Archive for the ‘Seriously?! Are you kidding me??!’ Category

we interuppt this vacation to bring you this important message.

July 31, 2008

I burst into tears tonight. TEARS. LOTS OF THEM.

Here I am enjoying time off and I check my dear friend of many years blog and became devistated.

Cancer is scary shit. I should know. I have seen enough of it in my life and profession to be able to make that diagnosis. And I love Lisa. She is one of the people who reminded me in a time when I needed to be reminded that I am an incredibly strong person. that I can get through the worst of things.

and I’ll be damned, looking at it years later, she was effing right!

But that doesn’t stop me from crying in the darkness in SF. It doesn’t stop me from praying. and it sure as hell doesn’t stop me from reminding her that I am always available for support. I can fly out. I can talk on the phone. I can do whatever is needed.

And I can remind her what she told me, “you can do this.”

Because you can.

It’s that time of the year again…

July 23, 2008

Being t-minus one month (or so) until my birthday, I figured I would let you be privy to a conversation held the other day while driving in the mystery mobile:


Josh: What is what?

Me: “that! THAT THING! THAT THING ON MY HEAD!” I scream pointing to my hair

Josh: (staring at me like I am suddenly possessed. Or on crack. Or both.) “I see nothing”

I quickly pointed to my bangs. There it was, like the devil’s spawn glinting and nestled in my hair, a single strand of grey hair.


Josh: “That’s not gray.”

Me: “yes it is!”

Josh: “it’s glistening in the light”

Me: “no, it’s gray and I will prove it.”

With a mighty pluck I pull the hair out of my head and lay it on my black pants. It shines. It glistens. It’s freakin’ gray hair.

Josh: “It’s not gray”

This is going nowhere so I decide to take the hair and save it in the change drawer of the car. Josh stares at me and then rolls his eyes.

Me: “what?”

Josh: “Are you going to save all your gray hairs now?”


Josh: “you are so strange and quirky sometimes.”

And so we head into the countdown to number 36.


Dear Mr. Bush…

July 2, 2008

Hello Mr. Bush.   I just wanted to say thank you for my economic stimulous check.  the 900 bucks really came in handy.


We are a nation falling grossly in debt and making promises that we can’t keep.  gas prices have sky rocketed (I really hate filling my tank for 4.95 a gallon), we are in an endless war, and even freaking starbucks is closing stores because they can’t afford to keep them up.  STARBUCKS FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!!

So, sir, with all do respect (and trust me, I am mustering what I can for you), why give everyone money?  It’s like giving us an allowance to go shopping to “stimulate” the economy?

Sir, I knew you were an idiot, but it’s amazing how dumb you really are.  my check?  it went to my rent.  As did everyone else’s I know.  We paid bills to try to cut back our debts that your “legacy” is leaving us.

So thanks for the rent money pops.



May 4, 2008


When my friend suggested I start a blog to blow off steam las summer, I never thought it would hit 20,000 hits.



From psycho neighbor to annoying neighbor… I just can’t win.

May 3, 2008

I now have annoying and loud nieghbor…

It’s 3am.


I don’t need Rick bouncing around like he has been the past hour to your fucking tunes.

and today you are not an asshole…

March 10, 2008

When my little guy was due to come home today, I was obviously very excited.  VERY excited.  I couldn’t wait until this morning and to get into the car to drive to the airport to get my baby.

In my mind I played out that he would probably shake free from his dad, come running to me, arms open for a big hug and kiss, and nuzzle in my neck and say “I love you” in our secret code.

I was not ready for how it really went down.  Of course, I arrived at the airport early, drinking coffee, camera ready, with a little red balloon (because if I know my baby, he’s going to like the balloon!)  I waited.  I watched the plane’s arrival schedules.  I waited some more.  Finally, I saw a bunch of weary Irish people walking out to baggage.  I got ready with my camera.  However, I never used it because I heard Ricky before I saw him.

It’s kind of interesting when you hear your kid screaming.  You want to jump security, wrestle through the throngs of tired and cranky air travelers, and race around until you find your screaming baby.  I could hear him.  And I know it was him!!  A mommy knows her baby!!!

Eventually the crowds parted and there was Sean, with my baby, walking down the ramp and the kid screaming bloody hell.  His face was red and sweaty, his curly hair matted to his forehead, his bright blue eyes bloodshot, snot dripping everywhere.  He saw me, with my balloon, and shook free of his father and came tearing down into my arms.

I don’t think the word hysterical defines how he was.  He kept sobbing in gibberish.  Sean caught up and looked at me.  Clearly, I wanted to know what the hell was wrong?  Sean said he had no idea.  The baby started screaming after take off and when he wasn’t asleep, he was screaming. Instantly I wonder is he sick? Is he hurt?  I don’t see anything wrong.

When my little man finally calmed himself enough to hiccup and lay, exhausted, in my arms, he looked at me and sniffled, “ratab”


“Sean, where’s his rabbit?”

“What rabbit?”

“The rabbit he is always carrying around?  The scruffy, gross one?”

“In the suitcase at the luggage claim.”

Today’s moral: if you are flying on a Plane from a different country with a three year old, make god damn sure you have his security item that he got when he was born!!!!  DON’T PUT IT IN THE LUGGAGE!!!

Of course we run together to the baggage and grab Sean’s duffle bag.  While my sniffling baby sniffles in my arms, Sean (like a madman) goes burning through the clothes looking for the rabbit.  I must admit I was impressed.  Underwear flying here, jeans over there, shaving cream container etc rolling towards another person.  Eventually, the bunny was found, Ricky was happy, and Sean was happy to see the boy smile.  I even have a little faith that maybe Sean will be a good father.  This is a good step in the “I’m trying not to fuck up my child” direction for him.

Haven’t decided…

February 26, 2008

but am truely considering getting a kitten.  or a cat.  the reason being is ralphie, my old furball.  he is really missing the wimpster.  this mornign I woke up to find ralphie snuggleing one of wimps chew tows (the one that looks like a ratty old bear).

My vet said that the cat might become depressed and offered me a Rx of PROZAC.  not kidding you either!  I turned him down.  he also suggested another pet for company and excerise for Ralph.  Finding housing in SF is easier without a dog… I was LUCKY to find this little house 2 years ago.  Thank god for rent control but I think we are outgrowing it.

I think I might get a cat.

Katie and Iris show up at the end of the week.  I wonder what Katie has in store for the surprise?

My secrets for the week…

February 26, 2008

I thought I was the only one with the crazy stair thing going on…


The newest version of peer pressure

February 12, 2008

I noted the other day that this little blog has surpassed 16 thousand hits in a little over six months. Wow.

I didn’t think anyone would ever read it. It started out as something to let me blow off stream of a stressful job and tell stories of my adorable son. But over 16,000 hits? Wow.

Most people would think to themselves that this is rather cool. And I agree. It is rather cool. However, it leads to major pressure. Pressure in my life is not really what I need. I get enough stress at work to last a lifetime.

What kind of pressure? Oh god… people expect me to be entertaining. And humorous. And sweet. And sassy. The pressure man! The PRESSURE!! I am going to crack up!!!! AAAUUUGGGHHHH!!!

In other words, fog city mom has major writer’s block.

Laundry wars

February 3, 2008

I know that it has been raining non-stop for a few weeks in SF.  I know it’s super bowl Sunday.  I know people are excited for the super bowl and the fact that the sun seems to be peaking out every 10 minutes or so to remind us that it’s still around and not sucked into the vast darkness of the universe. I know all this.  But this still gives no one the right to be a total bitch at the laundry mat.

Case in point, today it’s crowded at the mat.  I struggled with my buggy and heaping mounds of laundry that need to be done while Ricky spends time with his dad.  If you think laundry is hard, try doing it with a precocious toddler on your hands!  I look over through all the washers and find two across from each other.  They are rather small but I can split the laundry between the two of them. I load the first one and put my liquid soap in.  I turn, walk a few steps to the second and load the rest of the laundry into it and add my soap.

While I am looking down and fumbling with my quarters, this lady walks in.  Lady is too nice of a term, however the word bitch is thrown around too often.  Let’s just say she was really, REALLY rude.  She makes an entrance and mumbles about not having enough room for her stuff.

I don’t really pay attention to her until I turn around and note that she has taken all of my DRY clothing with LIQUID SOAP on them out of my first washer and started loading hers.  I walk over and say to her, “Excuse me, I just put my clothing in there.” She rolls her eyes, huffs and pulls her clothes out.  She walks over to my other washer and loudly states, “So what, are you using this one too?”

Um. Yes. I am.  I have a lot of laundry.

She sighs and sits there with her hands on her hips and huffs a bit.  I note that the other washer, right next to mine, was empty.

“Excuse me, that one there is free,” I said sweetly, thinking maybe that when I came over to begin with I was a little rude.

“I THOUGHT you said you were USING this one too,” says rude lady.

“No, I am using the one next to it.  I mistook where you pointed.”

Rude Lady begins loading her laundry.  She has made such a scene that everyone is looking at her and thinking, “what a fucking bitch!”  Another woman was spacing out and watching her.  Rude Lady gets annoyed and snaps at her, “what the hell are you looking at?”

Other lady says nothing.

“I said, why are you staring at me?  What is your issue?  Stop fucking staring at me?”

Other lady says, “I am not looking at you I am waiting for my laundry.  Stop being such a fucking bitch.”

At this point I leave.  I don’t need to see a cat fight.