; pick up the phone occasionally to check-in on your friends to maintain or rebuild your relationships.
*FOUND ON GOOGLE IMAGES FROM CAFE MOM
Dear Santa Baby
Dear Santa Baby is a post of two letters that I’ve written to “Santa.” My mother always asks me what I want for Christmas via email and I always respond with a list, and then a fictitious letter to the jolly old dude. If you don’t want insight into my ‘interesting’ sense of humor, workings of my odd brain, if you’re easily offended, or don’t think life is funny and meant to be laughed at, stop reading now and just continue to follow my blog for the good eats. 😉 I mean, my true wishes? To be a blogger full time, to publish an amazing cookbook with a bonafide publisher. For my book, “One More Sip of Whine,” to hit the ground running and find an incredible publisher to work with, and, of course, to find a magic skinny and happy pill. One that puts me in both of those states permanently. Hehe… seriously though, those are my magical wishes.
My first Santa letter is the one that I’ve just written to my momma, and the second letter is one that I randomly just found from 2008! Enjoy, and I hope you still come back to my blog for more of me and my grub. Happy holidays friends and followers! MWAH! XO
Dear Santa Baby,
This year’s been a rough one, sir. New house, new three-nager, the ol’ ball n’ chain, and of course, the turds and turdettes that I teach daily. I know, I know, I can feel your tears for me now, and I knew you’d understand. This being said, I think I’ve been an extra good girl this year, as I’ve endured the wrath of ‘poverty’ (house poor), politics (Trump-o-la), and pain (I have a hus-child, ya know). What more can a girl go through before the good people of the Lotto decide that my good reward should come now, this very year, this very Christmas, and be GRANNNDDDD.
A few things: My closet and all of its glorious inhabitants have been suffering from a severe lack of vitamin D, as I’ve gotten fat and can’t wear those goods in the outdoor venue in which they are so deserving of. Also, I live in OR so naturally, my skin is suffering from the same lack of vitamin D. This all being said, I would like the following 2 things from you:
1- A magic skinny pill so that I can eat everything I want and still maintain the svelte figure of Giselle Bundchen. Thanks
2- A trip to Bora Bora for some well-needed sunshine, sanity, and surf
A Series of Poems on Motherhood
Dear Moms (and Dads),
Here is a snippet from my upcoming book, “One More Sip of Whine.” It is 5 different styles of poems – mostly humorous. #3 is my particular fave. I have no doubt that you can relate! Parenthood is the craziest hood you’ll ever roll through. My goal was to express that in 5 short poems. I’d love your opinions before the editing of the book is completed so please leave comments! Enjoy the read!
Some Mothering Poems to You, From Me
1- Roses Are Black
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Someone took over your life that was you.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Your days are now filled with pee pee and poo.
Roses are black, violets are dead,
Deep down you must know you are out of your head.
2- A Haiku of Truth
Like thunder, their roar
Rain, your tears that start to pour
Scream, shriek, more, more, MORE!
3- A Tangled Slew of Rhyming Words
Shitting, pissing, screaming, unfit
Mommy shouting daddy “fuck it!”
Penis, ‘gina, keep your hands off!
Headaches, hormones, “need a wet cloth!”
Dolls that make shit tons of noise,
Oops! Mom broke those talking toys!
What the fuck was one and done?
I should’ve said “boy run or none!”
Thomas, Blippi, Tayo, Poli,
Oops! Mom ‘broke’ the fucking TV!
I want, I want, I want, MOMMY!
I give, I give, MY SANITY!
Hitter, biter, licker, kicker
Bruises, scratches, ice packs, LIQUOR!
Try to cook and then relax,
Mama needs her pills, XANAX!
Knock it over, pick it up!
Someone needs a bigger cup!
Tissues, boogers, burps, and farts,
Legos missing favorite parts,
Bath/story/bedtime blues,
Redundancy turns into booze,
I do not want green eggs and ham!
Shove it, be a fuckin’ man!
Brush your own teeth! Go to bed!
Where is my mind, I’ve lost my head…
4- A Cozy Couplet
Baby brewing in the womb
Sanity is leaving soon
5- Acrostic Poem for Dummies
Brainless act in Shanghai
Aspire for perfection – fail and sigh
Body shaming boobies – Buh-bye!
Your youth is gone – a new one – arise
*Found on Google images via PopSugar @ popsugar.com
Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches
Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches is a post from my up and coming book, “One More Sip of Whine.” It is a humorous tale of my experience in motherhood thus far. Crude, raw, honest, crass, foul mouthed in nature sums up this book. It will be released this summer on Amazon Kindle. Enjoy the chapter and keep a look out for the release! I will post on my blog when that date has arrived. Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Thanks!
Xanax & Xylophones/Husbands & Headaches
NOISE. HEADACHE. CHILD. HUSBAND. Noise. Headache. Child. Husband… and the cycle continues. It’s Groundhog’s day here at the Rugile/Burns household but I’m not getting paid Murray style moola for this gig. Through my long and winding road that I’ve travelled, where did I fail to turn towards the path of enlightenment? Maybe I should consider embracing Buddhism. I do love those bald and fat bellied statues, especially in my garden. Also, I think I could really get down with meditation, or at least the music, especially when coupled with a sweet massage. Lastly, I freakin’ love Thailand and any excuse to go back there is a good one.
I am sure I’ll mention this many times; I am a music teacher. Colleagues come into my classroom regularly and ask me how I cope with all of the incredible noise. To which I retort, “what noise? Oh, that? I’ve stopped hearing those sounds years ago.” I say this coupled with a ‘pish-posh-like’ flick of the hair and slight ‘tude. I don’t hear the children, their instruments, their exuberant yelps, dog like whines, cat clawing arguments etc. It’s not that I don’t give a crap, I have simply learned to block them out. I could never do this job if I heard every last itty bitty freakin’ bang, crash, or curse. I’d go “bleepin’” mental. However, when I am home, I hear everything. I hear lil’ G’s adorable laughter and Thomas’ (my husband) silly toddler voices and then… screech! The sound of a record going tits up and my ears and brain begin to bleed. Once the bleeding starts, it’s almost impossible to stop. In fact, I sometimes begin hemorrhaging. And then, once again, all of the mother shamers swim up, thirsty, ready to chew me to shreds. They can smell me from a million miles away. “There she goes again, ruining her child… again…” However, I should really say, “There she goes again, ruining her children… again…” Remember, I, too, am a wife, which means, I have a ‘huschild’. It goes a lil’ somethin’ like this: The banging of the metal xylophone (the loudest instrument on earth- thanks Gymboree), throw in the tambourine (Thomas’ go-to and most favorite musical toy- ‘bleep’ me), screaming, add some ‘singing’; “Danny Boy,” with some interesting lyrics and about 5 different key changes in one phrase, kill my musical ears now, Sky news (Thomas is Scottish) blaring from the television in the background, the sound of my somewhat broken drier banging harder than a whore and her pimp on a headboard, and then, right when my brain is about to spontaneously combust, someone decides now is a really great time to throw in the lovely timbre of the recorder, but not before shot-putting a couple of drum sticks in my general direction. I love my life, I love my life, I love my life, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can… Mommy needs a Xanax, ‘children’.
Now, every time, okay, almost every time I see/hear my munchkin doing/saying something that is fairly questionable I ask myself this, “What would Xanax Heather do?” and, voila! I have my answer!
Heather: “Sh**, should he be standing on the countertop that close to the edge?”
Xanax Heather: “‘Bleep’ it! He’s allllll gooood.!”
So, I go with the latter.
Heather: “Two pancakes. Greyson, mommy said only two pancakes!”
Xanax Heather: “‘Bleep’ it! Have three. No, ‘bleep’ that, have ten!” … “Let them eat cake! Let them alllll eat cake! Mwahahahahahahahaaaaaa!”
So, again, I go with the latter. Once adopting this new and glorious frame of mind, this adorable and insane new philosophy, I find myself breathing easier and needing “one less sip of whine.” Catch my drift? Good.
*A cleaned up version of a chapter in my upcoming book, “One More Sip of Whine,” which will be published on Amazon Kindle this summer. Tales of motherhood told through a raw, crude, foul mouthed, and humorous lens.
*Image from Dreamstime
https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-illustration-overwhelmed-mother-woman-messy-room-illustration-background-image53592840
-Written by,
Heather Rugile
