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Sunday, February 28, 2010

More on (Moron) Dream stuff

I just woke up. This means that the coffee has yet to take effect and I am still all puffy and middle-aged looking and the mascara I forgot to wipe off with the neat little cotton ball and the overpriced Mary Kay makeup remover I got suckahed into buying is caked under my eyes and getting stuck in my crows feet.

Whew! That was a mouthful.

So, here goes with the dream. I am pregnant with my gay cousin's baby and getting married to my boyfriend, who kinda understands my 'indiscretion', because, really, it was with my gay cousin. Then I am going to a fitting for my 'maternity wedding dress' and the tailor happens to be my ex mother-in-law, who insists I wear a white suit like Ellen did in her wedding because it's 'in right now' and will 'be more flattering'. The fitting is in a bathroom in my ex mother-in-law's house, by the way. Not that that means much. or maybe it does.

Your thoughts, my readers.

I have a date with a great bowl of coffee now.


Monday, February 22, 2010

Kick to the head

I should not let my daughter see me naked anymore. It just opens me up for all kinds of ridicule and pokes a million pinholes in the ever-thinning membrane that is my self-esteem.

Tonight she covered her eyes, scandalized by the very eye-raping that is viewing my nude form. "Gaaaah! You got hair!"

In my defense, funds are tight and brazillian waxes have been put on the back burner. Plus, I'm lazy.

Then she goes, "And your legs are all jingly! Look at them! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle JINGLE!"

I think she meant 'jiggle'.

Oh, just you wait, Lil' Miss Six-Pack. I'm gonna show up at your house on the eve of your 37th birthday and hide in the bathroom and surprise you when you're getting out of the shower, and laugh and laugh and laugh...

wait, that's really creepy.

Saturday, February 13, 2010


I have officially turned into my mother. I enjoy Lily's basketball games more than is probably appropriate, but there is something about sitting on the sidelines, clutching my industrial-sized travel mug of FREE coffee (thanks, YMCA!) with the other mothers, watching our kids run around and bang into each other during what is maybe the most entertaining 45 minutes of controlled chaos I have ever seen, that makes me really happy. Lily stands off to the side with her hands up, not really sure why, hopping from one foot to the other, scratching her legs, fixing her socks, wiping her chapped lips with the bottom of her shirt, and flinching when the ball comes near her (awww, just like mama), and I hear myself going, "GOOD TRY, LILY!!!" just like my own mom did so many years ago when I slouched on the soccer field, checking my watch, picking underneath my nails and trying hard as I could to avoid the ball.

Still, Mom was at every single game, the loudest voice of everyone, cheering me on. "Go, Krissy! Almost, almost!! Nice try! Get in there! GOOD FOOT!!!"

I knew she was bullshitting, and I loved her even more for it. Because I knew she got a big charge out of bringing her portable chair and pack of smokes (or 2 lb bag of sunflower seeds, after she quit), and just watching her daughter be a part of the game. And lets face it, there are some talented kids out there. I love watching the little guy who looks like a pint-sized John Starks literally smack the ball out of the opponents hands and shoot a basket from half court. I swear, this kid is 3 and a half feet tall and very possibly will grow up to be a midget, but he's a powerhouse.

And there's an excitement in hoping that one day, just maybe, Lily might actually get a breakaway and shoot that one-in-a-million shot for the team. Most likely not. I mean, really, But she's having fun either way. And a mother can dream.

Oh, and avoid ball-busting from my dad who inevitably will read this post and leave me a voice mail on my cell: "Ah, Kristin..." (professional-sounding throat-clearing), "I, too was at all of your games...what a selective memory my older daughter has..." it's true, he was. So there. Kisses.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Wow! Nice cover, SI!

I didn't know 'women on skis' was code for 'women getting fucked up the hiney'.

Did you?