Hey, Baldie....aw shit!!

I started this blog because I succumbed to the pressure. I was forced into it. All my friends said "oh, so many funny and unusual things happen to you...you MUST blog about it". Murphy's Law dictated that the minute I start the blog...these things STOPPED happening to me. There, are you happy friends? I'm not as entertaining now am I?

Until yesterday....

I have a friend. I swear!! He's one of my oldest and dearest and baldest friends. He's been bald since high school. We call him baldie, sometimes we call him shiny. He rolls with it. I mean, it's not like he doesn't realize he's bald. Can't really stamp your feet and cry "how dare you??" when it's there right on top of your head. Or not there in this case. See, I feel like I can get away with calling him that because I know too much about him that I can leak to the press. It goes both ways, so I let him make fun of my many, many shortcomings. Speaking of short...did I mention he's short too? Picture Jason Alexander from Seinfeld, but not nearly as annoying. Or wealthy.

On to the story at hand. I went food shopping last night and as I walked across the parking lot to the store, there, about 6 cars away from me, was my dear friend Baldie. I mean, from the back, it was totally him. A vertically challenged man with a shiny globe framed by a slight crown of hair. I got all excited to not only see him, but have a possible shopping companion! And the bonus was, I had just seen his wife, Mrs. Baldie, that very morning at Dunkin Donuts. For 2 couples that live in the same city, we just don't see each other enough I tell you!

So Baldie's walking in front of me, and I, in my usual unfiltered way, yelled "HEY BALDIE!!!". The moment, I mean, the nano second the words left my mouth and before the speed of sound could even apply to the verbal diarrhea that exploded henceforth from it I realized...that's not him. Why I couldn't wait for visual confirmation that it was him is beyond me, and I think, one of my many charms. But that's neither here nor there.

I immediately looked for a way out, a car to hide behind, or a scape goat. "It was her!". But there was no getting away from it. The damage was done. The words were gone and traveling across space and time. And the guy wasn't deaf. Just my luck!

He turned, I turned...as if to pretend to look for the horrid individual that just yelled that who wasn't actually there...and my stomach sank. I turned back, smiled and said "You know, if you were who I thought you were, you'd think this was hysterical right about now!". The kindly bald man smiled and said "I've been called worse, and by people who actually know it's me". Gee, I'm sorry to hear that dude. We had a good hearty laugh and went about our merry ways. And I avoided eye contact with him whenever our paths crossed in the store.

Thank God for a good humored bald man! And Baldie, if you're reading this, we need to get together soon. I'll confirm it's you before greeting you though.

Pamcakes Glitterpants

40 x40

No, those are not my measurements (those would be strange measurements). Or the size of my bedroom (how nice would that be though?). It's my goal. It may be a lofty goal, but I'm gonna try dammit!

See, I'm turning 40 (WTF??????) in October. October 21st. 7 1/2 months away. 40! FORTY!!!! In approximately 220 days. I could grab a calendar and count but I barely have time to count to 10, let alone 200 something.

Last year I started the Couch 2 5k program. Basically, it's for lumps like me who suck at exercise, and run like Phoebe from Friends. Here's a visual: Phoebe Running I did it for a few months before my bum hip started acting up making it nearly impossible to even walk. Sucks getting old!

I'm not a flexible person. Physically that is. I can barely touch my toes. Hell, my knees even. When I drop something I have to plot out a plan of attack to pick it up that usually involves kitchen tongs, or calling one of my kids to come get it for me.

Overall, I'm just not an active person. My parents weren't...which is probably why I'm not. The most active I saw my parents be was before we had a remote control, and they would have to get up from their chair, walk to the TV, and "turn" the channel! Remember those TVs? Perhaps some of you don't. The one in my bedroom was black & white. But hey, I had a TV in my bedroom. That was cool!! Anyhow...I'm not proud of it, and I'd like to change it. But I'm going to have to get creative, you know, with my bum hip and all.

Long story short, I want to lose 40 lbs. by my 40th (did I mention I'm turning 40??) birthday. Starting.....NOW! First order of business: portion control. My plan is to put the amount of food I would normally eat on my plate, and then remove some. It's a simple start, but it's a start.

At least I'm not turning 50 this year. Wish me luck! I'll keep you all posted.

Supermodel

I'm not a girly girl. Never have been. As a kid I was awkward looking. I had bucked teeth, freckles, short red hair, and was often confused for a boy. Not much has changed, except for the bucked teeth! My husband's a lucky, lucky man!

How I ever ended up with a girly girl for a daughter is absolutely and utterly beyond me. But I did. And now I find myself suddenly wanting designer handbags, the newest fashions and long luxurious hair (which, if you've known me for any period of time, is not my usual style). I blame the girl!

A few nights ago, M got her first "big girl" haircut. Really, we just took an inch off the length and put soft angles in her hair, but it was enough to age her and make me feel like I no longer have a baby, but a diva!

Our good friend K comes to our house to give us haircuts, right in my own kitchen. How wonderful is that? We never have to leave the comfort of the same room that I prepare my food in. Wait...anyhow. K gave M her very first big girl haircut and of course, I documented it.

So...here we have M pre big girl haircut:

The girl has naturally blond highlighted hair that women pay hundreds for. She kinda sucks! Don't hate her cuz she's beautiful!

During the cut:

The girl loves to be pampered. Just wait until her box of 47 bottles of nail polish from her bestie P comes in the mail. YIKES! That will be another entry all of its own!

Here's my princess after:

Okay, so nice haircut, but the pictures are kind of EH! The photographer is me. I'm begging, pleading, bribing her to make a cute face or strike a pose or SOMETHING to make the picture more interesting.

Daddy decides to take over. I leave the room while the 2 bond. This is what he gets:

This is already more interesting, right? It gets better.


Say what?


Are you kidding me with this?


OH COME ON!

And I'm pretty sure this is when I walked back in the room:

Note the aggressive stance, clenched fists, and snarled lips.

I swear to you, when I was out of the room I heard an Austin Power like barrage of "Yeah baby, that's it, you're an animal, you're a tiger baby yeah....and I'm spent!"

She's my supermodel, diva, princess, and big girl all rolled into one. And my husband has a budding fashion photographer career in his future!

Pamcakes Glitterpants

A Song And A Shave

First up, my fave song of the week. Sweden seems to put out a good band every 40 years or so...love me some Abba...well, here's Sweden's newest sensation. The Knife with their song Hearbeats. Has an awesome 80's feel to it. I simply love it!!



It seems appropriate that we go from The Knife to my 2 little ones getting an old school "shave" from Daddy. Daddy and little T have a ritual. Daddy lathers him up, gives him a "shave" and slaps on a little aftershave. It's their thing. It's adorable!

Lathering up

A little aftershave

Little T gives his seal of approval!

Miss M is not to be left out of ANYTHING!



Checking Daddy's work!

Ironically, I don't have a picture of Big T shaving, who actually DOES shave. But, I think this will do.



He'd kill me if he saw this! Thankfully, he doesn't pay attention much to me so he probably has no idea this blog even exists!

Shave and a cool song, 2 bits!

Pamcakes Glitterpants

Best Wife Ever

Yep, that's me! I'm quoting my husband there, so I'm not even tooting my own horn. Straight from his mouth to my blog!

Why am I the best wife ever? It's not because I'm a great cook (which I am....TOOT TOOT), or that I'm fun to be with (TOOT TOOT), or that I'm smokin' hot (HAAAAHAHAHAHA)! It's because I signed my husband and I up for a couples' burlesque dance class. Which I originally told him was couples' baroque dance class. Imagine how uninterested he was after looking it up and finding out it was more along the lines of Shakespearean skanks prancing around in full gowns and white wigs. Not nearly as much fun!

Now, I'm by no means an exhibitionist, and I'm also by no means a prude, but I am NO dancer. I mean, I shouldn't be allowed on a dance floor. I can do the electric slide and the hustle, oh, and the chicken dance, but those are not sexy, crotch tingling good times. If they are...you're not doing it right.

So tonight was the night. Thankfully (for the other parties involved) each couple got their own partitioned off area so we could not see the other couples, only your significant other, the instructor and her husband. The room was dark, with strings of lights all around, a rotating colored light thingy, sexy music playing. Very romantic. And there I was, sweating like a hog who knows his owner loves bacon.

The instructor informs me before class starts that there will be "stripping". Really it was just removal of layers, but, um, hello? I'm wearing cute little pink yoga pants with hearts on them, a pink tank top, and a zipped up grey sweatshirt (and I'm soaked from my own sweat and the downpour we had to run through to get there). I'm wearing my granny panties underneath and no bra. There will be no stripping in our "booth", sorry. What were the other girls wearing, you wonder?

Let's just say, they knew what to expect. They were wearing layers of fun, I was wearing layers of comfy casual with a hint of skin. You know, Mommy risque!

Here's a visual:

Them



Me



I had more clothes on than the hippo.

All in all, I think I did pretty damn good. I was able to loosen up, enjoy myself, I even had a few ones stuffed down my top (I kept them by the way), and most importantly, we had an evening to ourselves.

And I'm the best wife ever...and a private dancer!!

A Close Call And Another Day With Tits McGee

I have a knack for being caught in varying degrees of undress, whether in public or in my own home. Most recently we have the 3 Jamaican mattress delivery men, 2 cops (in my own home, I wasn't breaking the law believe it or not), and the staff and customers of my local Target (that one probably was against the law, but NOT my fault).

Last night, my tenant was nearly my next victim! I was showering with the door open, since that's one of the few ways my husband and I can actually have a conversation without our 3 and 4 year olds interrupting one way or another. The bathroom, most notably, the clear glass shower door, can be seen from the stairway leading to the outside door. Genius idea!

My tenant came up to deliver his rent check, and my brilliant husband proceeded to open the door. If it weren't for my screams of surprise, my tenant would have seen me in all my glory and have been added to a growing list of victims. And to boot, he would have had to pay for the viewing since he did have a check in hand. We did warn him this may happen, as we recalled my last 3 encounters on Christmas morning when he joined us for breakfast. So really, it's his own fault.

Fast forward to today. Tits McGee came back after a very brief hiatus!

I face the task of keeping M and Little T entertained at my office on occasion. It can be a challenge, but man, it's so cool to look up and see these faces.




Don't you agree?

Today they were kept entertained with a sheet of address labels that they colored and made into stickers. This is what Little T did with his:



This is what M (a.k.a. Tits McGee) did with hers:



My decolletage decorated by Tits McGee. What the heck is her booby issue lately? In fact, just a few moments ago she put an item from her princess dress up collection around her chest and asked when her Aunt would be here so she can "show Tante her boooobs".

Seriously, our boobs are either seen by others, and/or discussed, way too often around here! Is that a good thing? I'm not sure!

Pamcakes Glitterpants

Driving In The Wake Of A Rainbow With Tits McGee

Once upon a time, I drove to work in the wake of a rainbow with Tits McGee in the back seat. True to my promise of trying to make life filled with rainbows, unicorns, butterflies and glitter (see promise above) I had to share!

It was a sunny February day and the streets were laden with puddles from the 100 tons of melting snow on the sides of the road. Each time the car in front of me drove through a puddle, the resulting splash from the puddle would send up a spray of rainbow water as the bright sun hit the road. It was magical! Magical I tell ya. What better way to get to work than literally driving on a rainbow.

I tried to take a picture with my phone of this truly ethereal event, but ended up with 2 pictures of my dashboard and one of my thumb. If I had been pulled over for speeding at that moment I would have had a solid case with proof of my speed forever saved in my phone.

It reminded me of this YouTube gem, the double rainbow guy. How was I to know the importance of two's on this shiny day.

After arriving at my office I grabbed 2 plates to make my kiddos (henceforth on my bloggity blog known as Big T, Little T and M....except for this story) each a sandwich. Tits McGee (M) took the plates, held them up to her eyes and said "Look, 2 eyes!"



Which then led to the predictable "Look Mommy, 2 ears!".



Totally saw that coming a mile away! You bore me child! But wait...Tits McGee never fails to keep me entertained. "Look...2 boooooooooooobs!" with a long "oooooooooo".



That's right Tits McGee, you have 2 booooooooobs! And we drive on rainbows! What does it mean? You will only get that last statement if you watched the video. Now go watch it and ponder it all!

Boobs and rainbows, life doesn't get any better.

Pamcakes Glitterpants

So this is a blog?

Okay, okay, fine, FINE...I'll start a blog. I've never been one to succumb (that's a funny word) to peer pressure but I'll bite. So here I am, are you happy? Yes? Well, just wait. If you don't like occasional vulgarity, strong opinions, hilarity, cooking, kids, hair accessories and tutus, kids, fun, Republicans, red heads, kids, alternative rock, liquor, unicorns, rainbows, butterflies and GLITTER, then you've parked at the wrong blog. Back up and move on.

BUT, if you love all those things (Democrats are welcome!!) then please, throw it into park, take off your seatbelt, blast the radio, pull out your flask filled with your poison of choice, and feast your eyes upon THIS!

Yeah, I got nothing right now. It doesn't mean it won't happen.

How about this for a start? It's the day after Valentine's Day. You know, that Hallmark of all holidays? You know what I did yesterday, I made this:

It's a baton twirler hair clip that I made for my friend's daughter. Isn't it adorable? It was my first free hand clip (meaning I didn't follow a pattern) and I have to say, I'm rather proud of it.

I didn't make dinner, we had leftovers. I didn't wear red, I don't like red. I didn't get all mushy and romantic, it's not my thing (sorry dear!). I made a clippie. I bought my kids candy and cards, I bought my husband a card, and I heated up leftovers. One theory is that Valentine's Day is named after a martyred saint who supposedly had a feast on that day. So, shouldn't we be eating instead of spending $5 for a card and $15 for a box of candy? Another theory is, it's the day St. Valentine was killed. Oooohhhh...Happy Valentine's Day!!!

I made a clippie...it has red in it!!

Pamcakes Glitterpants