People I Want To Punch In The Face: Winter

Welcome to my latest "People I Want To Punch In The Face" post.  This week's target? That son-of-a-bitch Winter.  But since winter is not a person, I came up with the following list of humans I want to punch in the face due to this brutal winter.

1) Anyone, and I mean anyone who utters the following words: "Your from Wisconsin. You should be used to sub zero temperatures."  Really? I should get used to snot freezing on the inside of my nose? I should get used to my fingers and toes feeling as if they are being stabbed relentlessly with pins and needles? Let me ask you this, do you think anyone could get used to having a fork poked in their eye repeatedly? No? Then No. No. I am not "used" to freezing my tush off.

2) People who insist on keeping their house below 67 degrees. That is great that you are saving energy! I understand you run "hot." But my lips are turning blue and I want to leave.

3) My children who bitch and moan about wearing proper winter attire. The sweaters are too itchy, the socks are too tight, the gloves always fall off and yes, yes, I understand that you think shorts are so much more comfortable than jeans. But it's negative eleven out there and social services is going to have my ass picked up if I let you outside in flip flops and a t-shirt, and mommy is too pretty for jail!

4) Anyone who says that the cold temperatures are "refreshing" or "not that bad." Okay refreshing is a glass of lemonade on a hot summers day, refreshing is not losing feeling in your fingers and toes.  As for not that bad?  Maybe it's not as bad as being mauled by a rabid grizzly bear, but it's pretty freaking bad.




And finally.....

5) People who seem to be "above" shoveling their sidewalks. Perhaps they think the shoveling fairy is going to come out and do it for them. Perhaps they assume people prefer walking over snow and ice when passing by their home. Or maybe they believe that slipping and falling and breaking a tailbone is no big deal and that everyone should quit whining.  Or MAYBE just MAYBE, they are lazy bastards who more than likely keep their house at 64 degrees and don't even deserve a sidewalk!

Shoveled, Shoveled, Lazy Bastard! 

Liar, Liar: Victoria's Secret

I probably get at least three to four Victoria's Secret's catalogs in the mail each week. Even though I am fully aware that for every two minutes I spend perusing through pages of airbrushed 22 year old models  I add another ten hours of therapy to address my body image issues, I can't seem to turn away. I can't shake myself of the desire to punch those Victoria's Secret marketing executives in the face.

It must be working. The company seems to sell plenty of bras. I shop there myself. But I don't get it. As I page through the catalog taking in picture after picture of a tight, tanned pretty young thing with her breasts busting  out of her "Very Sexy" bra, and her hip bone jutting out just beneath her cheeky, barely there panties I feel more and more inadequate. The thought crosses my mind that since I'm going to look nothing like the hottie with the bedroom eyes and the boob job I might as well save my money and buy my undies at Target.

I never used to pay much attention to their athletic wear.  Recently I came to terms with the fact that I needed an upgrade to my gym wardrobe, thus when my Vicky's catalog arrived for the fourth time that week, I flipped to the workout section. To my delight and amazement,  I discovered that Victoria's Secret models work out in brightly color coordinated sport bras and tight yoga pants. Somehow their hair either stays perfectly shiny and styled, or is tousled in their eyes, slightly damp from the exertion of a hard work out. The models are bent over their exercise bikes showing a "hint" of cleavage, their lips parted in a sexy pout, their eyes slightly closed and beckoning. Wow. I need one of those sport bras STAT! So I purchased two, but could not afford the matching skin-tight "yoga" pants and would have to make due with my faded Old Navy wear.

Last weekend I put on one of my pretty new bras and got ready to head to the gym. It's true, unlike the VS models, I always cover up with a t-shirt, no matter how hot that gym gets. But just for fun I decided to check myself out in the mirror before throwing on my not so stylish shirt to see if I had been magically transformed  into something resembling a page from the catalog. At first glance, it wasn't all that bad. No. I didn't look quiet as voluptuous, but I passed. Then I hit the floor in a plank to see what gravity did to my mid-section and I was less than pleased. So I covered up and hit the gym wondering if while using the elliptical with the private knowledge that I was wearing a Victoria's Secret's sports bra I would be inspired to smolder as I moved up and down on the machine. I wondered if my ponytail might have a bit more bounce and if I would develop a new sexy work-out pout.

None of the above.

God damn it Victoria's Secret! This is no different than the glittery red teddy I purchased in December! I was supposed to look like a sexy Christmas surprise. I ended up looking like I belonged in the cast of Disney on Ice. What gives? Why aren't your underwear working for me? Is it because I purchased the bras on clearance? Would they have been more effective had I paid full price? Please tell me, because I'll pay four times as much for a sports bra that makes me look like your cover model. Hell. I'll give you a kidney. Or my dog*.

Or perhaps I'll realize that you are bunch of liars. Perhaps I'll watch a video on Buzzfeed that illustrates the power of Photoshop. I'll remember  that your models were digitally corrected to make them flawless, their lines, folds, and inches magically erased. I'll tell my self that I am more than a skeleton in panties, figure out that when I exercise  it is for me, not for a camera, or anyone's approval.

Screw you Victoria's Secret. Screw you for making so many of us feel inadequate , undesirable and imperfect.  And shame on me for buying into it.

*My dog is old. I don't really like her. It doesn't really count.

Looking good right?

And then you see her. Tell me they didn't "erase" a few inches from her waste...

Punch in the face for some. Kisses for others.

Guys, I'm having a bad day.  A really bad day. No need to bore you with details, but needless to say I'm feeling punchy and their are a whole slew of folks I'd like to punch in the face, throat, groin... you name it. So be sure I will "entertain" you with a partial and edited for the public list of who is in the doghouse, but in an attempt to cheer myself an appear somewhat balanced and sane I will also make mention of the good guys, the ones who brightened my day, gave me reason to smile and deserve a big old smooch on the cheek. :)

Let's start with a partial list of who is pissing me off.

My Sports Med Doc: This is the fellow who told me several weeks ago that due to my weak tush there would be no race this October. This is the physician who has sent me to the physical-therapist Nazi,   prescribing the most boring routine of exercises known to man. I have followed my doctor's orders, I have been diligent and determined. I visited him yesterday for my follow up appointment.  I'm not sure if it was a pep-talk or tough love but he continually told me that my body is just like his wife's  (hey McCreepy are you leering at me?) and his wife who's body is just like mine, had to give up running altogether. But just because his wife who's body is seriously just exactly like mine, had to give up running doesn't necessarily mean I'll have to do the same. But I might. Time would tell. Because her body is just. like. mine. I'm not your stinking wife dude! I will run again.

My Children: Okay, no not punch them anywhere. Just  to firmly, calmly and lovingly tell them to QUIT THROWING YOUR DAMN HOTWHEELS DOWN THE STAIRS. And to please, please STOP LEAVING YOUR NASTY DIRTY UNDERWEAR ALL OVER THE FREAKING HOUSE. And to requests gently that they REFRAIN FROM SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER EVERY SINGLE BLOODY MORNING STARTING AT 6:15AM.

Myself: Because I can't seem to keep my personal life straight. I am so horribly unorganized I am constantly showing up for appointments on the wrong day, or not at all. I missed my kid's back to school night because I thought it was on a Friday when it was on Thursday. I showed up to meet my personal trainer on Wednesday, when my appointment was Thursday. I bought tickets to a fundraiser, forgetting that my husband would be out of town... again. Honestly. I need a personal assistant. Any applicants? The job doesn't pay very well.

The truth is I could go on and tell you stories that aren't all that funny, but I'll spare you from the angst.

Yet in the midst of this miserable day there have been a few people whom have reminded me that it isn't all bad, at least not usually.

There was the neighbor who made me the best damn cappuccino I have ever had. There was the store clerk who told me I had a lovely smile. There was the girlfriend who texted all the way from California, reminding me that it's time to set up a phone date. There was my sweet Evan who after his first full day of Kindergarten ran down to my office to tell me that he had a super-fun day at school. There was the woman who left a lovely comment on yesterday's blog post.  To all of you thank you. You ave no idea how much I needed you today. Kisses to you.



.

People I Want To Punch In The Face

Because I know it's your favorite.... PEOPLE I WANT TO PUNCH IN THE FACE!

This week it's..

Drivers who see me standing at the crosswalk with two antsy little boys and a baby in a stroller and continue to plow on through as if the laws don't apply to them. Most days I wait for ages at the crosswalk on MacArthur, the street I must cross every single day in order to deposit my eldest child at school. While I can understand an occasional car missing the crosswalk, my guess is that most drivers traverse this street on a daily basis and know damn well where the crosswalk is  but simply can't be bothered with the safety of small children. What is worse, once in a while, I will have a driver stop just short of the crossing, sigh heavily, roll their eyes and give me an annoyed wave as if I am causing them so much terrible inconvenience.

Lego marketers. I'm sorry but since when do all legos need to come in branded sets? Cars. Ninjago. Star Wars. Each set comes with ten million tiny parts, which if any one piece is lost the set becomes unusable. And don't forget the 45 page instruction manual. Seriously, I know it is helping to sell Legos, but whatever happened to, oh I don't know...IMAGINATION?????

Super-Duper-Awesome

The snarky person who left a comment on an older Punch-In-The-Face blog, telling me I was a bitter and envious woman. Well Duh. But did you have to point it out for the rest of the world to see? Geesh.

The nurse who rolled her eyes and lectured me when I informed her that I did not wish to be weighed at my appointment. "It's always you little girls" she hissed. "Now I am going to have to write down that you refused"  Wow. I hate to put you out Nurse Ratched. Excuse me for looking out for my own mental health. Good Lord.

The snotty twenty-something at the coffee shop who raised her eyebrows and smirked saying, "nice t-shirt" referring to my  super-duper awesome Wonder Woman t-shirt. Excuse me? Are you really going to publicly ridicule me for my clothing when you have an incredibly lame butterfly tattoo on your cleavage? You are going to regret that some day sugar.... just sayin'

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Inspiration, PDA, Sweat

I'm feeling a little shall we say.... snarky today, so I guess that puts me in the right frame of mind for a People I Want To Punch In The Face post. It's really going to be more of a random collection of rants, you have been warned.

1) My hairdresser. I'm growing out my hair dude... did you have to take so much off? Love the color sweetheart, but do you know every centimeter of growth has been painful. Nuff said.

Hey where did my hair go??

2) People who include inspirational quotes in the signatures of their emails or on Facebook. Seriously I don't need to know your philosophy on success when I am only trying to coordinate a meeting with you or looking for a little morning entertainment with my coffee. I do not want your inspiration.

3) People who get too lovey dovey on Facebook. What is up with all of the crazy PDA there? Couples we know you are deeply and madly in love, but since when did we have to read your personal Hallmark cards to each other? And the fact that my husband cannot even tag me in a photo, does that mean he loves me less?

4) People who are chronically late. I always have to laugh at our kid's soccer coach who demands that we arrive twenty five minutes early for games so that the kids can warm up, but then never shows up until the last second. He moans about how hard it is to get out of the house with his wife and one seven year old son. Sweetheart, we manage to make it there with three boys, on time, every time. Get it together.

5) People who sweat all over the equipment at the gym and then don't have the decency to wipe it own. It's so freaking gross. They have those disinfectant wipes there for a reason. You make me gag. And you smell. Wear some deodorant.

Hey clean up after yourself. Got it?

Well hopefully my bad mood this morning put a little smile on your face anyway. Until next time....

XoXoXo

Rachel

Fitness, punching people in the face & stuff

No, look closer there is a muscle there

Is anybody out there? Anyone? Bueller? It's interesting my analytics seem down from a year ago, I have few comments and I haven't gained a follower in months. Still every now and then I'll hear from someone saying they read my blog and yet I had no idea. In any case it would be so very nice to get a shout out from you if you are reading and following, sometime it feels as if I am speaking to no one. Not that it really matters, I would probably keep this little blog/journal anyways.

I can't decide the direction of this post. I have a lot of people I would like to punch in the face today and in all honesty I am in a pretty foul mood, yet I don't know that I have the energy for a full on rant.

So here goes a half-hearted punch-in-the-face post and fitness update. Don't get too excited.

It's no secret that I am on a workout kick. It was actually unexpected. After several years of lame attempts at exercise, (mostly jogging a weak 2.5 miles on  weekends) I went in full throttle. During my ankle injury I took up strength training at the YMCA. I have settled into a class called "Body Sculpt" which focuses on light-weight, high-repetition lifting. It turns out I love it, particularly since I have actually noticed a real difference in my body. My arms have some definition for the first time in my life, and everything else is tighter and stronger. I have received unsolicited compliments from family and even strangers. Talk about an ego boost! The real bonus is that it is great for my tiny bones. Getting my little gym class in has become a major priority. 

In addition I am also in full on training for my half marathon, coming up May 5! Tomorrow I'm scheduled to run eleven miles. Eleven. That is a lot of freaking running, thank you very much. I went to the running store today and purchased a water bottle belt and some sort of energy chew to give me a little boost if needed. I'm  officially a runner!

So on to the punch in the face portion of this long boring post. Today I arranged my whole afternoon so I could attend a 5:00 body sculpt class at the Y. I was having one of those frustrating days where every single damn thing seemed to go wrong. I needed a good workout. I made arrangements with a friend to watch Evan while Zack was at soccer, and I was going to take Julian to childcare at the gym. He loves it there, well at least he always has in the past.

I dropped the little guy off 10 minutes before class, and he seemed as happy as can be. The woman working there seemed clueless and asked if this was my kid's first time. No, I informed her, in fact she had watched him just last week and raved about him, said he was an angel. She looked confused. She started asking if I had paid. I answered yes, just last week I purchased six hours. She insisted that she could not find my payment card. Annoyed, I informed her that I had handed it to her last week and let her know that I needed to get to my class. I looked over my shoulder and saw my happy toddler playing trucks with another little boy.

I got to the gym room, set up my bench and weights, and just as the instructor arrived the loud speaker boomed: "Rachel, please return to Child Watch." For the love of God. This never happens. Was this woman totally incompetent? I wasn't even gone five minutes. I huffed on back to the child care center to find Julian sitting on the floor crying. The woman explained that he had fought over a toy with the other little boy and then became inconsolable. Inconsolable? It had only been five minutes, she hadn't even tried, it was obvious. It was also obvious that now that I was back, Julian wasn't letting me go. I could already feel my muscles atrophy.

Man did I want to slap that child watch employee across the face. There were only two kids in the center, and she was kicking one out for crying. Didn't she see that she was pushing me to tears as well? I needed that workout. I needed that fifty minutes of sanity.

So here I am. Knowing that while I won't wake up with sore muscles tomorrow, I will be back again, I'm not returning to the old Rachel. I got me some tiny little arm muscles and I'm keeping them. And as for Sunday... I'm quiet sure after my 11 miles on Saturday, my legs will be plenty sore.

Have a great weekend!

People I Want To Punch In The Face

It's overdue. There are a heck of a lot of folks out there I would like to give a punch in the face to. I got a little aggression out this afternoon in a photo shoot with my favorite photographer, Zachary.  Please go ahead and laugh at my expense.

1) Justin Bieber. I understand that there are millions of hormonal tweens in lust with boy wonder, and at first I had patience with the pop-star. I merely rolled my eyes when "Never, Say, Never" was released. (For the love of God Bieber, you were something like 11 when you were discovered, there wasn't even time to give up on your adolescent fantasy of fame. You do not inspire me.) But now that the kid is romping around half naked with his tush hanging out the back of his pants I can no longer hold my tongue. I feel like I'm looking at kiddie porn when I see his six pack abs in People magazine. Put some clothes on kiddo! And Justin? I know you can afford pants that fit your tight little buns, so why not flatter your rear with some real pants? You look FOOLISH. BAHHHH.














2) The freaky lady at the gym. There are lots of people at the YMCA that cause me to groan inwardly, but this one takes the cake. Said lady is fifty something and in decent shape, but by no means a "cougar." She is the kind of woman who you would expect to find on the beach with socks and crocks and visible sunscreen pasted over her every inch of skin. Crazy gym lady insists on attending just about every class that I do, which is fine, except that she refuses to participate in class. While everyone else is following the instructor's directions, lifting, squatting and sweating in unison, she simply does her own thing. Right. Smack. In front of me. With incredible intensity. I don't understand why she feels the need to join our group activity when she does not want to participate in a group activity. There are other rooms in the gym, free and available for her individual workout. I'm baffled. Simply baffled. And HIGHLY annoyed.

3) The vet. I don't blame the vet for Bascom's misfortune (serious dental disease, resulting in the extraction of 19 teeth.) However I am rather confused as to how he could have been so off on his estimates. When he examined my dog and made his recommendations he estimated that she would have up to three teeth removed. I got a call a few hours after I dropped Bascom off for her procedure and I was informed that instead of three teeth, there would be 19 teeth pulled, and by the way that's an extra $500. That's a pretty big difference. I am not insinuating that I would have not had the procedure done had I known, however, it would have been nice to have been prepared. Sorry kids. No college for you.

Really. Just try me. :)
 

Having some fun with it.

That's all for tonight. Until next time, breaking in my boxing gloves.

People I Want To Punch In The Face & Wine

It has been a while (far too long in fact) since I have written a People I Want To Punch In The Face post, so here we go.

The Walgreen's employee who suggested that I get my 14 year old cat acupuncture. I don't even think I need to elaborate, however I will add that she also tried to suggest lip gloss colors for me. If you had seen her taste in action you would understand why I did not take her advice.

The woman who was working out next to me in "Body Sculpt" the other day. She moaned and grunted while lifting three pound weights. Three pounds. Lady, if doing a few chest presses with three pound weights is causing that much exertion, I suggest a trip to the ER immediately. Our drama queen "weight lifter" also decided that it was appropriate for her to sing along to Katy Perry in between sets. No, she was not on key.

My Words With Friends genius pals. You know who you are. MOM. SAM.  I cannot beat you for the life of me. I have to assume that you have been studying some sort of Scrabble dictionary for years. No, it isn't really fun when you are beating me by 200 points. Each and every time.

The spambot who is littering one  blog post with multiple "comments" everyday. You are driving me nuts. GO AWAY. 

People with cute cuddly babies, because you make make me wish that I still had a cute cuddly baby. Okay. I don't really want to punch you in the face, but I am a wee-bit jealous.  (No not jealous enough to actually have another one!)

But why end on a sour note? I'll finish up with People I Want To Raise My Glass & Toast: 

My husband for getting me tickets and backstage passes to this week's FUN concert. I get to see my boyfriend Nate again, and this time I am sure he is going to whisk me away to a life of fame and fortune!

Myself, for running eight miles last Saturday. Eight miles! That matches my longest run ever. It wasn't even that hard. Onward to the half marathon! More on that later.

Anyone ! Because I just want another glass of wine. Duh.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Gym Edition

There are so many people I would like to punch in the face right now, but for today, I will focus on the gym.

I am not one who has ever really been "into" group exercise classes. I often find myself flustered and pathetic as I try to keep up with all of the moves that my classmates seem to execute so easily. I have two left feet, I struggle with form and to be honest, I'm just plain weak. However at the urging of my "fitness expert" at the YMCA I am now experimenting with different classes, including Yoga.

But let's start with my "personal trainer." I signed up to meet with the trainer, thinking he would be showing me around the gym and teaching me how to use the equipment and target my "problem areas." This is a free service provided by the YMCA, thus, I should have known better.

I arrived for my appointment and was greeted by a buff twenty-something with a hip afro. I'll call him "Tyler." Tyler looked about as happy to see me as he would a dentist offering a root canal. He sat me down at a desk and took out a form. I knew from that moment our thirty minute meeting was going to be a total waste of time. "Why are you here?" "What are your goals?" "What have been your challenges to success?" He asked the standard stale questions, painfully recording my answers in the neatest of penmanship.  Then Tyler handed me a class schedule with his recommendations highlighted in red. They included an 8:15 body sculpt class. "I can't make that one." I informed him. He looked at me sternly, as only a bored twenty-five year old can, and said "Can't and No" are "limiting" words. Apparently, if I think I can't do something I am creating road blocks to success. Okay, but I KNOW that I  can't make an 8:15 class Tyler, since I need to drop my son off at school at 8:30, and that ain't changing, comprende?Oh to be twenty-five and clueless.

Next on to Yoga, specifically Yoga Basics, a class designed to teach beginners the fundamentals. Or so one would think. The class was diverse, there were people of all ages and fitness levels. We spread out our mats, and began class when a woman announced she was having wrist problems, and could we spend some time focusing on that. Wrist problems? Ugg, The teacher agreed enthusiastically and spent a good twenty minutes talking about the wrist and the "energy" in our hand. When finally we moved on, the  woman continued to interrupt every move to inquire about the correct position of the wrist, and back we would go talking about hand energy. Yoga Basics lady. Not Wrist Basics. And as far as I can tell, you aren't the only person in this class.

The next class I attended was Yoga Flow Basics. This was a busier class, and I thought it would be a little more rigorous, but it wasn't. We ended up lying on our backs for ten minutes in a "back arch" pose. Felt like a cat nap to me, not that I'm complaining. What I will whine about is the hot chick next to me who clearly was in the wrong class. What part of basics don't you understand? She was obviously bored and underwhelmed with us beginners, and I swear she rolled her eyes every time I stumbled, but for the love of God, I'm not used to balancing in "tree pose." cut me some slack, and take the advanced flow class sweetheart.

This week I will be taking body sculpt (not at 8:15am, thank you very much), where I am sure I will fumble and struggle with three pound weights, and where I'm guessing I will gather more stories of annoying gym rats along the way. Stay tuned....

People I want to punch in the face/Hair/Giveaway

Today's post may actually be a complete waste of time. The people I am about to describe probably don't even exist, I mean how could they? Really, they must just be a small handful of over-zealous bloggers and ill-advised marketers who don't understand how the real world works. Nobody actually does this stuff right?


Bento-Box Mommies: Yesterday Zachary told me that he was tired of sandwiches in his lunch box. Let me rephrase that. Upon seeing me packing a PBJ in his bag he stomped his feet, rolled his eyes and barked "NOT ANOTHER SANDWICH! I HATE SANDWICHES!" and then proceeded to make gagging noises. So I did what any good mother would do in this day and age, I turned to the Internet to research "fun lunch box ideas." What I found, horrified me. Bento Boxes. Now the idea of a bento box doesn't bother me in the least. Cut up cheese, veggies, fruit, crackers, it's a good lunch. But no. No. These bento boxes are works of food art. Sandwiches cut in the shapes of bunnies or kitties with thin little celery slices for whiskers and tiny flowers cut from cheese. Delicate speared edamame and  movie scenes reenacted with food. Who the eff does this? Wouldn't your Little Bo Peep bento box get all messed up as it sloshed around your child's backpack? Wouldn't you be dissapointed when you found that you went to all that trouble and your child only ate the raisin noes off of your Peter Rabbit sandwich? Good God it's food, not an art project. It's lunch for a 7 year old, who will barely appreciate it, and your setting him up for a major let down when in eleven years he realizes they don't serve "taco boats" in the dorm cafeteria.Get a life!

People who wear Mommy & Me outfits: I admit, I don't have a daughter, and perhaps if I did I would be overwhelmed by the idea of having a mini me doll to dress up, but I highly doubt it. I believe there should be a distinction between grown-up clothes and little girl clothes. I personally have no desire to dress like a seven year old girl, and I certainly would not want my daughter dressing in skinny jeans and high heels. Beyond that, there is just a whole nerdiness factor that goes along with matchy-matchy, it just sort of screams: YOU ARE TRYING TOO HARD! Now it is fairly unusual that I have actually witnessed such a fashion atrocity, however page through a Hanna Andersson magazine, and someone must be buying this crap right? Hard to believe.

As previously mentioned, it is hard to believe that these sort of people exisit in the real world, but if I ran into a bento box mom I have to say it would be hard to fight the punching urge.

In other news... HAIR UPDATE!!!! It's still growing and looks stupid. See picture. That is all.

DON'T FORGET MY GIVEAWAY!!! I am still giving away $15 to Bloom.com, just click the link below. Tell your friends!

Click here to join Embly & get your gift; $15 at Bloom

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Celebs

Okay, so enough with the sap. Let's get busy being bitter and angry.

Welcome to the celebrity edition of "People I Want To Punch In The Face"

I was going to start of with Todd Akin, but that is just too damn obvious, he isn't actually a celebrity, and I am sure millions of people have blogged more articulately about the Congressman who missed 6th grade health class, so I'll move on.

Paris Hilton: I know, Paris Hilton is so 2005. You don't see much about the blond heiress anymore, other than an occasional picture in US Weekly. But I have to include her on this list. Why? Because years and years ago my husband asked me to declare a nemesis. He had named Dave Thomas (of Wendy's) as his, for some unknown reason. Now that Mr. Thomas has passed away, I thought my man had the option of selecting a new nemesis, so he added Phil Collins to the list. Don't ask.  I didn't have to think very hard about mine, I informed my husband that my nemesis was Paris Hilton. At the time, Paris was all over the media, doing her show with Nicole Richie and carrying around a pint-sized dog accessory to match her designer outfits. I'm not sure why I dislike that woman so much. Perhaps it is that smirk on her face. She just oozes "Mean Girl." I bet she picked on girls like me her whole life. Paris is one of those women who are famous simply for being famous (think Kim Kardashian.) Paris has no real talent, she isn't even particularly attractive. What Paris has is money. What Paris has is connections. What Paris has is her skinny body and bleach blond hair. She makes my skin crawl. Seriously.

Rachel Zoe: Yes, I have watched her show. I don't know why. She bugs the hell out of me, especially once she got knocked up. The whole season she was pregnant all we heard about was how hard she was working, how she just kept going and going and going, and how she needed to slow down. Oh poor, poor millionaire Rachel. She had to have a photo shoot, she had to decide on THREE dresses for XYZ celebrity's red carpet moment. Cry. Me. A. River. Now that she has her little boy, Skyler, he makes a nice fashion accessory. That kid's wardrobe probably costs more than I'm capable of earning in a decade. He wears a fedora! He wears a white pinstriped suit! Really? Because my baby refuses a hat. My baby would destroy a white suit in three seconds flat.  Ms. Zoe's house is all white too, by the way. Like a blank slate for blueberry stains and mashed crayons. Give me a break. Rachel, your kid isn't having any fun if he is that clean all the time.

Gordon Ramsay: Does anybody really believe this guy is for real? Was there ever a show more boring than "Hell's Kitchen?" It's a bunch of uneducated line cooks competing for a spot in one of his restaurants. They are a bunch of idiots and Gordon thinks that he is entertaining his viewers by screaming and yelling at them Actually Ramsay, you are just putting me to sleep. I hear now he is on to hotels. That is one show I will not watch. 


That's all I have time for today. Hope you enjoyed my rant.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Everyone.

My last few posts have been a bit on the melancholy side. Today, the bad mood continues, so I'll make the best of it with....

"People I Want To Punch In The Face"

1. My kids. Yes, I realize that this is highly in-politically correct, so please keep in mind that I have refrained from acting upon these impulses. Read yesterday's post and you will understand just why I have thought about inflicting corporal punishment on my children. It is because they are insane. Freaking insane.
2. Facebook braggers. You know who you are. "Look at me! I'm so accomplished!" "I'm the same age as you and I run my own company and drive a BMW, look like a super model and take fabulous international vacations!" Can you shut up for one minute and post something a little less self-promotional? How about "I served my kids leftover mac & cheese for breakfast and I was rude to the nanny." That would probably be just as accurate. Bitter much? Yes, thank you I am today.
3. Flanders. My damn cat again. That poor thing has 9 plus lives. He should have been dead a long time ago, and yet he lives on, and on, and on. Vomiting on every piece of upholstered furniture I own. He particularly likes our bed. Nothing like waking up to a pile of cat puke on your pillow. Flanders, dear feline, I mean this in the nicest way possible...WILL YOU PLEASE DIE ALREADY? Thank you.

I could go on. Basically everyone should be on look out for my cyber- fist today.  I'm in a bad place this week. I'll post something happier another day. Maybe.

People I want to punch in the face

I'm on the war path today. This time I have my sites set on bay area medial professionals. Basically all of you. (*slight* exaggeration.)

I started writing a post on my disappointment in the health care I have received since I moved to California, but then began to realize how boring the whole thing was. So I am going to make it simple. For the most part the doctors I have seen here have sucked. Really SUCKED. My most recent ankle injury has left me fuming at the "care" I received. Let's put it this way-I was injured back in January and here we are in June, only now discovering that I have a fracture, torn ligaments and bruised bone. Awesome. And the podiatrist my less than attentive primary care physician referred me to? Look him up on Yelp and you will see that his patients are basically screaming to STAY THE HELL AWAY.  Perfect. Just Perfect. So to you, bay area doctors who I have had the displeasure of meeting, a cyber punch in the face. Thank you.

Who's up next?

The elliptical machine. Okay, so an elliptical machine isn't living and doesn't have a face, but I would still like to smash it to little bits and pieces. Dumb gerbil wheel, how I despise thee. Now that I am unable to run due to my bum ankle, I have to select a low-impact aerobic exercise to keep myself from becoming a total lethargic reality-tv junkie. So basically it's swimming (which I don't do.), biking (which I don't do.) or the elliptical. I don't swim because, really I don't know how. The whole thing is embarrassing and uncomfortable for me. I hate floundering about in the YMCA lap pool with impatient swimmers behind me, wondering if I have ever really graduated from the dog paddle. (No. I haven't.) And biking? I have been afraid of a bike since I was 10 years old. Speeding on two rickety wheels. Nothing between you and the pavement but your skinny little bones. I know. Irrational. Whatever. I'm crazy. Sue me. That leaves me with...the elliptical machine. The f*cking elliptical machine. It's hard and it's boring, even when I'm plugged into Bravo TV watching a rerun of Tabitha's Salon Takeover. It is BORING. I watch the clock tick off every second. Tick Tock. I smell the stink of the person on the adjacent machine. I want to go home. I want the nightmare that is "exercise" to be over. So I dutifully put in my 30 minutes and leave the gym feeling totally unfulfilled. Screw you elliptical. There has to be something better.

What else? What else? There must be something, but I'm all tired out from being angry and I'm going to bed.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Random Thoughts

In honor of Julian's first birthday....

PEOPLE I WANT TO PUNCH IN THE FACE

1) My husband (love you baby!) My husband is insisting that I grow out my cute short haircut, the one that garners constant attention and compliments. The style that requires no fuss, and makes me feel spunky and confident. I have had this cut for six years now, and apparently the man wants long hair again. Apparently all men want long hair. Christ. So now I am in the painfully slow process of growing this mop out. Right now it is still very short, but thick and puffy and unruly. I look terrible, and because my hair is still too short for clips I simply wear a hat all the time. Hats are fun, but it is getting a bit tiresome, and I feel a little
 like I'm in disguise. It's going to be a long freaking year of hair hell. Hubby-you owe me.

Hat 1

2) Myself. Yes, I make the list frequently. Why this time? Because I'm an absolute idiot with no self control who picked at the scabs on my brand new Las Vegas tattoo, leaving it looking gnarly and in desperate need of a touch up. What kind of a moron am I anyway? Am I four? I was specifically told not to pick at it. Now I'll pay the price. Dumb, Dumb, DUMBEST.

3) Candidates who apply for jobs for which they are completely unqualified. Look, I get it, it's a difficult economy and people are desperate for employment, but job descriptions list requirements for a reason. I'm not talking about an applicant with 3 years of experience instead of 5, I'm talking about people who apply lacking any of the relevant requirements. If a job requires a minimum of 5 years of event production experience and you have NEVER PRODUCED AN EVENT (outside of your kid's birthday parties) you are not getting the job. If you work as a Sandwich Artist at Subway you are not qualified to be a Creative Director at a PR agency. Get it?!

Hat 2

Hat 3

And now on with my day, which is actually quite a happy one. My little baby is one year old today and I can't wait to stuff his little face with cake!

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Don't Call Me Corny

So the good news is, I never seem to run out of material for my People I Want To Punch In The Face series. The bad news is, I never seem to run out of material for my People I want To Punch In The Face series. I am an angry person. But perhaps it makes for good blogging.

This week:

#1: The "friend who referred to Getrealmama as my "corny little blog." Corny? Oh please don't call me corny. I realize that my writing here is hardly a piece of art, rarely thought provoking and only mildly amusing, but corny? Really? When I think of corny I think of all those flowery "inspirational" quotes about "Forever friends", Sister Love, the joys of motherhood, etc. I am not corny. I have been waiting for an apology, but this is also the person who told me that my tattoo would look much better if my arm wasn't so fat. Yeah, I know, I need new friends. Working on it.

#2: The damn Green Peace, Save The Children, Save The Whales, Save The World solicitors that stand on each side of the crosswalk on Lakeshore Avenue (and all over the country.) I walk by trying to motivate my kids to cross the street, which usually means dragging, pushing and bribing and then I have some 22 year old hipster yelling at me "Do you have a minute for the environment?" Does it look like I have a minute for the environment buddy? And lets just be honest, you don't want my minute, you want my checkbook. Can I please, please just cross the street in "peace?" Too much to ask?

3#: Anyone who ends their voice-mail greeting with "You make it a great day!" WTF? Maybe my grandma just died, my cat was run over by a car, my wallet was stolen or someone just told me I had fat arms. Make it a great day? Don't tell me what to do. Maybe I just want to wallow in self pity for crying out loud. Totally my right.

That's all I have time for today. More another time, promise.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Middle of the night rant

It's been a tough week, and thus, the snark is back full force, sponsoring another addition of People I Want to Punch In The Face.

1) The half a dozen or so parents who, upon hearing that I will be leaving my entire family for a two night girls trip to Las Vegas, have looked at me with dismay and uttered some variation of the following: "I could never do that! I would miss my kids too much!" WTF? I don't know if there is some sort of mama-love chip missing in me, but short of the fact that I am going to be forced to spend precious vacation time with my breast pump, I don't think I will wish my children were with me for a single second. The last time that I woke up in the morning and didn't have to attend to the needs, tears and tantrums of someone else has been over a year. I highly doubt that when I'm sitting with my friend drinking a latte by the pool that  I will be wishing I was refereeing the daily breakfast table battle between my boys.

2) People who think that a path/sidewalk was made for them alone and meander slowly four across, oblivious to the world around them. Inevitably this forces  runners or anyone walking at a reasonable pace to go off the path, usually around a garbage can and over a gigantic mud puddle to get past them. Hello? How many times does this happen in your walk around the lake before you realize you are a nuisance? Seriously. Get the hell out of the way.

3) Cheez-It's. Yes I realize that a snack doesn't have a face to punch, however someone somewhere is responsible for this irresistible guilty pleasure. I don't know why I like them so much. Honestly, there just not that great right? Right? Certainly not worth their calorie count, totally devoid of any nutritional value, and yet, I am addicted.  Every week I contemplate not buying another box, but inevitably one or two always seem to make it into my grocery cart. I tell myself that they are for the kids, but I think I polish off most of the package myself. Today I nearly lost it with my son's play date who insisted on finishing off "our" Cheez-It's. I tried to convince him to eat an apple or a banana, but he refused and actually requested to take home a Ziplock bag full of MY CHEEZ-IT'S to his brother. Now we are fresh out. I'll be forced to eat something healthy. Stupid kid. (No, this post is not sponsored by Kellogg's, I swear to God)

Okay it's 1:30am. Rant is over. Good night.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Victoria's Secret & Southwest Airlines

Another riveting addition of People I Want To Punch In The Throat/Face/Gut.

1) The Victoria's Secret Sales Lady. I don't frequent Victoria's Secret often. There are a variety of reasons. For starters, I hate the advertising. Men across the world fantasize about their airbrushed models and this is precisely why I hate the retailer. When I look at those women positioned just so, their backs arched, pushing forward breasts so firm they don't require a bra, and an arm draped across a washboard stomach, I feel a tad bit inadequate. Since my own image in the "Very Sexy Bra" and matching pantie set would look nothing like the barbie model I see in the catalog, I figure, why bother? I usually head straight for Target where you can by six pairs of undies for $20. This leads me to another reason why I don't shop at Vicky's. I don't have the disposable income to spend $150 on a hot pink teddy that, honestly, I'll probably never wear. Garter belts? Don't need them. Silky nightie? I prefer sweats. You get the picture. Finally, Victoria's Secret typically does not carry my size. Surprisingly, although the company uses models that are far from average, their range of sizes is made to fit average women. I am not average. Of course I'm not! Okay, so I don't have those tight abs, and I have a little cellulite, but I do have an ample cup size for a petite woman, and therefor require an unusual size. Which they don't sell. Thus, I usually have to compromise getting a less than perfect fit.

Recently however, I decided it was time to spice up my under-garment wardrobe. By that I mean purchase a bra that is NOT a nursing bra. I ventured into the store on a weekday afternoon with two children in tow, because when do I not have at least one or two kids with me? I bribed Evan with candy and hoped Julian would behave. I needed to be quick. I entered the store and quickly found a sales woman. I asked to be measured because I wasn't quite sure of my size. The sales lady whipped out her tape measure and wrapped it around my bust. "32 B" she declared. I looked at her. I looked down at my chest, and I looked at her again. I told her she needed to measure me again. She shrugged her shoulders and obliged. "32 B, maybe even an A" she dead-panned. "I'm a nursing mother" I stammered in disbelief. "Do I look like an A cup?" She said nothing. I assume she went to Victoria's Secret training camp and they taught her how to calculate cup size by inches. Apparently she wasn't very good at math, and you just can't argue with stupid.

For the fun of it, I told her to grab me the B cup so that I could try it on. I went back to the dressing room, put on the bra and called my little helper in the room to have a look. She opened the the dressing room door, glanced at me and stammered-"Let me go get my manager." Yes dear, why don't you.

Eventually I left the store with a bra in the *sort of* correct size. What should have taken fifteen minutes took thirty. I am thinking that perhaps my sales girl should be fired, or demoted to a stocker. And guess what? I still haven't worn the dumb bra.

2) Southwest Airlines. We just flew from Oakland to Tampa, Florida. A long flight, routing us through Las Vegas. The Vegas-Tampa route was over four hours. When they came around with the drinks, I ordered a Bloody Mary. It was good. Julian was squirmy and fussy and refused sleep. Traveling with three children is hardly relaxing. A Bloody Mary was just what I needed to take the edge off. After one, I wanted another. At least one more. It was a four hour flight. There were no more drinks. No more drinks? I am a mother traveling with three small children, why in the name of God, did they not just hand me a liter bottle of vodka? Idiots.

That's all for tonight folks. Catch you later. Trust me. I have more material.

People I want to punch in the face

A few days ago I wrote a post about "People I want to punch in the throat." I enjoyed venting so much, that I think I may need to make it a regular thing. Because someone has a whole blog with the title, I'll change mine to "People I want to punch in the face" so I don't get in trouble with another blogger. Let's call it blogging etiquette.

#1: My damn cat. Okay, so I realize that my cat does not qualify as a "person", but I want to hurl the six pound fur ball out the window anyways. I'm kidding, please don't go contacting PETA. If you recall that cat is very, very lucky to be alive. But this stinky little rodent is driving me to drink. (Like I need an excuse.) What happened this time? The cat knocked over the remains of Cup-O-Soup on my laptop. Please don't ask me why I was eating Cup-O-Soup, just call me sodium deprived. The freaking cat ruined my computer. Fried the keyboard. To top it off he puked all over my bedspread last night while I was sleeping. I didn't know my blanket was covered in vomit until I woke up this morning. Gross. Gross. Gross.

#2: Myself. Everyone of these stupid animals was my idea. Now I have a house full of dirty animals that will never die.

#3: The pretentious bartender we had had at ZZA's on Friday night. The dude knew all about his wine, and rambled off all kinds of crap about "fullness, notes, and tannins" but when I asked him to take a picture of our little group of friends, he refused and walked away in a huff. Really? Maybe if he took himself a little less seriously and didn't waste his time trying to impress a group of people who just wanted to enjoy some drinks with his amazing wine knowledge he would be able to provide some customer service.

I could go on. And on. But I have a life to get to, believe it or not. There will be more another day. Promise.

People I want to punch in the throat.

Recently I saw a blog titled "People I want to punch in the throat." Sadly, this resonated with me. I couldn't help but think it was kind of... hysterical. Violent? Yes. Negative? Yes. Funny? Yes.

So today's post is titled "People I want to punch in the throat" *

#1&#2: The two ladies I met in the Safeway parking lot on a rainy day last week. I was there with Julian in my arms,and Evan by my side. I was attempting to navigate my way through the busy parking lot without losing a child under the tires of a speeding vehicle. Have you ever noticed how crazy people get in a Safeway parking lot? For the love of God. The ladies looked at me. They shook their heads in disgust. One of the women opened up her big ol' mouth and snickered "Why don't your babies have on rain jackets? Tisk, tisk" I was headed for the store entrance and did not have time to turn around and explain (in the rain) why exactly my children were not wearing the appropriate rain gear. But here is why. I had spent the previous 10 minutes fighting with a three year old about the importance of wearing a rain jacket. I lost. Three year olds can be very persuasive when they are screaming in your ear and spitting at you. That's right. Spitting. It's his new thing. As for Julian, I don't even think they make rain jackets for 9 month olds, and if they do, I don't own one. I try to keep a hat on him, but he is already just as stubborn as his older brothers and pulls it off. Every. Single. Time. So Safeway ladies, that is why my babies were sans rain jackets. Mind your own damn business.

#3: All of the women at Evan's school who keep asking me if I want to serve on the Parent's Board and the Auction Committee. Sure they are well intentioned, but it is stressing me out. As it turns out I am just not one of those kinds of moms. You know, the kind of mom that likes planning all the fundraisers and organizing teacher appreciation day. I feel guilty about it. I do. But these mom's take this whole thing very seriously. They have job descriptions written for the various positions. I already have at least two jobs (Mom: AKA Personal Slave to three bossy boys) and part-time recruiter. I don't have the energy to head up the fundraising committee. I I don't know how these other mamas do it. Maybe they have more time than I do. Maybe they are just more super-awesome than I am. Either way, please, please stop asking me.

#4: Gotye. They sing "Somebody That I Used To Know". I am obsessed with this freaking song. It's catchy. It's emotional. It's sexy. It's stuck in my head 24x7 and I think it might drive me to doing something desperate like listening to Bill Harly's "Down in the Backpack" just to chase the damn song out of my head.

Okay. That's it. Off to my happy place.

*Disclaimer: Really, I'm not a violent person. No really.