See the other Wordless Wednesdays, that aren’t nearly as depressing as my baby girl going off to school, right here.

The glass is half empty: Today is the last day before the anti-christ my darling mother-in-law descends upon my happy home.  Which means, of course, that today is the last day I get to spend any time whatsoever on the internet until October 4th, because honestly?  I spend too much time on the internet, and I can only imagine the *sighs* and the *eye-rolls* and there is no way in hell I’m giving that woman any more ‘She’s A Shitty Mom’ ammunition, so the ol’ laptop is getting buried under my pillow for the next few weeks, and maybe you’ll see me popping around the internetowebosphere while I’m “sleeping.”  Because god knows there will be no heavier action than that going on in my bed for a while.

I will be forced for the next few weeks to wash dishes after every meal, to do at least one load of laundry every day, to sweep and vacuum daily, to dust for Christ’s sake, because if I don’t do it, she will.  And I cannot handle anyone at all cleaning my shit.  It wigs me the fuck out.  And she’ll totally try to clean my house, just to prove that she’s better than me.  That I need her.  That she can take care of these people better than I can.  (Which is probably true. Bygones.)  I will also be forced to find all sorts of activities to keep her, and me by proxy, busy enough that I don’t start talking.  Because when I get nervous, I fill the empty spaces by talking.  And talking.  And talking.  Myself, right into holes.  It could get ugly.

The glass is half full: I have a great big list of touristy things to do with my mother in law to keep her from drilling me for information she can later use against me so that she will have an amazing time and go home fulfilled and happy and ready to begin her golden years.  I purposely signed 3of3 up for one day of preschool and one day of mom & me dance class so that gramma could take her.  The boys school has a free, drop-in literacy mom & me class that gramma can take her to, to bond, you know?  All of this gives me time to get some laundry done and mop the floors and sneak cigarettes.

I’m hoping that by the time she leaves, I’ll be on a decent cleaning-my-house schedule, which I really desperately need.  I’m hoping I can talk her into teaching me how to sew, and maybe I can start in on the projects I have stuck in my head.  I’m hoping that 3of3 will fall head over heels in love with her, just like my boys already are.  I’m hoping that this visit is everything my boys dream it will be, because they’ve got some high expectations.  I’m hoping that The Donor and I actually get our shit together enough while she’s here to get the hell out of this house for a weekend and go celebrate our 10th anniversary with a hotel room, quiet morning coffee, and swanky little dinners by candlelight.

Or, you know, I’ll just go absolutely bat-shit crazy, and start talking in only run on sentences and referring to myself in the third person and eating nothing that isn’t Fuchsia and then can you just imagine how much fun this blog will be?  Win – Win.

Ah, yes, the Sunday night hot date with LatteMommy.  Glorious.  A few snafus, though:

• We failed in every way to hit a Starbucks, which is odd because A) we were out way past our bedtime and all yawny by 8:30 and B) um, she calls herself LatteMommy.  I expected some truth in advertising, woman.
• You know those people who make random u-turns in the middle of the road where they really shouldn’t?  Like, say, right before a huge, blind turn?  Or right at the on-ramp to the freeway when there’s a line of 8 million cars waiting to get onto said freeway, but that person is clearly too good to get on it?  Or right in the middle of a long, straight, busy street, as if they want everyone else around them to suddenly test the quality and performance ability of their brakes?  Don’t you hate those people?  So do I, especially when that person is me.  Sorry I almost killed you 5 times, LatteMommy.
• We spent an hour in Target, and I failed to leave with Ketchup.  Hell, we spent  hours in America and I failed to leave with ketchup.  I NEED AMERICAN KETCHUP.
• I also forgot to buy cheap America gasoline and cheap American cigarettes.  *sigh*
• No cavities of any kind were searched.  *double sigh*
• Amniotic fluid in the mouth is just gross, but makes for really good stories later.
• Someone who shall remain nameless had to spend at least 5 of our quality drinking-cocktails-minutes on the phone with someone else who shall remain nameless explaining to him the fine art of, I kid you not, boiling water.  Which, honestly, should go in the highlight column and not the snafoo column.  Bygones.

Other thoughts on the movie, since, yeah, the tickets were comped thanks to Dove.

• Meg Ryan’s plastic surgeon is clearly the leading authority and go-to guy if you want to have Michael Jackson’s nose and The Joker’s upper lip.
• Sometimes you can go see a movie like, say, The Women, and even though the storyline isn’t what I’d call fluid, even though the characters aren’t exactly developed, even though the movie is chocked full of cliches and stereotypes, you can still walk away from it and think, “Heck, that was pretty alright” because you get what they were trying to do.  You appreciate the points they wanted to make about body image and about women being empowered.
• Debra Messing is the funniest woman alive.  Just sayin’.  She totally saved it in the end for me.

Updated to add: Skip the movie, watch this instead:

I like dating.  Overly.  Dating is, for me, the funnest thing I never really did.  See, I kinda married my second boyfriend and so my “dating” experience can be summed up in four words; train tracks, and Old Chicago.  That’s about it.

Being the type of girl who likes to get her kicks where she can, I try to find ways to creatively maneuver around that whole “being married” bit and get myself out there.  My friend Veronica and I have been known to go on a mean date, one involving posh martinis in little Russian cafes at the beginning and hot tubs at the end.  Meow.  Today, I am being all James Bond and going on an international date.  With a married woman.

Hel-lo homewrecker.

A few weeks ago Dove sent me a purse (did you know I have a purse thing?  I have a purse thing) that had some shampoo, some conditioner, some deodorant (which, shock, actually kind of rocks) and 2 movie tickets to see The Women, which opened in theaters on Friday.

Guess where the tickets are only good in?  That’s right, AMERICA.  Um, America?  You’re, like, *this* much of the world.  Share with the group already.  Puff puff give, you know?

I was totally going to give away the tickets and then I remembered that I live 30 minutes from America, and my friend Latte Mommy lives 5 minutes from America, and we both really loves us some Target, and the Target closest to here is right next to the American Movie Theater closest to here, and yeah…I totally asked her out.  On a date.  Over international boundary lines.

Really, how many people have asked you out on a date that required a passport and, potentially, a cavity search?

Let me rephrase that: Really, how many people have asked you out on a date that required a passport and, potentially, a cavity search by a man in uniform?

Still not right: Really, how many people have asked you out on a date that required a passport and, potentially, a cavity search by a grumpy, caffeinated, uniformed government official?  While sober?

So, at about 2pm, LatteMommy and I will set out on a whirlwind adventure of mystery and intrigue in a foreign country.  There will be dinner.  There will be a movie; a Chick Flick movie, at that.  There will be Starbucks and a there will be a pack of Marlboro’s, dammit.  And there will be Target.

TARGET, people.

This week, man.  I tell yah.

• Matt @ RedSparks totally won that t-shirt.  And he’s having a sale in his preemie/baby store.  Just sayin’.



• We babysat yesterday.  In fact, we’re babysitting every Thursday for the next 6 weeks.  Which isn’t helping my uterus’ rampage on the ol’ brain.  Turns out, my kid has some jealousy issues and I’m pretty sure that ifin’s we decided to go for four (shoot me for even thinking about it) that she’s eat that new baby while we slept.
• The Donor came home this week from his Napa, golf, martini vacation conference for work.  He lost his 8 billion dollar cell phone, and was gone over our 10th anniversary, and I made him suffer for these crimes by forcing him to get an iPhone.  I’m the worst wife ever, I know; I don’t know how he goes on.
• And he was missed.  She sat right there for 2 hours the day he got home.



• Speaking of worst somethings ever, after careful thought and serious negotiation, it was decided that I am a horrible daughter in law, and my mother in law is indeed staying with us, and I somehow ended up begging her to do it.  Yes, she’s that good.
• Not only am I impossible to deal with, I am irrationally cruel to her grandsons.  I mean, I made them almost touch each other today.



• But I let 1of3 keep that god-awful haircut, and do I get any credit for that? Hell to the no.  (It was cute for exactly 31 hours, and then it grew 1/5 of an inch, and now he looks like a, well, a Jonas Brother or something. *shudder*)



• The baby, my last baby, the one who was supposed to be ittle wittle forever, starts motherfucking preschool on Tuesday.
• The 8 year old told me he needed Clearasil, and then showed me the corner of his tiny, cute, little baby nose, and he does need Clearasil.
• I have 6 days to get this house spotless before the mother in law gets here, and I’m hiring cleaners for the first time in my whole life.  Just like haircuts, cookies and blowjobs; some things should just be left to the pros.
• The Republican party has blow any chance, at all, of me ever ever ever voting for them, for, like, the rest of my life.  I registered to vote as a ex-pat this week, and I registered as a Democrat.  My fence-walking days are over.
• Best. Song. Ever.  (Worst video ever, but still.)