Thursday, February 28, 2013

How to host a mother fucking party.

Pick a date/time/reason: Check with your regular babysitter's mom first, to make sure she (the babysitter, not the mom) is available to help out with the party-goers' children. Then pick a date based on babysitter's availability. Gotta pick a time- if it's too early, the party will die young. If you pick a time too late, then no one will attend because it's their kids' bedtime. That's why I go with 6pm. Trust me on this. Finally, reason for throwing the party? Trick question assholes; you need no reason to throw a party.

Invite your guests: I go the old fashioned route: Facebook Event Page. I save paper, plus I get to converse with my party-goers BEFORE the party. Sort of like the pre-party.

Decide on menu: Decide what to make (or rather what you want your partner to make) or whether you're going to be cheap and make it a potluck. I like to do both, so I ask our guests to bring something to share. And as my friend observed at our last party, you know it's a Bloomington-party when two of the dishes involve quinoa. Holla. This time I made two soups, which I admit is risky. To ask your party-goers to hold a bowl of soup and their plate and their drink may be a bit much. But I trusted. And I went with it.

Shop for ingredients/supplies: Bring a list and expect to buy at least 20 additional items than what's on said list, especially if you're headed to Target or another big box store that tempts you with their wares. If you have a child (or more than one) and you know what's good for you, find a time when you can leave them at home, preferably with an adult. Otherwise your shopping trip will take three times as long and you'll end up purchasing useless shit that you don't really need for the party.

Clean for party guests: If your invitees are your nearest and dearest, you may not need to clean as thoroughly as you would for a party where you've invited acquaintances, FB friends and those you're still trying to win over. But for most parties, you're going to want to make sure you've done a good cleaning of certain areas in your home. These include, but are not limited to: the bathroom your guests will be using. Sit down on the toilet and let your eyes wander. What are you noticing? Isn't that chocolate pudding from last night on the door knob? Yes, but you'd better believe that won't be what your guests think. Do you expect your guests to open your refrigerator? No? Guess again, because even if you have everything you need OUT on the counter or on a table, some asshole is going to find a reason to open your refrigerator. So you'd better make sure it's clean in there and void of pubic hair (don't ask).

Create a music playlist: Back in the day one would have to change the records or even CDs. Or maybe you created a mix tape or a mix CD. That's cool. But now you can use the world wide web, and I'd highly recommend Spotify. Much to my husband's annoyance, I listen to the same two playlists aptly titled: Amy's Exercise and Fast Birth. Those playlists have songs that make me want to dance, move, and shimmy, so obviously they belong at a party. Done. Bam.

Cook, finish cleaning, and get party-ready: Alright, throw together the recipes you found on Pinterest, pour the Doritos in a bowl and put the Blue Sky soda on ice. Make sure the juice boxes are lined up neatly in the refrigerator as to impress party guests. Wipe down the counter, the bathroom sink and load the dishwasher with last-minute dirty dishes. Head to your room, throw on those moccasin slippers that may pass as regular shoes (they don't, asshole) and brush your hair one last time. Throw on a dab of Chapstick and get ready to party.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

My yoga class.

What goes through my head during my yoga class:

My yoga instructor doesn't seem too limber. and you are?
I smell pot; I think it's the woman two mats down. she's probably stoned.
My mat smells kind of good...what is that smell? it smells like BloomingFoods.
I think I can see up that man's shorts. you sound like a pervert.
Why is she walking in late? maybe she has a great reason. forgot to let that woman introduce herself...oh, no you didn't. Good job. let her teach.
My legs look fat. they are.
My boobs look good in downward dog. thanks to breastfeeding, thank you very much.
I'm hungry. class is only an hour. chill out. 
I wonder how my baby is doing in childcare. he's fine.
I should go get my baby; he probably needs me. he's fine.
Why can't the instructor stop talking? She talks too much. she sounds better than you dipshit.
My thighs are sore. from walking yesterday? you're so weak.
She's taught for +20 years? No shit. stop judging.
I'm thirsty. uh, you brought water. drink it.
I have to fart. Fuck. wriggle around and see if that alleviates the problem.
What if my pants have a hole in the crotch? shut up.
I'm better than everyone else in this room. no, you're not.
There's a light flickering. focus.
I love yoga; why don't I do this more often? because you're lazy.
I bet my baby is crying for me. he's fine.
I miss my baby. yes, that's okay.
Oh, he smiled so sweetly at me earlier today. He's such a lovely baby. he is cute.
Am I leaking breastmilk? Shit. why didn't you put nursing pads in?
Why didn't I put nursing pads in? dumb-dumb.
I wonder when I'll get my period. probably sometime in the next 45 minutes.
Someone's breathing loudly. that's you.
My pits stink. how can you forget deodorant? 
When is this class over...I'm bored. shut up.
What would my FB status be right now? it'd be "shut the fuck up and focus."
I wish my stomach was flatter. yeah, you just had a baby 3 months ago. be kind to yourself.
What smells like that me? yes.
I'm so gross. yes, you are.
I disgust myself. focus.
I want some chocolate covered almonds. those are so good. 
My arms are shaking in this pose...I wish I was stronger. push yourself and focus.
I have to remember to write another blog entry. is this yoga related? no?  focus on your practice. 
I can't wait to watch The Bachelor... I wonder who Sean will send home. hopefully not AshLee.
I want to be more flexible. okay, so focus right now.
I bet that couple has tantric sex. get your mind out of the gutter and  focus. 

Sunday, February 24, 2013

I'm going on a walk. By myself. Alone. Without you.

Every two or three weeks, I get all motivated to start an exercise regime. I write out a schedule, spend too much time imagining myself running for miles, picture my body all strong and muscle-y. I lace up my sneakers and walk out my front door. I walk for about 5 minutes, as my "warm-up" and then start a slow jog.

And then I stop. After 30 seconds.

I think, what the fuck am I doing? I hate running. I don't want to be out of breath. My legs don't feel strong, as I had imagined they would; they feel wobbly, jiggly, and unstable. this is the problem, dumb-dumb. you have to actually jog for longer than 30 seconds if you're going to feel stronger. you're such a dip-shit. 

So, I start walking. I tell myself I'm going to walk for another minute and then I'll start running again. I'll take it easy. I'm not stupid; I'll ease into my exercise regime.

But then I never start running. I just walk the entire time, until I find myself just a couple blocks from my house. I think, I'll run home...yeah, that'll be good. I'll run home, and this will be interval training. interval training means you switch from one activity or level to another. you keep changing what you're doing. you're just going to run for the next minute or two then sit on your couch. that's NOT interval training.

But I don't run. I just keep walking. And I realize when I'm taking my sneakers off and taking the baby from my husband that I'm not ready. I'm not ready to sweat. And be out of breath. I'm not ready to push myself to the next level. Not today. Maybe tomorrow...

Friday, February 8, 2013

and here we go.

you're a goddamn loser to think you can write a blog. who are you kidding? no one wants to read your thoughts on everyday bullshit. it sounds so much better in your own small head than it does when you give it a once-over read aloud. 

Shut the fuck up, small voices. Stop your constant babbling and let me do my thing. 

what is your "thing" you smug piece of shit? 

My thing is to reflect on that everyday bullshit and make someone laugh doing so.

yeah, but you have kids. you have a messy kitchen. you're headed back to your part-time work in a couple weeks. you won't have any time, moron, to write this little blog. 

You don't know anything. I like writing. I feel connected when I'm with other mothers, even in a virtual sense. You need to back the fuck off, and let me write. 

fair enough. but i'll be here every now and again to bring you back to reality. 

I'm living reality. And you know what? I'm getting pretty fuckin' good at it.