...and that's why no one wants to know about me

My brother-in-law, Spencer,  got me a book for Christmas called, "All About Me".  While I opened it, he suggested I could fill out the book and pass it on to my kids, or perhaps fill it out and hide it in the attic to be opened by husband with one T and I on our 20 year anniversary.

I was wide awake last night and decided to sleep in Adrian's spiderman bed (he's at Grandma's while he's out of school since she is a teacher and also out of school) because it is 60 degrees in his room and I love the way his guinea pig shit fills my memory with dreams of being a child and also never cleaning up a microgram of rodent feces in my life. Is microgram even a word?


The questions in the book start innocent enough... Name, address, height, weight, etc. My ambien and Reeses peanut butter cups have started to kick in and I think, "am I reading this right?" I turned back a few pages where things were seemingly normal and realized that I wasn't asleep or injured in the medicated brain. I was currently in the middle of answering the question "What is one thing you extremely dislike about your brother?"



Uh. He lives in another country.




Not deterred, I continued until I was well into the section about fruits of my labors.



"What is one thing your best friend has that you don't that you resent her for?"

Uhhhhhhh.....a social life and boobs that haven't sagged yet?




No way Adrian or "Grandma" Me wants to read that...ever.



I skip over some more of the drama-laden questions, realizing I have zero awesome answers for what the book is looking for. It would frequently ask me to choose my favorite meal,  favorite parent,  or favorite fawn (I had to google fawn...at first I was like....Bambi?). Then after asking such a plain and boring question, the book would ask me to describe how difficult it was to answer. Nothing's difficult for me because I am an open book, Book!



It started to mess with my mind.


Name three things you love about your spouse:


Name Three things you love about yourself:


Now tell which one was easier to write...



This got me thinking...."what the hell? DO I HATE MYSELF?" It's really hard to come up with three things you love about yourself OR your spouse when you're sleeping in a twin spiderman bed with a rodent covered in poo because he's snoring and gives off too much body heat. How does the book know I am not only a bad self-hating robot, but also a mean and selfish spouse-haver with no appreciation?



I decided to skip the chapter after it asked me what age I wanted my children to have sex.


I skipped the next when it asked me to describe the moment I felt the most snuggliest with God, and what verse of the bible moves me the most.



I skipped the next chapter when it asked me to describe in detail my most lucid sex dream and whether or not it has fulfilled any fantasy I have/had.

 The only sex dream I have had is about Bob Saget, and I don't want to read about that in 20 years and Ellis and Adrian can probably be okay skipping on that knowledge as well.




Awwww yeah, DT!







(This was a word purge I did for a new group I joined called GBE 2 (Group Blogging Experience). I had to just write what came to my mind without stopping and trying to add comic effect and interesting ideas. That's PRETTY much why it sucks so much. If you're on FB, you should join, too!)

Christmas.

My favorite holiday has always been Christmas. It's very much annoying to lame people. I start listening to christmas songs in the middle of October.

My standard for Christmas spirit is so high, that it has officially turned me into a giant Christmas asshole monster.

Pretty much any time anyone comes at me with some bullshit between the months of October and January, I kick them in the achilles and scream something about Christmas spirit. I take it incredibly seriously. Almost too seriously. I can't tell you how many times I have grumbled... "well merry effin christmas to you, too". To motorists, customers, best friends, husbands, parents, children in the street, etc.

For me, it never honestly had much to do with the gift getting. Sure, my Care Bears bed tent and Frosty the snowconemaker kicked serious ass....but I remember so many other things being what really made me look forward to Christmas.



1. My parents would give us money to buy them presents. This is coming from two people who literally never buy themselves anything. That ten bucks in our hand was our free ticket to the self esteem ride of the century:

"Look, Matthew, I got Mom this badass keychain that changes colors when you blow on it. She's going to love me so much that my hair will fall out of my head."

"I don't think Mom likes keychains, Mary. I got Dad a calendar with Elvis and Sharpei puppies. He's going to think I'm such a good son, that he's just going to kick you in the side of the brain"

We were always wrong. I still, to this day, have never gotten them that one gift that they never knew they really wanted. I promise, Wendy and Steve, one day. Don't die soon.

2. All the rules went out the window. Also, I could do things I wasn't supposed to do and then hide them real quick and say "Don't ask questions! It's Christmastime!" I only specifically remember using this advantage one time...when my mom walked in on me playing Barbies...... when I was.....12. I was so beyond mortified that that is what I was doing instead of watching Home Improvement and counting my nee pubic hairs. It annoyed the hell out of my mom, too.

"What were you doing? You look like you just got caught doing something."

"what? No I was just flossing my cavities"

"What's going on? I'm serious, what are you hiding?"

"MOOOOoooooom. It's Christmastime! You can't any questions. helllooooooo!"

"Mary, it's October and when would you have had time to buy me a present? And with what money?'

"I am not answering any more questions because it will give it all away, SILLY LITTLE GOOSEY"

I spent the next 2 months racking my brain trying to think of a gift I could give her to back up my story. Not realizing, as I do now that I am a Mother, she was probably franctically searching through my drawers while I was at school, looking for my crack pipe or lesbian porn that I am sure she thought I was hiding.

No, Mom. It was just a Barbie. She was going to prom. I  just didn't have very many friends.






3. My brother is less than a year older than me, so it was always double the presenty fun for me. Especially since I was pretty much a dude. I loved sports and racecars and video games. Brother bear always gave in to me too...which thankfully hasn't messed him up TOO much in our older years. I never had to use up my presents by asking for a playstation...because clearly he would get it and then be forced to share it with his sweet younger sister. IT didn't go both ways (at least I don't think it did.) He never wanted to use my electronic diary or BabyPoopsHerself.

4. The music. It's insane. I don't know how all you heartless people don't break into tears and garland when you hear Celebrate me Home by Kenny Loggins. I can't understand how everyone doesn't blast Brenda Lee's songs about sad bells and marshmallows and rockin the Christmas tree. I looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove Christmas music.




5.  We would always adopt a family. I remember getting to pick out a coat for a girl the same age as me, and it was more fun than picking out something for myself had EVER been. I can't explain the kindness most kids have in their stinky little souls at Christmas! It's mind-blowing. They just want everyone to feel as happy as they do, even if its only temporary materialistic happiness.

I have passed this tradition on to my own family. Last year Adrian got to pick out a boom box for a child his age. Even husband with one T got in on the spirit.. "Shasta says here she likes fur stuff. This girl is gonna love the shit out of those boots!"



This year, even though our fundage is lacking, we adopted a family of 3. I kept scrolling through the bigger families that weren't getting adopted and wished so much that we could do it. There was one family of 8, and 6 of those 8 people were elderly. Uch. Sorry, I'll stop.

Long story short, I thought if I could get my work to adopt a family, then we could all donate and take over one of the bigger families. I ran it by the higher-ups and sent out an email asking for everyone to donate just $20 for a family of five to have a Christmas they otherwise couldn't have. Donations were due in 6 days. By day 5, we had $60. I cried all the way home. I took it personally, "Does everyone hate me that much that they aren't willing to donate money to a family that needs COATS AND SHOES AND BACKPACKS, simply because it has my name on it?" (Hence the "too much" Christmas Spirit I mentioned above)

The next day, after a reminder email was sent out, everyone stepped up. They donated almost 400 dollars and our company matched it. I got to spend 800 dollars on a family of 5 that had only asked for coats, shoes, warm clothes, and backpacks. Well. We took those requests and met them, then took the remaining 600 dollars and went batshit crazy on present buying! These kids are going to have a bettter Christmas than anyone I know! As corny as it is....I hope it will make them believe in Santa Claus. Because Santa is the one who brings this kind of crazy awesomeness.

 I hope no one gets into any sort of physical or verbal altercation this yuletide. It seems to be rampant on Facebook. The moral of the world is, "Remember when everyone else is wrong, just flip them off and go buy some less fortunate children some warm shit and some fun shit"

Mary Christmas to my favorite followers and readers!

NAILED IT.



NAILED IT



I hope no one is intimidated by my badassness in wax figurine making.

They see me rollin....

I was frustrated that I could not roll my r's so I was trying to teach myself. Husband took a secret video that is INCREDIBLY unfortunate. I thought r rolling was supposed to be sexy?

Warning...I MIGHT say a cuss word or two.

Thinking it through.

I'm the opposite of obsessive-compulsive. I like to call it "careless impulsive". Or in layman's terms:


Not thinking shit through.


I get these ideas, opinions, and cuss words in my head that don't make any kind of logical sense but they make my brain feel like it's on a bender with Santa Claus and marshmallow fluff.

I always shop at Super Target because almost everyone there smells good and doesn't make eye contact. I prefer people with hygiene and snobbery over the friendly non-judgmental faces of Wal-Mart.

Kendal suggested I do my shopping at Buy for Less since it's in the ghetto and it would make us feel good about ourselves. One of my favorite Adrian quotes, "I don't know why they call that place Buy for Less...My Nana spent 300 dollars there." (He wits the shit out of himself for only being 7!)

Walking around Buy for Less is like making out with your wallet while doing the macarena. Their stuff is so ethnic and weird that it immediately made me feel awesome about my culture knowledge and decide to be a chef for the week.

"Kendal, hand me some of those cactus leaves"

"What are you gonna do with them?"

"I don't know, boil them with those little onions that look like knobby penises"

"They're spiky, so why don't you pass on that"

I didn't buy the cactus leaves but that's no hyperbole! They had cactus leaves right beside all their Mehicana spices and roots.

That's when I saw the chamomile. It's actually called manzanilla for those of you who only speak one lame language.

I knew manzanilla was chamomile because I read it on the back of Ellis's baby bathsoap and thought it would be a good name for my band. That I still plan on having someday so don't steal that name.

"Hey, did you hear Manzanilla is selling out the Ford Center? We should totes get tickets because she's hot"

"I'm in, Bro, she's so calming and relaxing and makes me want to fall into a stressless sleep"



Husband loves to use Ellis's babybath whenever he is having a sore neck day, because it so calming and relaxing just like my band.



I decided to buy him some and murder my quest to be a decent wife.



"Here's some homemade soup, some sex, AND a motherfucking chamomile bath!"



When I get home and show him the cluster of peace that cost 99 cents, he looked at me like I had a Disney character growing out of my face.



"What do you do with it?"

"I make you a bath and then you love me a compliment me"

"Wait, the whole weed? You just throw it in the bathtub?"

"It's not a WEED, Mat. It's gonna make you feel like you're 20 again. And it smells like a field of sleeping babies"




He kind of glances at with a look of "meh" and goes to finish his "awesome year of recruitment" on the nintendo. (I call everything a nintendo)



I decide I will use it myself and ramp up my wifeness with some super soft skin, a calm disposition, and a freshy scent.

It's a bundle.. costs $0.99....wrapped in plastic.



I pictured drawing myself a hot bath and raking my long (short) blond (ish) hair into a bun (nub) and sliding my tennis player-esque figure into the steaming water and opening the contents of the cheap plastic bag into the mix. It would float around in its bulk, making a big bathtub of Mary-tea. Once the chammy (that's what I call it since we're close) had seeped to its full potential I would ring out one last bit of its medicinal naturalness and then put it in the plastic bag I had laid beside the tub.



It ended up more looking like I had had a one night stand with a hayride. It definitely didn't stay in its bunch and I tried to fake it like it felt good....but the truth is that I smelled nothing and my skin was itchy and I had pretty much destroyed any possession that the chamomile had touched.




Husband came in, unfortunately, and got a look on his face like he wished he'd married his ex, who loves Jesus and doesn't put weeds in the bathtub jets.

I assured him I would clean it up, hoping he would offer to do the job instead...since he's slightly OCD and starts googling divorce lawyers when I forget to use a dirty-spoon-holder-thing.

No such luck. He said I smelled good and I assured him my skin was soft as a slinky and told him he would be able to enjoy that whenever I finished cleaning and came to bed in upwards of 4 hours.

Then we bickered about my not using enough paper towels...and then we quarrelled about me not letting all the dead flowers and weeds go into the drain....then we had a tussle about my not cleaning up my cleaning supplies very well.

Worst. Bath. Ever.

I managed to fall asleep after my bath but woke up an hour later because my throat was closing up and I was dying. I got up and coughed it out like a champ...I tried to scratch the itch in my throat by chewing exorbitant amounts of gum and Nilla wafers. I ended up after a few hours of being really unhealthy and lame, taking a total of 3 benadryl.

It makes sense. I have horrible horrible allergies and soaked in a concoction of hay and flowers for an hour. Today I feel like I'm swallowing fingernails and I still had to sling those loans like it was paying the bills.

Loofa.... 2009-December 2011








After all this turmoil and disease...I realized the whole time I was thinking about lavender.


 You're supposed to drink chamomille.

An endearing random conversation amongst friends.