Gorillabuns

5 dresses

Rich rented "27 dresses" last night for my lazy and bloated viewing  pleasure. Actually, I requested him to find the movie and to not return until he had it firmly embedded in his hot little hand. For some ungodly reason, I was in the mood for a chick-flick. Be assured, this is an uncommon occurrence and I blame the hormones for such a weakness in my character.

Honestly, I have to admit - I liked the flick. I liked it because I HAVE BEEN the person who pleased the bride-to-be before, during and after their wedding. Helping them plan their events, pick out a wedding dress, hold their dress out of the commode while they peed, toasting to their "good fortune," drinking all their free alcohol and running from the sling-shot bouquet toss when the humiliating "single ladies" round-up occurred (this situation was where I would draw the line in aiding and supporting.)

I helped every prospective bride because I was secretly in love with weddings just like the main character in the movie and sadly - in love with being in love (Let us not discuss my lack of stable relationships during most of the weddings I gracedattended.)

After the credits started rolling across the screen, I thought back to the good, the bad and the down-right ugly in bridesmaid's dresses I had worn in the past. While I think I've been in more than 5 weddings, I could only muster up 5 pictures of proof. You know you want to see them. I won't even make you beg.

Let's start with the first wedding that pretty much ruined me for all wedding in the future (including my own.)

Here I am, a spry twenty-two, virgin eyebrow plucking college Senior. The black velvet bridesmaid's dress was from Victoria's Secret and bordered on new and crazy for a bridesmaid in 1991. The black velvet part that is. This event would happen to be the only time in my life in which I wore a size 4 (I blame the drastic diet of wisdom teeth extraction for such an awesome feat.) This was the only wedding in which I did not have to pay a cent for the privilege of being a bridesmaid.

I quickly learned, this windfall of good fortune is not always the case during subsequent weddings.

The next wedding occurred in July 1993. 

God love you Tiffany (and I really do) but burgundy velvet and shiny taffeta are not a winning combination during the hottest day of July in Oklahoma. I do believe I lost around 10lbs during the 30 minute ceremony and strangely enough, my fresh and thick matte makeup failed to drip and run during such climate issues and equally held up during hysterical tears. The tears were not for the bride and her moment but for my boyfriend who was not in attendance to walk me down the aisle. The ass-wipe of a boyfriend would happen to be Rich who just so happened to be enjoying his sweet self on a second tour of duty in Alaska. Fishing. I chose to stay in Oklahoma, graduate and attend this wedding. Alone.

Note to self: Less is more in the eyebrow powder department.

Third? Who is to say when this wedding occurred but I think it was in December of 2004 (and why yes, this IS a picture of a picture. This would explain the tilted vision of loveliness.)

I happened to be encased in a lovely Emerald green velvet dress in which the shear weight of this beauty hindered and obstructed my drunk free-falling ass down a large hill. This was the night of many firsts. Two-steppin' it to country music, promises of free trips to Paris the next month by willing suitors, the almost puking into a Poinsettia wrapper instead of the Poinsettia owner's nice Mercedes followed by my locking the bathroom door, puking and then passing out at a wedding after party - which happened to be the Poinsettia owner's beautiful three story home. The most horrifying event of all? I was forced to sleep in a Garth Brooks t-shirt after the bathroom door had been successfully picked open by the hostess. A subsequently lengthy and long discussion arose over my modesty and my inability to willingly don on the offensive t-shirt. Sadly, the hostess won the argument. Strange enough, I was invited to parties at this residence for years to come however, I did have to promise to not lock any doors during my visits.

The next wedding? I was single. Rich and I weren't dating and I was semi-newly heartbroken over another idiot with whom I had been engaged to earlier that year.

(I know you're wondering why I had to take another picture of a picture instead of scanning this beaut. The answer is? I'm totally lazy..... and an inept photographer.)

This dress was purchased for me without my measurements taken into account. Free? I'll take it! and not look in the mirror and hide behind bouquets. Don't worry about me......Really..... As you can see, I pretty much drank my way through the reception to ease the pain and suffering of having a dress fit too tightly around the hip/saddle baggage action.

Note to self: celery green looks like shit on me. Never wear it again.

2002 - a.k.a. too old to be a bridesmaid or matron of honor- p.s.s. done with the whole attendant gig: Pregnant with Celia and I do believe fresh from the bathroom from either crying or puking my bloated guts up. Notice the awesome BIG boning in the strapless unshapely bodice? Notice the 20 yards of red taffeta bunched unsuccessfully under the bodice? Notice how hugely HUGE I am while pregnant? Note this was the only wedding I have attended sober. I guess one out of fifty isn't so bad.

This would conclude my walk down bridesmaid lane. I thought I would throw in a picture of my bridesmaid's dresses from my own wedding in May of 2000.

These two piece dresses were hand-sewn with love by my sweet little arthritic Grandmother - laced with promises of the ability to wear the skirt again -topped with a nice cardigan and pearls whispered in skeptical ears. Yep, I was a total cliche. I seemingly uttered the same corny line I had been diligently fed throughout my wedding attendant years while knowing full well - bridesmaids never want to wear this shit again.

I miss my nightly cocktails

Everyday - all day - I run to the bathroom to make sure everything is status quo. Everything being, am I still pregnant? As prior pregnancies go, I am directly on pace to being the slightly neurotic old self by carrying around feminine hygiene products for unexpected issues. I have procured and used around 7 (who am I kidding, I've probably used more) pregnancy tests to further quell my doubting nature. While I need to chill the hell out, I don't seem to be able to do so. What I wouldn't do for a Xanax or a mixed drink right about now.

I promise - I'll relax when I see something more tangible like a heartbeat or an actual baby.

Issues that are currently threatening my sanity and quality of life a.k.a. health?

a) Tornado warnings and sightings just down the street from me. Oh, how I love Oklahoma.

b) Sharing a birthday party with one of Celia's classmates with the end result? Me resisting the urge to drop-kick the co-birthday mother. Either I share TOO well or she's a nut-case (census of school mothers state for the record, she's crazy!) who quibbles over bags of ice when I don't charge her for pinatas, candy, plastic ware, balloons and my psychiatric bill. I am trying to hold my tongue because I really don't want to birth no baby in prison.

c) A mother of a kid who WAS invited to the above party but somehow DID NOT get the note or in her case invitation. She has let everyone in the general vicinity know her feelings were hurt even though she/her kid was invited. Note to self: Be sure to safety-pin invitations and/or correspondence to the backs of the invited kids. This approach should solve any future problems.

d) I have 300 wedding invitations I am supposed to be performing my awesome calligraphy talents on so ask me, how many have I completed in a little over a week? The correct answer would be 20. Chances are this project will not be completed in time for the May 15th deadline. Go me!

Have I mentioned how much I miss my frequent cocktails? If not. I do. Bunches.

 

The fifth day of the fifth month of your fifth year

Five years ago today, I was beached on a hospital bed awaiting your arrival. Several unsuccessful attempts to bring you into this world, failed. Quite honestly, my body failed. It failed to blast you out of the mine of comfort and warmth but these doctors knew how to fix the problem. They doped me up, hogged-tied me and Voila! You were shockingly delivered into the arms neck of a freaked out mother in less than 20 minutes then shockingly, moved on to be poked and prodded.

Seconds after delivery, I found out you were a little girl. My heart soared, the birds sang and the breath from my body was whisked away from this very news. I had a daughter. A dream fulfilled. I hoped and prayed at that very moment, you and I would come to understand what it means to have a beautiful mother-daughter relationship. You see, I have one of the most beautiful relationships would could have with their mother. It's something to cherish, hide in your pocket and defend against anyone trying to bring it down. To prove my point, while we were doing our meet-and-greet, my mother, your grandmother, was in our hospital room wringing her hands with worry over you and I. I've come to realize over the past few years of being a mother, at times the worry and concern is a curse; 95% of the time, the worry and concern is a blessing. Seriously, no one cares and loves you more than your mother.

I'm not forgetting about your father here, he cares and loves you with the blaze of a 1000 suns and would slay any dragon for your cause but when it comes right down to it - mom is the go to person when you are sick, hurt or emotionally bereft.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

The beginning wasn't so easy. Jaundice, colic and hernias abounded.

I'm sure you have spent pretty much every day of your life wondering why we were chosen as your crazy set of parents.

You've let your displeasure be known.

Especially about this nuisance who arrived a year later (I forgive you for almost killing her when we brought her home. I truly understand. She can be so annoying at times.)

I admire so many qualities about you. I especially love your eye for fashion and YOUR own interpretation of what this entails.

I love your beautiful smile

and I can't believe I'm saying this - I love your attitude.

Don't get me wrong, this was your attitude pretty much from age eighteen months until 3.5 years old.  A VERY LONG PERIOD if you ask me.

Somewhere along the way, you snapped out of your evil ways and became such an angel. A joy to be around. Thoughtful, kind and even dare I say it? Sweet.

Your sister? She picked up where you got off on the crappy train.

This weekend while you kicked it against the wall and waited quite patiently for all the idiotic children to calm down at your dance recital, I caught a glimpse of what you will look like as a grown woman. My vision was not due to the whorish make-up they make you wear for this shin-dig, I caught sight of your heart and all it's beautiful splendor. You are growing into a beautiful person but most importantly, inside is really where you beauty resides. You my dear a wonderful gift that keeps giving and giving and giving.

Thank you for sharing your first Five years with me. It's been quite a ride. A ride I feel blessed to be able to take with you.

a word to the wise

please don't ask me if I/me/we were using birth control while performing perfectly legal sex acts with one another. I think the end result speaks for itself, don't you? It's safe to say, I'm no better than a sixteen year old getting herself knocked up except for the small fact - I've finished high school and college and my body was already shot.

Please don't ask me if I want a boy since I have two girls that adore and idolize their father while insinuating I should totally get my turn on the love train. Girls ARE drama but man o' man! is it great when Rich has to take both girls to ballet because they love him so and can't stand to be apart from him for one nano second. This leaves me my weekly one hour veg time. I love it and wouldn't trade it for a boy or a pet fish.

Please don't ask me when I'm due. I don't have a clue. I'm praying it's later than than earlier otherwise, this child might have an extra fin and five googly eyes due to the alcohol consumed within the month of April.

Please respond to my emails, calls, and SCREAMING your name FIVE TIMES - IMMEDIATELY!!!!  If you don't respond quickly, you will be responsible for the HAPPY, SAD, CRY, CRY, "YOU DON'T LOVE ME!" CRY, CRY, and then back to NORMAL response - all within four minutes time.

I totally forgot about this stage: the bitch,whorehormonal ball of unreasonable emotions. Good times... Good times.....

this is today, tomorrow is another day

While I know circumstances might change after I press <enter> -

three tests later, I have an answer to my last post.

Excuse me while I go into my corner to FREAK the HELL OUT!!!

when did you decide

enough was enough? Specifically, when did you decide you were tired of being fat, bloated, stretched and achy? Tired of being tired and tired of having 5 sets of colorful muumuus in your closet due to being a vessel to a parasite? When did you decide was the magical age of reason for being another or someone else's mama was done, over and FINITO? Your house runneth over, your finances would never recover, your body will never respond from such a thing? Meaning - when did you decide you were done spawning? children.

Lately, Celia has had it set in her mind, I'm going to have another child. She casually bull-horned this information to everyone and anyone who would listen during our the last field trip. The mother's in attendance asked if we were done littering the free-world. I sheepishly proclaimed, "over my dead, fat body, I don't thinks so. I don't know. Whatever! Pass the chips."

Either Celia's prophetic or she's simply delusional. I'd like to think the latter. Honestly, she comes from a long line of crazy folk in my family. We're all out-of-our-minds, I tell ya!

During Rich's birthday party this past weekend, quite a few friends asked if we were done shooting forth from the fruit of our loins. My response? Pass the damn Tequila people! You are ALL OBVIOUSLY DRUNK OFF YOUR ASSES!! Nope, NADA, Never.

See, I don't like baby, babies. I don't like or love the first six months of life. Shoot me for being an incredibly horrible person but if you had TWO colicky kids screaming and not sleeping for the first year of their lives, you'd feel the same. Let's just say, it's not-so-cute and cuddly.

However, I do like them when they are Five and can tell you their interesting and sweet, intricate lies. This I can understand. This I can reason with and laugh. NOT little ones who can't tell you where it hurts and think it's funny to scream while you haven't slept in 17 months. straight.

I ask this question not because I think I'm an awesome mother (we ALL KNOW, I'm SOOOOO NOT!) who seriously thinks the world needs another Gorillabuns around to torture but I ask this question because I never consciously made the decision to be done, over and FINITO! I didn't pay attention and relish in Moira's pregnancy because I was a) too freakin' sick, b) had JUST been pregnant 11 months before Mordecai and c) I always thought I'd have another one soon. Have a butt-load of kids. Maybe this feeling is because I'm an only child and man, it's kinda a lonely place to be in life. No one to share in life's sad end and in sweet victorious moments.

There have been many hit-and-misses in the past few years of which, I never planned. With a sister-in-law trying to get pregnant with IVF, a friend who gets pregnant while drinking tap water and then subsequently, losing them due to circumstances beyond her control,  I wonder and reflect.  I consider, weigh and re-weigh my thoughts and options - this ship probably sailed, burned and has been buried way out into the yonder sea. I thoughtfully think, I'm almost 40 and why play Russian-roulette with chances and theories? I have two perfectly and seemingly healthy children.

Why play the odds? I don't gamble because I don't like to lose.

Would you?

drunk don't look good on me

Let this picture state the obvious:

a) I seriously, SERIOUSLY need to lay off the alcohol. Let's not discuss the bloat around the face, body and hands.....

b) I need to be part of the cast of the next Biggest Loser.

c) When did I find the time or the need to put in a chip clip in my newly shaved hair during our party on Saturday?

d) Rich is wondering how he got so lucky to be with whale of a lush on his 40th birthday.

e) I'm silently thinking to myself, "are our guests loving "Everlong" as much as I am at this moment?"

Let's recap, on Saturday, Rich celebrated his 40th birthday with loads of home-brewed BBQ, alcohol and wonderful friends who came in droves to honor the dude and all his "niceness." SERIOUSLY! This is what everyone has to say about the man who always has a smile on his face. "Gosh, Shana, Rich is just so nice and ALWAYS has a smile on his face!" This is true with everyone he meets - unless he happens to meet you at 7am and well, he might scowl at your mug because, Rich don't do early. As well as his Orca wife. OR if you happen to be his Orca wife at 7am, whichever comes first.

Rich also has a wonderful sense of humor of which, most don't get.

Everyone who greeted him, looked at his socks paired with sandals and sheepishly wondered, "What happened to the skeleton of the cool man I used to know?" The only person who figured out the non-overt joke happened to be the quite late and highly intoxicated ex-boyfriend. This would be MY high school ex-boyfriend. Long story, don't ask. Let's just re-iterate, he was the only one to get the joke.

As the night wore on, all the beer was consumed in record fashion. Like 2.5 hours from a 15 gallon keg. I know, I know, I KNOW! The word "keg" reminds you of all the high school, rut-gut parties you attended while partying in the abandoned cul-de-sac of your youth but really, it was from a local brewery. So....it wasn't Little Kings or Generic crap from our crazy and poor deliquent youth.

After our tap had run dry, a friend and I raided our dusty liquor cabinet. What felt like a good thought at the time...let me just state for the record - shots of nasty, low-grade Tequila (or to-kill-ya) in ramekins are NEVER a good idea.

**The lime? A total prop! I felt I was too good for the lime. However, I didn't feel too good for the copious amounts of Ibuprofen I consumed - some 5 hours later.

What time is it you ask? I think it time for ANOTHER CRAPPY SHOT! Ya think? OH, HELL YES!!! While your at it, combine 2 parts gin, 1 part orange rum with four jalapeno olives to the mix. This is sure to make a salt-lick cocktail freshen and continue to refreshen your breath for the next 12 hours.

What time is it? (Seriously, these pictures were not staged, posed or stuffed for your viewing pleasure.)

IT'S KARAAA-OKE-EEEE TIME!!!!

If you didn't know about our (Rich and my) obsession that has healed many a rift in our marriage, than you really don't know us at all.

EVERYONE waits and BEGS with baited breath for our singing interludes.....

We broke out a few props from our last Halloween outfit:

**The hat and....

my KICK-ASS SHOES, BABY!!!!!

YEP... They still fit!

or perhaps, you find it's way time to capture the essence of your youth while some mighty awesome 80's singing is going on in the house. Don't be a loner, come and join the serenading inside....

But seriously, nary a man, woman, or foul is exempt from our pot-luck sing-a-thons. Nothing says devotion to the craft than two men sing "Almost Paradise," with such intensity and love for their adoring crowd. The lights dimmed and lighters were blazing during the climactic chorus.

In the end, I hope the man of honor, my soul-mate knows, I would move heaven and earth to celebrate his most auspicious life on earth in grand style - as a wonderful father and as my pretty fucking (you know I just had to throw in a cuss word in somewhere, somehow. Yes, I'm so crass like that) awesome husband.

On a very serious note, I can't imagine my life without him and only hope we have an even BETTER birthday celebrating him in ANOTHER 40 years down the road.

I'm quite blessed to have him as my husband. As he is to have me.Because, I'm pretty awesome, if I do say myself.

**Cue the background melodic tunes of God****

">i love them sooo

and here, i thought my kid wasn't a genius

Celia is going through a phase of trying to rhyme phrases, words and sweet-ass beats. Usually, I nod and say "yep, you are getting there" and then we go on our merry way.

Today, while in the car with the whole-damn family on a trek to a Pirate birthday party, Celia was whole-heartedly working on her new mad skillz.

"Hey, guys! Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba, Buck-ET.......

Rhymes with Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa, Fuck-IT!"

WELL..... One can NOT argue with this new and amazing discovery.

I only pray to GOD, my dead grandmother didn't hear this revelation. May she NOT send a lightening bolt to strike me down due to my exemplary parenting skills.

the next american badass!

During an IM session with LVGURL this evening, she nervously reminded me of her biggest, most auspicious soon-to-be accomplishment coming up this Saturday. This accomplishment would not be the marathon I so stupidly stated; it would be the triathlon, she has so diligently trained for these painstaking months.

I don't care if you've never commented here or there or anywhere; please and go wish her well and cheer her on for her marathon triathlon. You know as in: swim, bike and run - not to be confused with the training I've been under as of late: drink, eat and sleep.

RUN LIKE THE WIND ATHENA!!!!! RUN!!! (Seriously, I'm clueless which goddess is the warrior. There has been much debate in this household over this subject and who cares? I never liked Greek/Roman mythology anyway.)

BEST WISHES!!! Marci, may you drink copious amounts of GIN in celebration!!!

hand's off the chillin's

I don't consider myself to be the most paranoid of mothers/human beings walking around this earth. You want a worrier with a dash of paranoia? Let me introduce you to my mother. If you have a problem nagging you in your life, let my mom worry about it for you but I'm going to have to charge you a small fee. Worrying doesn't come cheap, besides my mother worries enough about my family and I wouldn't want to tax her too much with others demands (sorry, Mom. We both know the limitless bounds of your constant fretting.)

I bring up this subject because I do have a SLIGHT problem with worrying. I have a tendency to worry about all the trash and how will it take care of itself? I worry about the what ifs of freak traffic accidents, nuclear war, illusive illnesses (I swear! I have Cancer every day) and the scenario of my husband marrying that DAMN!!! Japanese foreign exchange student who will forever be my husband's little concubine if I were to die (DAMN!!! that freaky dream I had while pregnant with Celia. I'm STILL not over this prophetic dream, 5.5 years later!)

I try not to be overly protective and worry about strange people coming in our house in the middle of the night to take my girls out of their sweet slumbering beds. IT COULD HAPPEN! This is why I double check the locks on the windows and our alarm system every hour or so. Who cares if we don't EVER open our windows. I don't find my double-checking behavior obsessive, what-so-ever! I would call this behavior - being cautious.

Anyway, today, I brought the kids with me to our local Kinko's to copy crap for a family friend. Upon entering, I was accosting by a woman, trying to assess my every need. Moira had already introduced herself as, "Hi! I'm Moira *****, Ariel, Princess, Beautiful! I hurt my thumb on a treadmill and it hurt really badly!" The woman who happened to sport a mighty fine 70's 'do, was completely enamored by my kids. So, much so, after asking their names (Yes, I stupidly, gave her their info complete with their social security numbers), she whisked Moira away on her hip, introducing her to patrons who could give a shit. With one eye permanently affixed to the side of my head, I continued trimming the massive amount of maps at hand, while praying to God, this chick who already admitted to replacing her alternator on her 'ol Lincoln the day before but the car still isn't working, would not take off with my kid. Hell, she DID admit she didn't have a car for an easy get away so, what's the problem?

The problem occurred when she said, "Hey, I think the girl's have to go to the bathroom!" Strangely enough, I never heard this demand from them. I responded with "thanks for the update." She ignored me and proceeded to take them with her to the back room while I screamed, "NO-O-O-O-O (AND YES, MY NO ECHOED THROUGHOUT THE STORE!) THEY CAN'T GO TO THE BATHROOM ON THEIR OWN!" I threw my shit to the side and ran like there was no tomorrow to the bathroom, ready to take down the overly-eager and odd Kinko's worker. I'm sure she was a very nice person who also confessed to getting married at 15 and having the first of her four children at 16 but I couldn't help to FREAK THE FUCK OUT when she darted to the bathroom with my kids. AFTER I had emphatically screamed, NO!!!

The thing is - I hate to think that this (probably) nice, VERY SAD, woman, was missing the youth of children, while I freaked thinking she was going to do something heinous to my children. While the circumstances were just plain weird, I hate feeling like everyone is out to get me and my children. I hate condemning people for probable innocent actions but WOW, who the hell takes a stranger's brood to the bathroom while they are working? at a Kinko's? I mean, I don't even want to take my own kids to the bathroom. Am I wrong? Did I overreact?

Probably, but (in the immortal words of my Mother) these days you just can't be too careful.

**never you mind that rat's nest on top of her head.**

Hell! I would loan them out if they weren't my little munchkins and I hadn't the constant, daily reminders etched onto my belly of their sweet existence.