Asparagus and Other Mean Vegetables

If you're an asparagus lover like me, you totally know where I'm going with this. If you're not, then prepare yourself for some incredible information you cannot live without.
Asparagus makes your pee smell weird. And by "weird", I mean weeeeeiiiiirrrrd! Seriously. I can go pee 12 hours after I've eaten Asparagus, and be like, "Oh ya.. funny. I totally forgot I ate Asparagus yesterday! Thanks for the reminder, weird pee!"  And then I give myself a mental pat on the back for choosing to eat so healthy the day before and think, "Oh HELL ya, I'm totally gonna be back to a size 3 tomorrow!" as I reach for the bathroom spray.
And corn.. sheesh.. don't even get me started on corn. Asparagus is so much classier than corn. Asparagus reminds you that you've eaten it with a slight (okay.. not SO slight) scent.. where as corn shows right back up in your poop and says, "Hello!!! I'm here! Remember me??? You ate me today.. and I just wanted to come back and say, 'Great job, You!' You're such a great eater!"
And broccoli... oh boy... It's a completely different story with broccoli. At least Asparagus and Corn remind YOU that you ate them... but Broccoli lets EVERYONE within a 3 miles radius know you've eaten it. You'll be in the middle of a conversation and "PPPFFFTTTTT"!!! Woopsy... a broccoli fart sneaks out unexpectedly, and the gas begins to rise, along with the color in your cheeks (your facial cheeks that is)... and strangers, and your mother with look at you with disgust and think, "Oh, for the love of God... she ate broccoli today". But the friends and family who love you just brush it off and say, "Oh broccoli! What a good job you're doing on that diet of yours!! You'll be in those size 3, skinny jeans in NO time!".. because those friends and family members are just as fucked up as you are.
Onions are another one... Eat an onion, and you'll smell like you just worked out for an hour in an, ummm, onion field. Seriously. Why, oh why must Onions smell like B.O.??  I totally think that's just Mother Nature's way of saying, "Here's something that will taste great on your burger! But you're totally gonna pay for it when you have no friends who will stand within 40 yards of you! Ha Ha Asshole! Here's some garlic too."
Why can't these veggies take a hint from Carrots? Carrots are the shit! They make you able to see in the dark like a ninja. How friggin' awesome is that? "Oh, I gotta go stalk the ex tonight while he sleeps.. but my little flashlight is out of batteries.. and I can't go buy more, because everyone at Walmart will know I ate broccoli today." No problem! Just eat a carrot, and you'll be a super, night-vision-enabled, ninja-stalker in 2 hours!
Then of course there's Milk. (Yes, I know Milk is not a vegetable. What are you? The friggin' Veggie Police?) God bless lactose intolerant people. Oh sure, they can eat ice cream... but they'll suffer with the Hershey Squirts for the next 3 hours... I'm not quite sure Rockey Road is worth that much toilet paper and hemorrhoids. Just sayin'.
My point??? Watch what you eat, People. Those veggies might look delicious. They might get you into that size 3 outfit you bought at the Neon Light Place with the XXX's in the windows... but lets face it. You ain't gonna be looking too sexy coming out of the bathroom that smells like asparagus pee, farting broccoli farts as you lay down on the bed smelling like onion B.O.
Be careful my friends.  Those veggies are sneaky mofos!

Here's to your health!

I Used To Be a Sex Goddess

When I met my husband, I was a size 3. Long hair, teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy jeans, with a butt you could bounce a quarter off of (Yes, I actually tried it, and that sucker totally bounced off my butt... Ok. No, I didn't actually try, but I'm pretty sure if I were a contortionist, and I could have figured out a way to bounce a quarter off of my own ass, it totally would have bounced up to the ceiling. My butt was THAT firm).
I was 29, I had finally "found myself" and I was confident in a, "I-like-who-I-am-even-though-I'm-not-perfect" kind of way... not in a, "my-poop-doesn't-stink" kind of way... because lets face it.. so matter how pretty or perfect you are, your poop still stinks. Unless you're Charlize Theron... cuz I'm 99% sure her poop probably comes out smelling like fresh roses on a beautiful summer day.
Where was I?? Oh, yes. Quarters bouncing, confidence, and me being a sex goddess...
So, I was teeny, tiny.. which of course means I could fit into cute outfits.  And by "cute outfits", of course I mean the outfits you can only purchase in the buildings out in the boonies, with the neon pink and orange lights and "XXX" plastered all over the windows.
I'll call my husband "Steve" to protect his innocence, because of course, his name really IS "Steve"...  "Protect his innocence???" Really people, who do you think picked out these "cute outfits"?!? Innocence?? My cute, quarter bouncing, butt!
Anyway, Steve would come home from work, and I'd surprise him in a cute little "school girl" outfit I bought at the neon light place, with that look in my eye that says,  "Come and get it,"  and attack him as soon as he came in the door. I won't get into too many details because I'm a LADY, dammit!.. Lets just say, there are a LOT of rooms in the house, and we were a "no-stone-goes-unturned" type of couple. Kind of like an equal opportunity thing. We don't discriminate. Big fancy bedroom, dirty kitchen counter, bathroom... I mean, seriously...Why not show the bathroom a little love?? Honestly, that poor room gets no appreciation. It's a very important room, people! Think about it... You can sleep anywhere, you can eat at a restaurant, you can watch TV in every room in the house.. No one wants to spend time in the bathroom. Show your bathroom some love, people! And by "show" I mean SHOW.
Damn, I lost my train of thought again...
Oh ya.. Lots of lovin'. Unrushed-Uninterrupted,Shoes-in one-room, sexy-outfit-scattered-all-around-the house, I'm-so-sexy,-I-can't-take-it, kind of sex. SEVEN DAYS A WEEK!
You get the idea.

Fast forward 4 years.

I'm a size 7, ok, ok, sometimes 9. My hair is still long, in that, "did-I-brush-my-hair?-Forget-it.-Where's-my pony-tail-holder?" kind of way. My teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy jeans are under the bed somewhere; Where they have been for 4 years and 2 months, (my son is four, do the math) where they're praying to be worn again.. but I know they're starting to realize that's probably not gonna happen, like, EVER... And the only thing bouncing off of my butt is my four year old when he decides I'm Bullseye, and he's Woody.
When Steve gets home from work, my hair is a mess, my makeup has been rubbed off for hours, I'm in whatever clothes fit that day, and I'm sitting in the middle of the living room floor (where a tornado the meteorologists apparently forgot to forecast, came through)  playing "pirates"  with Noah (who's name has also NOT been changed.. because he's four, and he's just like his dad, so I'm pretty sure he won't be too innocent either) with a look in my eye that says, "Shit, I gotta make dinner now???"
However, just like the old days, I still have an "outfit" that lets him know when I'm in "the mood". It's a ratty, blue, baseball jersey with the sleeves cut off. If I come out of my nightly bath with "the shirt" on with a look in my eye that says, "Put that kid to bed now, or you're never getting laid again, and when I say "NEVER" I mean like, NEVER. I'm serious, you have 5 MINUTES before I change into sweatpants and forget the whole thing, so get moving!".. he's knows it's ON.

Moral of the story??? I'm STILL a sex goddess. Because, lets face it... I'm married, I'm the mother of a four year old, I work 937 hours a week, I'm exhausted at the end of the day, and even though I might not be a super model anymore (ok, ok, I'm 5'3".. I was NEVER a super model)... my husband still finds me sexy as hell in a blue cut up shirt... And when that "you're never getting laid again unless our kid is sleeping in 4.3 minutes" look is in my eyes.. he returns it with a look of his own that says, "Oh hell ya, I'll be back in 2!"

Right on Red

I was driving around today, as usual, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a memory came to me; My Dad teaching me how to drive.
I have no idea why it popped into my head, but I laughed (and winced) as I remembered the day he "taught" me about "going right on red".
(In the words of Sofia Patrillo).. PICTURE IT: Sometime back in 1994.  My dad and I in our Ford Crown Victoria Station Wagon (You know the one... With the awesome fake wood panel all the way down the sides).. Me, behind the wheel, driving inside one of the plazas in Canandaigua, while Dad talks to me about the "rules of the road".  As we approach a light that will bring us onto 5 and 20 (for those of you who are not familiar, it is the main route that runs thru most of Upstate New York), my Dad casually says, "Now, remember, you can go right on red".... so, as I approach the RED light, I turn on my blinker, and continue to drive, without stepping on the brake, without looking at the traffic, and GO RIGHT ON RED...
I never slowed down.  I never looked at oncoming traffic.  I just "went right on red" like my dad told me I could do.  I was so proud.
I have absolutely NO idea how we didn't get killed that day.  And after we DID survive, I have absolutely no idea how my father didn't have a heart attack.  And after we survived, and he DIDN'T have a heart attack, I have absolutely no idea how he didn't KILL me for having such a stupid moment.
I don't remember his FULL reaction.  I just remember him saying something about how you need to STOP at a red light before you can "turn right on red".   Ohhhhh. "TURN" right on red.  Not "GO" right on red.
Got it.

To be two again...

Just for a day.
I'd love to wake up and go straight to the couch in my pj's.  I'd sit there for as long as I wanted, watching cartoons, and eating cheerios out of the box.
I have to admit, it'd be kind of fun to have everyone play the games I wanted to play, for as long as I wanted to play them.
I wouldn't mind if complete strangers smiled at me wherever I went.  Shoot.. they could even pat me on the head and call me adorable if they wanted to.
It would be great to be hugged a hundred times, or to be praised all day long for tiny accomplishments.
I'd just about give my left arm to end every meal (that I didn't have to cook) with an Oreo cookie (or 2)... And speaking of meals... I wouldn't mind eating Kraft Mac and Cheese (for lunch AND dinner) without having to use my own child as an excuse to do so.
And at the end of the day, I'd have someone tuck me in, tell me how much they love me, and stroke my hair until I feel asleep.
Ya.  I think I could handle a day like that.