Friday, September 30, 2005

Smores?

Stay Puff eye




Marsh mallow nose




Toasted mallo mouth









This is Brit, 3 weeks before she was born. Thank goodness she stayed in a little while longer. And don't tell Matt, but I had sex with the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man.

This comparison to food reminds me of Kristen trying to get her teeth into Britain even before she was born since I always compared her size to articles of food: a piece of rice, a hot dog, a grapefruit.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Thanks Michelle

My sister was kind enough to send me this link and it made my shitty morning. (Brit's already teething at 2 1/2 months.)

http://www.killsometime.com/Video/video.asp?ID=187

I guarantee it will at least make you smile.

These Dreams

I've always had this strange thought that if one dreams about a person he/she has never saw or encountered before, then possibly that same person could be dreaming the same exact dream. I had one of those dreams last night. All I'll say is thanks for the good time time to the Science teacher in some random elementary school.

Monday, September 26, 2005

My Baby Daddy

Chapter 1

I saw him once before. My friends and I were out at a karaoke bar one Saturday night. A group of college boys walked in, obviously younger and less jaded than any friends of mine. I suspected they had already begun their party somewhere else and just ended up there. They were loud, stumbling and ready to sing some 80's tunes. All the tables had been taken by then so they all huddled next to the bar, bottles in hand.

I noticed him right away. It wasn't so much his dark hair, sexy slim build or his concert t-shirt just tight enough to make me wonder what was underneath. The feature I couldn’t stop staring at were his amazing blue eyes. I watched him study the song list with such intensity and found myself wondering if he'd ever look at me that way, and what part of me he'd choose. I'd never been a person who stared, actually thought it downright rude and was surprised that I couldn't take my eyes away. All of these thoughts and feelings rushed through me in a matter of seconds and I found myself still staring when he looked our way. I turned my head, guilty as charged and my friend Jill had noticed.

Sly smile, knowing tone, Jill leaned over to me. "So, which one?"

There was no hiding it, not with Jill anyway. "The one with the sideburns and the big blue eyes." …and the great butt, the chiseled face, the perfect smile, the one I could see fathering my children. I used the not-so-obvious way of peering out the corner of my eye that no one ever notices.

"Go up and say something!" That was easy for her to say.

I'd had my share of disappointments, especially when it came to men. I'd been burned, scarred even. I didn’t exactly have much faith left that all men weren't piles of-

"We need another round! It’s your turn to buy." Jill's need to freshen her early alcoholism convinced me she had moved on to bigger and better things than my stagnant, dateless, empty pillowed love life. It had been over a year since I'd even been satisfied by someone other than myself. Wounded as I was, I still took the spot at the bar right behind him, Jill in tow. Maybe he'd notice my butt at least.

I leaned over the bar, one part to get the bartender's attention, two parts to get ANY of his attention. I was standing there, acting calm and collected, imagining him turning around, his eyes wandering up my legs, past my thighs, over my back. I twirled my hair playfully in my fingers, too shy to turn around and too scared he hadn't noticed at all. The bartender could barely hear all the mixed drinks I threw at her and she only messed up a few. I turned around to hand off the overflow of concoctions to Jill and noticed her look. It was the same look a little girl gives to her mother when she's done something naughty.

I went back to the table, dealt out the drinks, took the bartender’s blue version of a Screwdriver for myself and asked Jill "what the hell did you say to him".

"I just told him that you thought he was cute." (Enter flashback to eighth grade here.) "And he gave me a weird look. I'm not sure if he heard me right because then he looked at YOU funny." She gave me her best impersonation of a disgusted and annoyed frat boy.

Thank you, Jill. Thank you so much for your tact that alcohol provides. I was still staring in his direction, couldn't keep my eyes off of him, and decided to sit with my back to him in fear of future humiliation or a restraining order. He and his gang did a few songs throughout the evening, had a few more rounds than songs and left before closing time. I left shortly after, more bitter than the drink before. Driving home, I looked on the brighter side. At least I'll never have to see him again.
As fate would have it, I saw him again.



Chapter 2

The night before Thanksgiving is supposedly one of the best nights to go out, even in my little town. Being a nanny, I worked many hours with little vacation time. Oddly enough, I was able to get out of work early, therefore I had plenty of time to get ready (shave my legs). As I was soaking in the tub, my roommate Jeannette knocked on the door to let me know her friend Amanda would also be joining us that night, and that we were out of milk. I hadn't met Amanda but from what I had heard she was fun, confident, and even a little abrasive at times. But it still didn't shake my feeling that something was going to go right tonight; something memorable was going to happen. I was right.

Out of the tub, into my robe, I stood in front of my closet deciding which outfit would pass as conservative/slut. I wanted to be noticed but not pointed at. I wanted to be envied yet not embarrassed. I decided on a club skirt with built in shorts, so even when I'd had too many and fell head over feet, I wouldn't bare everything. I wore my sexiest bra and a see through black shirt to "cover" it. I hiked up my knee high black boots and looked in the mirror.

Being a natural blonde, I never really did get too dark in the summer so by the end of November, I'm back to my paler, more vamp-like self. Naturally curly as well, my hair was finally growing out halfway to my shoulders and contrasted well with my black on black ensemble. I never really wore too much makeup, so the darker than usual lipstick I put on that night looked even more dramatic. And whether it was the wonderful feeling I'd had or the lack of food all day so I'd look great in the skirt, I was feeling extra attractive. I strutted my stuff down the stairs and we were on our way.

Jeannette and I drove over and picked up Amanda, grabbed a little something to soak up all the alcohol we knew we'd consume that night, and pulled out our IDs at the door. We were happy to find out there was no cover, until we got inside. Either we were very early or the party was already over because other than a group of four old guys in the corner, we were it. There were two parts to the bar and both were vacant. We decided to take advantage of the empty bar space and the drink specials while we waited it out for awhile.

I took the time to get to know Amanda a little. She wasn't looking for action that night, having been in a serious relationship with her boyfriend. I explained about my year of just me, getting over my short, yet insightful, marriage to a man I thought loved me as well. Therapy and a stable support system were the key factors in my ability to bounce back the way I had. Living with Jeannette and her young son helped too. It still gave me a sense of family.

But I was damn horny! I missed a warm body to come home to every night. Having only been with my ex-husband and my first boyfriend, I was also damn picky. I explained to Amanda I had a type, but couldn't explain it. My thoughts turned to the night a few months back at the karaoke bar. I told her I liked guys with substance, originality and a man who is genuine. Having been hurt by so many lies, honesty was really important to me. Not just any jock would do.

A half hour had passed and people began to file in. The part of the bar where live bands play was filling up fast while sound checks were going on. We headed over to see how the edgier, dancing-on-the-tables part of the bar was doing. We grabbed another drink, a table and started scoping out the guys.

There were the regular meatheads wearing Abercrombie and Polo. We sat in an upper level and had a good view of the people sitting on the barstools. I noticed two guys sitting together, laughing and having a great time. "Amanda, HE'S my type." I pointed to the thinner of the two, a younger man wearing a red sweater and a gorgeous smile. I was attracted to his lighthearted demeanor and he looked like he knew how to have a good time. He wasn't caught up with looking macho or more important than anyone else. And when he noticed an attractive woman, it was in a respectable way without gawking or rude comments. I found myself studying him, checking out his shoes, the way he sipped his beer. He had a strange effect on me. I couldn't look away. I followed him with my eyes as he headed over to the other side and out of my sight. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Where was Jill when I needed her?

Jeannette, Amanda and I decided to dance and work off some alcohol. I tried to forget that the guy with the great smile and such power over me left to find some other bar (girl) that night. Dancing with my back to the crowd I hadn't noticed who was coming and going. Amanda comes back from the bar with the next round and says "Your boy is back!" I literally stopped dancing, stopped right in mid-groove. I turned around and there he was. And now I was drunk enough to do something about it.

He was standing by the bar with beer in his hand. I thought the best gesture would be to buy him another but couldn't exactly see what he was drinking. So I went over to him, picked up his bottle, twirled it around to see the label and realized it was completely full. He gave me a look as if to say "Can I have my beer back?" I was mortified and gave him back his drink. I went back over to my friends. They had a drink waiting for my comfort. I downed it and with my new liquid courage, went back over to him. This time, I took his hand in mine, led him on the dance floor and we started dancing.


Not only was he compliant, he was a great dancer and we flowed very well together. I remember thinking with moves like that, he must have been good in bed. The music was so loud and the intensity so high, we exchanged not a word but our names: "Tammy" and "Matt". It seemed everything disappeared around us and we were in our own little world, staring into each other's eyes. I could feel him pressed up against me and it felt like home. There was definitely something about him, about us. We fit so right together.

Unfortunately, his friend (and ride) came to claim him and that was it for the night. He asked for my number, which never happens. And if it did, I'd never give the right one out. But I felt so close to him already that I gave him the correct digits on instinct alone. He ran to get his friends cell phone so he could punch my number in and we said goodbye. My head told me he wouldn't call. My heart said he'd call the next day.


Chapter 3

Thanksgiving was nice. I spent it with my family. My cousins heard all about the mystery Matt. I told them he hadn't called and why would he on a holiday? I hadn't realized what I had thought was a wrong number on my cell phone was really Matt trying to call since he hadn’t left a message. I hadn't picked up and just ignored it.

The following day, Jeannette and I made plans to go out with her father for dinner. As I was getting ready, my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize on the caller ID and thought if it were important, they would leave a message. Someone did.

Jeannette, before getting into the shower, was telling me about what was happening with a guy she liked. I checked my voicemail as she was still talking, figuring it was just a wrong number.

"Hi, Tammy, this is Matt from the other night. Give me a call back if you want. I should be around for awhile. Talk to you soon."

It was quite a surprise. I stopped Jeannette in mid story and said with wide eyes "he called". I immediately started to feel nervous.

"Call him back." Knowing me since grade school, she said it more like an order.

But how long should one wait? I still needed to get ready and didn’t want to cut the first real conversation I had with him short. Before she hopped in the shower, Jeannette convinced me to call him back before we left. I got comfortable on my bed, still in my robe, hair in a towel. I punched in the number but held my finger on SEND for what seemed an eternity. My heart was beating much faster then normal.

He answered the phone after the only the first ring. I liked his voice, deep enough to turn me on but soft enough to calm my nervousness. The conversation flowed so well, I wasn't watching the time and an hour and a half had passed. He had asked what I was doing that night and I told him, almost with disappointment in my voice, about my plans. He suggested I come out with him and his friends afterwards. I told him I couldn't promise anything, but I would try. It turned out that Jeannette and I made it and early night after dinner and just went home. I had hoped he'd call again.

The following week, he did. We talked every other day, no less than an hour at a time. It was so nice getting to know him over the phone. Although, I was getting anxious because we still hadn't seen each other since the first night we met. He finally asked me out on a date for that Friday.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

A Short One For Dave

I'm sure Dave has only read half of this blog because he hates long enteries. So here's one for you, Beebs.

Looky HERE. A site after my own heart...err SITE. I guess I'm not the only one. I ordered a tank and a button.

Oh and LOOK at this, Kristen. I wonder if there is also one on just saying no to having children.

And Theresa, I thought of you. Not because I think you're trash and you'd wear such a revealing tank, as endowed as you are.

Finally...here, Michelle. I think I'm the only person on earth who hasn't seen Napolean Dynomite.

There were so many more, but I have a kid and stuff so I guess I should go get her out of her cage.

Tag...its not just for lasers anymore.


So, I've been tagged. Normally I would NOT do something just because someone told me I had to, but Mo is fragile. I wouldn't want to find him on the 11 o'clock news.

Being tagged is another way of finding your tag line. Its in that crazy hocus-pocus-everything-happens-for-a-reason kind of way.

Here are the instructions...

1. Kick your blog, old school.
2. Find your 23rd post (or your post with your 23rd picture. If you don't post everyday or just got started on your blog, 23 posts could seem like a lot.).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.


I will now tag my people before Kristen.

Monsieur Le Coq
Michelle
JR
Dave
Trick

Those are all the people that post on my site that weren't tagged. How long does a cult following take!!??

And now, here is my tagline:

"On top of that, I'm a little tired of diapers and tantrums and washing nipples that aren't mine."

Ahh, perfection.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Maybe THIS Is Funny!

There's a running joke about me in my family...well, two.


One is that something always smells funny to me. My tombstone will read "What is that smell?". It took me two hours, but I figured out that the cat pissed behind the chair in my living room on this bag that someone let me borrow. I will not disclose the name of the person because said person knows nothing about the incident since I doused said bag with Tide and angel breath before returning said bag to said person. If there is something burning, rotting, steeping, cooking, baking, hiding, dying, or you just smoked a cigarette last week, I will know it. The most horrible time was when I was pregnant and my already heightened sense of smell turned into my super power. Excerpt from my pregnancy journal:

"I thought I had a great nose before!!! This heightened sense of smell thing is really out of hand. I feel like a super hero. Even with the cold, my super powers still thrive. My sense of smell is constantly turning my stomach over Jr's new AXE cologne fragrance and day old chicken scraps. Those Plug-Ins that seemed like such a great idea when we first moved in now trigger my already churning stomach. I put some toast in the toaster for Matt this morning and thought I was going to heave. 'Do you smell that?' He looks at me like I'm out of my mind. I cant even imagine what its like at a bar or a restaurant. I'm quite happy at home making tiny meals throughout the day."


My sisters: Theresa and Michelle. These are the same people who also used to tease me about my "bubble butt", pre-JLo.



The other endearing quality my family members tease me about is my frugal shopping skills. I will load up my cart and while waiting in line to check out, put half of the items back...well, not so much BACK as randomly sticking a bottle of Pantene on the Altoids rack. Does anyone else do this? I guess I just start estimating how much everything's going to be and realize I won't have that in my account until Friday. Rather than go through the embarrassment, I just casually drop stuff off on my way to the register. I seriously TRY to get through a shopping trip without doing it, but haven't succeeded yet.

I'll tell you one thing, I'd put back food or toothpaste before a Plug-In. I wouldn't want to have to deal with some smelly ass house.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

I'm Queer Too

It still amazes me that people can offend me with just one word. Now I love the word fuck as much as the next WASP, but words such as "retarded" and "shut up" really get under my skin. I also don't like when my Grandma says "colored".

Jane (the little chick I nanny) told me yesterday that another little first grader called her "a queer" just because I had put three band aids on her leg in a row. (It was a big scratch.) How in the Hell does that little jackass know what queer means? I realize, yes, queer is something out of the ordinary which would in fact make Jane unique, and therefore be a compliment. But this little bastard definitely did not mean it as such.

Then there's Matt. When playing video games, he proceeds to call any enemy "pussy" or "little bitch". All this is being said while our daughter, a budding young FEMALE, is swinging nearby taking all of this in. I'M a pussy! I'M a bitch! So why is it such an insult to be called a woman? Women fucking rock!

Not only derogatory words bother me, but I also can't stand the words "fart", "crotch" or "snatch". I prefer "hoo hoo" and "fluff" respectfully.

Let's use these words in a sentence:

"My hoo hoo is itchy."
"My snatch is itchy."
"My crotch is itchy."

Suddenly using "hoo hoo" makes it less disease ridden.

"Grandpa's an old fluff."
"Grandpa's an old fart."

Now who's lap would you rather sit on? Fluff for thought.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Onwy Hephy Snaggs



I'm a real hypocrite, as most parents are. How many times have I told the girls "only healthy snacks" or "too much junk will rot your teeth" or "you don't need chocolate chips on your pancakes" and I'm sneaking a moon pie in the basement, pretending to be doing laundry?

Yelled down to me from the first floor: "TAM!!!!! Can I have a banana?"

Trying to conceal the mass amount of food in my mouth "NO!!! You dushed had a snaggh" as chocolate is spewing from my mouth onto the white load.

Monday, September 12, 2005

I Was A Teenage Gum Thief

Tam, at youth group.


A few weeks ago, I stopped off at Giant Eagle to get a chicken for dinner. Much like my mother, when I stop at the store for only one thing, I end up with a cart full. The chicken was a cooked rotisserie; therefore I picked it up last so it would still be warm when I got home. I didn’t have room inside my cart, so I stuck it in the bottom where small children go. It wasn’t until I was out at my car, unloading, that I realized I never took out the chicken to pay for it. I had forgotten all about it and the cashier hadn’t noticed either. Not only was I nervous about my Karma, but it reminded me of a traumatic experience when I was a child.

At the tender age of 13, I was pretty awkward. It was the year I decided to give myself a haircut, which ended up being every hair but two. I looked more like a boy than my brother. It was the year I still hadn’t grown into my body by a long shot…and I looked more like an apple than an hourglass. And it was the year that I was taken away from a store in handcuffs.

Yes, that little girl that went to youth group every week, that goody-goody blonde who still played with her Cabbage Patch Doll was arrested for shoplifting. All I can say is, the devil had nothing to do with it.

My friend Shelly and I were dropped off by my mother at this Kmart-like store in Corry, PA. I’m not sure if we were there to shop more than there to pass the time away. Because, really? What is there to do in Corry? I convinced Shelly that it would be really fun to try and get away with shoplifting something. I must have seen it on primetime television. There was everything from makeup to movies in this store, so we decided on the obvious: a pack of Bubbalicious’ Banana Berry Split gum. I also threw in a pack of those capsules that blow up into animal shapes when put into water, for good measure. We were suspiciously being followed by a store monitor. Being in Corry, I thought the lady was just looking for a good time and decided IT was a good time to leave the store, gum in pockets. Besides, I knew my mother would be back soon to pick us up.

As we went through the first set of doors to the area where all the vending machines are, I noticed the store pedophile following us and I was pretty nervous at that point, realizing she might not have been interested in us for pleasure.

”Can you girls come back into the store with me?”

I know its strange but the first fear that crossed my mind wasn’t my permanent record or the embarrassment of having to walk back through the store with everyone’s eyes on us. It was the fact that my mother was going to find out and how many bruises I would receive.

This robust woman, to say the least, led us back to her dark dusty office to interrogate. In my 13 year old opinion, she was a little rusty. She called the Corry Police Station and their single police officer was on his way over. She then proceeded to try and scare us into telling her all our secrets. Her desk lamp pointed right at my face, she asked me if I had ever done anything like this before. I thought back to my desk drawer full of stolen office supplies and empty candy wrappers…twenties from my dad’s wallet and a few magazines with Mark Paul Gossaler on the front. “No, of course not.” She then commented on how pleased she was that she nabbed a “two for one” deal. She showed us a chart on the wall displaying how many people she had caught and if she filled up all the boxes, she’d win some sort of prize…a tour of State Prison or a meeting with the Mayor of Corry. I don’t really recall all the details. She was quite impressive though.

Across the table, Shelly seemed to have the I’m-in-such-deep-shit look. I just kept trying to give her the It-will-be-alright look. Although every time she looked at me, her face changed to you-are-so-not-my-best-friend look.

Finally the policeman showed up. I think my first attraction to cops can be brought back to this day. He was younger, slim, and pushed me around a little. He read us our rights and handcuffed us before leading us through the store.

By this time, my mother had shown up and put out an all points bulletin for us when we weren’t out front waiting for her. When she finally DID see us coming through the store with the police officer, she had a look of fear, almost as if she thought something wrong had happened to us and not that we had DONE something wrong. Moms are so like that! Then I think she realized the cuffs and her face changed from fear to fury. I thought she would grab a nearby wire hanger and beat me right there. Eerily calm, she asked the policeman where he was taking us and he told her. She said she would follow, as if we were in a funeral procession. Well come to think of it…we almost were.

On the way there, the cop was staring at us the whole time in his rear view mirror. We were to have our hands on the cage in the back at all times. I started to reach into my purse for lip balm and he sternly yelled it was unacceptable and to get my hands back up on the cage where he could see them. I don’t quite remember, but I think I did it on purpose just to be naughty. I couldn’t help but giggle inside about how ridiculous it all was. The only person that scared me was in the car behind us and I was so glad that he didn’t release us into her custody until she had time to cool off.

At the station, we were promised if we never did this again, personally apologized to the manager and did 20 hours community service, our record would be free and clear. I left with my mother, who had called Shelly’s parents (whom weren’t too fond of me to begin with) and that’s when the real punishment started.

That week, my mom came up with every consequence imaginable, from beatings to telling strangers on the street what I had done. It was a life lesson. I’ve never stolen a single thing since...on purpose.

I might add, a few years later for my 16th birthday my best friend (again) Shelly bought me an industrial sized box of Banana Berry Split gum and a pack of the capsules that blow up in water. Even my mother was amused.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Get That Tree A Tampon


Fall is my favorite season. I love the temperature, the colors, the sounds. Halloween is my favorite holiday as well, but mostly because its evil. The only thing I don't like about Fall is that it only lasts a few weeks, especially in Erie and that it always brings Winter. I know there are a lot of idiots out there that will defend Winter and its icy wrath, but thankfully they will soon find I've put a gypsy curse on them and no, Cortaid won't help that leprosy (more about my gypsy heritage to come in a future post). Fall makes me feel so creative. I love writing on my laptop, sitting outside of Starbucks in downtown Erie with my hot Chai and watching all the people going by, some looking for cans, some selling their bodies. I love my Fall wardrobe as well. I think my favorite article of clothing is a pair of jeans and I could wear them every day in the Fall. You can match them with anything (a sweater, a tank top, a whip). And for some odd reason, you'll find me outside in the Fall more than any other season, collecting acorns so all the squirrels don't have any. A few years ago, I even wanted to name my first born girl after it: Autumn Rain. Then I stopped dropping acid. I think the main reason why I would never move too far south is because I would miss the changing of the leaves so much. Who wants to jump in a pile of sand? And what would be the point of Halloween without the crunch of leaves beneath you while you get beat up for your bag of candy? Plus all the annoying little rodents start hiding in their holes to hibernate, like that old guy down the street with the cane. Good old Mr. Abernathy. Cortaid won't help him either. Probably the best thing about Fall is that is when I met Matt, and I was wearing the whip with my jeans that night. This is why I like Fall.

A nanny since 1996, I'm tired of washing nipples that aren't mine.