One Man For Sale...

Well, OK... he is not FOR SALE, but he is up for auction.

The other day I received a letter (handwritten) from my cousin Keith. Keith is the offspring of the Clan AuntBarbUncleDon. As I was reading his letter I thought "Why isn't this guy married?" And then it hit me... I should plaster his picture on this here blog and see if there are any ladies out there who would be good enough for him. Oprah does this kind of stuff all of the time, and I am just like Oprah.

Many a childhood memory involved my cousin Keith. He is younger than me (I think he is in his early 30's right now) and he always got a spankin' at every single family get together. It became tradition. It was not Christmas until Keith got the belt. Now, do not let that sway your opinion of Keith, he was never a bad boy... he was just a boy. Women don't want men who were sissies when they were younger, women want men who were boys when they were kids-boys who pulled the butts off of a lightening bugs and who threw rocks at the neighbor to defend you (that was actually Keith's brother Dave that threw the rock at their neighbor to defend me... and it was after the neighbor threw a rock at me and hit me square in the forehead, but they are from the same gene pool so all is good.)

Keith is also a self made millionaire... or at least he is on his way to becoming one. I know this because he looks so debonair and cool when I see him. He has a smile that can melt your heart-but only if you like dimples. If you don't like dimples then he is not the man for you, you dimple hating person.

He was a tremendous athlete growing up, and still is today. He lives in Hilton Head South Carolina (if that does not sell ya, I don't know what I can do for you.) He is a riot to be around and he truly loves his family. You will be guaranteed a good time... especially if he brings you to one of our family weddings. Just don't let him sit with cousin Steve from the Clan AuntRoseUncleChuck or with cousin Johnny from the Clan AuntJudiUncleHarold... that is all I am gong to say about that.

Have I mentioned that he loves kids? Say it with me ladies "Winner!" He has actually told me on more than one occasion that he can't wait to have kids-a lot of them. He wants to find a nice girl, get married and have babies. If that doesn't make your uterus ache I don't know what will. *The above photo is of Keith with is nephew Evan... too stinkin' cute!

And last but certainly not least... Keith is Irish. If that does not seal that deal I don't know what will!

So if you are interested send me an email. If you are not interested because you are married, old, male, or blind... forward this post on to all of the young ladies you know out there who are looking for a good man. Better yet, forward this post on to the mothers of the young ladies you know who are looking for a good man. Forward this to mothers out there who are tired of their daughters dating men who were sissies and aren't Irish. Let's get this boy married off shall we?


Mistress June On Duty!

Last weekend my husband and I went to a Christmas party. I am not proud, and I fully admit that since the birth of Mary Claire I have basically sat around eating and drinking until I have turned into a chubby mommy. Sometimes chubby looks good on people, on me, well it looks just plain fat.

Since this party was a "semi-formal" event, I had to find a dress that actually fit me. I refused to buy a new dress in the size that I am in now for the same reason that I refuse to buy any new pants. I do not plan on being this size forever and I do believe that one day I will wake up and the sense will be knocked back into me and I will set down the cookies and cakes (don't ask me to set down the beer though-that will never happen my friends.) and get back on the road to looking smokin' hot and all. Today... not so smokin' hot. Not even a little luke warm hot. Today I look like a chubby woman wearing pants a size too small. I fully admit that. If you don't like it, look away.

Anyway, as I was rummaging through my closet I found a simple black dress in a size 8. I considered for a moment slathering my body up with baby oil before attempting to put it on, but I didn't want it to stain. Instead I headed to the store to buy me a pair of "Spanks."

Do you know how much those suckers are? Too much... so I bought a pair of the Hanes knock offs. I may be fat, but I am still money conscious.

That night after my shower and my hair drama, it was time to get dressed. I knew it was time to get dressed because my husband was fully dressed and hovering around me asking me things like "Are you getting close to done?" or "Can you give me a rough estimate as to when you think you may possibly be ready." When he starts to hover, my mood will quickly go from a pleasant one to a bad one. They based the character on the Exorcist movie on my bad moods. So now I was fat, had bad hair, and in a bad mood. Never attempt to put make up on when you are in a bad mood... I think I may have ended up looking a little like Cruella De Vil.

Sooo, it was now time to strap some lycra to my body and squeeze my size 10 hips into a size 8 dress... and my size GAZILLION nursing boobs into a size 8 dress. Success seemed impossible.

When I pulled the Hanes lycra out of the envelope, I thought it was a joke. They looked like they would fit my 4 year old and not me. How in the world was I supposed to put these things on?

There I was, naked, sweating, and huffing and puffing as I pulled and tugged the lycra up my body. I turned to look in the mirror and saw that the lycra was forcing all of the fat from my thighs and butt up... I looked like Santa Clause trying to fit down a chimney. As most of you know, putting pantyhose on is not easy... escalate that torture by 1000 and you will get an idea as to what it is like to get this lycra contraption on.

As I was mid-way through my fat pulling, lycra tugging ordeal, I look up to see my husband watching me. The look on his face was one of horror and defeat. I think he may have been fooling himself about my size as well. All of those fantasies where I look like the 18 year old girl with the size 4 hips and the amazing ta-tas were shattered all because he could not leave me the hell alone when I am getting dressed. I don't feel bad though, and he will eventually stop staring into space and shuttering from time to time... I hope.

Eventually I did it. I was lycra'd up from mid thigh to breast and I was SKINNY! Not as skinny as if I would actually get my rear in gear and work a little, but skinny enough to get that size 8 dress on. Sure, my boobs were spilling out over the top, but they had to-they had no where to go! My thighs were actually so skinny that they did not rub against each other when I walked! My tummy was flat and my butt was small. I had won the victory over the fat! I had tricked it into being sucked back into my body for an evening.

When I took the Lycra off later that evening, it shot across the room and hit my husband square in the face. He woke up screaming that night... something about being eaten by a fat monster. I am not sure what that means, but with a little counseling he should be fine.


All I Want For Christmas Is A New Liver...

We've been busy... It took me almost 4 days to drink all of the beers to make my Christmas tree this year. It usually only takes me 2 days. That is what I get for wanting to make the tree a 10 footer instead of the usual 7.

You should have been here when the police showed up and make my husband take down his outdoor light display all because our Home Owner's Association said it was not of "holiday" spirit. Hell, we are Irish Catholics, I don't know what "holiday" spirit is, but I do know what Christmas spirit is. I asked Father O'Malley when he was at my house helping us drink these kegs. If "holiday" spirit does not involve kegs, twinkle lights and drunken Santa Clauses... well then I don't want any part of it!

I promise there will be a post of more substance tomorrow... I have quite a story to tell you about me, a mirror, a pair of spanks lycra undergarments, and my husband watching in stunned silence. It is a doozy.
*The above photos are not mine... I would give credit where credit is due, but I don't know who these photos belong to. If I did, well I would want to be their friend.


You Know You Are Getting Old When...

You know you are getting old when you go to a Christmas party, get drunk, come home, have sex and still be fast asleep by 11:30 p.m.

We went to a "semi-formal" Christmas party this past Saturday. My plan was only to drink one Heineken and call it good, but some dear soul bought 3 bottles of wine and I thought it would have been rude not to share in a glass of spirits. Before I knew it, there were 3 half-full bottles of wine left and I thought it would be such a waste of money for this nice person to leave those bottles of wine on the table... so I did my part and tried my best to finish them off.

I don't think the true drunkenness of my being was apparent until the drive home when I drunk dialed 4 different people and made a naughty suggestion to my husband to pull the van over so we could have a little sumpin' sumpin' (he did not take me up on my request... something about driving on 495 in Washington D.C. He is such a prude.)

The amazing part is that I was up and showered in time for Mass Sunday morning. My Irish heritage has yet to let me down and I have the keen ability of getting happily tipsy and then not feeling an ounce of hangover the next morning. God must love Irish people most in this world.

I love the Holidays.


Cookies and Cakes and Hot Ta Ta's OH MY!

Baking cookies and listening to Josh Grobin all day today... look for my post on the importance of control top pantyhose during the Christmas Season tomorrow~


Valuable Life Lessons...

This evening we were driving home and saw a couple of young people kissing by the side of their car in the street. We all noticed... we all stared.

My husband make a comment about hitting them because they are kissing in the street.

My son said "Yeah, plus they had their eyes closed."

I asked, "You are supposed to close your eyes when you kiss?"

My son's silence caused my husband to offer him a very valuable life lesson...

He said, "Only if she is ugly son, only if she is ugly."

I am amazed at the level of intelligence that surrounds me. Some days I have to just pinch myself.

Crazy Mixed Up Teenagers...

Today is Hope's birthday. My firstborn. My baby. She is thirteen. Lord help me.

I found a prayer I had written in a prayer journal a few years back on her 6th birthday. After all these years, it is still what I pray for her, so I thought I would share it with you all...

"Dear Lord,
Today is Hope's birthday. Six years ago today You entrusted her to us. I pray that we are doing the job You intended us to do, in the way You desire us to do it.

I wonder what her life will bring for her. How exciting a time to have a life of love ahead of her. She is such a beautiful girl You have made. I pray that You remain in her heart even if a time comes when she may turn from You. When evil comes into her life Lord, I pray that You prick her with a thorn from your Crown so that she will quickly run back to Your path.

I pray she will always love, accept, support and pray for her family-as we will always do for her.

Happy Hope's Birthday to you Lord!

With this prayer, Our Lord has been faithful to Hope. She is such an amazing kid, and I am not just saying that because I am her mom. She has a kindness in her heart that can only come from the understanding of compassion that comes from a deep relationship with Christ. She is also brave-the bravest person I know. She never hesitates when it comes to including others or making someone feel special.

She is so much better than I ever was, and I am so proud of my girl. Her Dad and I were blessed the moment she burst into our lives. We named her Hope because that is what she gave to us-hope.


From Our House To Yours...

Our Christmas letter is like a friggen monkey on my back. I keep telling myself that I need to write it, but I have yet to get that blast of clarity where it all comes together in my mind so that I can actually put it to print.

What do I write about? Do I write about Hope's achievements in her Dressage Competitions but leave out the part where she was banned from AppleBee's because of that one incident with the toilet and a cherry bomb? Do I gush about Aaron's baseball abilities but leave out the part where he became a "person of interest" on the Homeland Security list? Do I tell everyone about Emma's singing and dancing abilities but leave out the fact that she has bowel issues that cause her to fart like a man? Do I go on and on about how adorable Mary Claire is and how she crawls and smiles but leave out the part about the projectile vomit at Mass last Sunday?

It is so hard to decide.

Do I go with brutal honesty, or do I lie? Do I write my Christmas letter to make it look like we crap rainbows and bunnies around here, or do I go off the deep end and portray my children to be juvenile delinquents that are one step closer to becoming wards of the State?

And what about my husband? Do I tell everyone about his hyper active sex drive that leaves me hiding in the closet some days or do I sugarcoat it and just let people read between the lines when I tell them that he is on a intense exercise regiment and that he somehow roped me into doing it with him?

I hate to talk about myself as well. Do I go on and on about how beautiful I am and what a fabulous mother I am and how I am devout and pious and full of blessings from Heaven, or do I peel back the layers and let everyone know about the vein I have in the middle of my forehead that throbs about 100 times a day while I am yelling things like "Who's dirty underwear is this on the lamp?" or "Why is the lawn blower in your bedroom?"

Each and every year I vow to not do a Christmas letter. I insist that this will be the year where I finally just send a nice Christmas picture where we are all clean and proper looking and let people's imagination run wild.

Each year my husband says things like "But WE have to write a letter." or "When are WE going to write the Christmas letter?" and even "I know it is hard for US to write the letter, but WE really should update people on our lives."

I don't think people really care about what we do in our lives. I mean, I don't give a crap about what goes on in other people's lives. Truthfully, when I get a Christmas letter in the mail I usually read the first paragraph and the last-I don't care about little Timmy's genius IQ or little Amy's scholarship to Harvard. I am so cynical that I don't believe them anyway.

All of that being said... I will be writing a Christmas letter this week. If you would like a copy, just email me your address and I will be happy to crack one off to you. I cannot promise it will be accurate and I may have to change a few names to protect the innocent, but it will be entertaining... at least the first and last paragraphs will be.


For Better Or Worse...

Over the past few years, I have discovered some events, tasks, and chores that should not be done with a spouse. This past weekend, I was sorely reminded of this list as my darling husband and I did all of these together and we almost did not survive. It was hairy, and he almost lost a limb. Thank God I found this list again to remind myself of the guidelines to sanity in a marriage.

#1 You should never, under no circumstances move furniture with your spouse. Carl and I moved furniture together this weekend. It was really my fault as I am referred to as "The Great Re-Arranger" in my home. I decided that we needed to move the 1000 lb. treadmill from the guest room to our bedroom. Why you ask? Well isn't it obvious? I wanted to not only drive my husband crazy, but I also figured that if I had to look at the treadmill every day that I would be more apt to actually USE the stupid thing. Next weekend I want to move the refrigerator to the other side of the kitchen... my husband's hernia should be better by then.

#2 You should never hang things on the wall with your spouse. Unless you want to argue about what is level to you and what is level to your spouse (who apparently has one leg longer than the other because they cannot see what it level if it hit them in the head.) It is easier if one of the spouses just leaves the room and lets the other one tackle this task on their own. When you return to the room you should never criticize the unlevelness of the hanging artwork. This is imperative-do not ever tell your husband that he hung the frame too high/crooked/too low/or on the wrong wall. It is hung-leave it at that and go on with life happily every after and try to never again look at the hung artwork on the wall.

#3 Do not go shoe shopping with your spouse. Your idea of shoes are completely different from your husband's idea of shoes. You may want comfortable and sensible, fashionable and trendy. He will want whore whore whore. I went in for a nice pair of black boots this weekend and walked out with a pair that Cat Woman herself would wear.

#4 Do not balance the checkbook together. I know that all of the financial experts out there tell all of us married folk that we need to do the finances together. These people are idiots (sorry Dave Ramsey, I believe everything you say... except for this.) I do not think that my husband needs to be involved in the finances whatsoever. He just needs to make the money, I will pay the bills, save a little and spend the rest. All is right with the world when that is in place. When he decides to help me balance the checkbook, that is when the real fireworks start. He does not understand my codes. He does not understand why I hide money and mislabel things. He does not understand why I will not just mail the cable payment on the 15th when it is not due until the 22nd. I will mail it on the 19th because I like to keep the money in our account for as long as possible. He does not understand why I will transfer money from the checking account to the savings account but then transfer money from the savings account to the checking account for something different. It would take too long for me to explain all of this to him. It took me years to completely understand my techniques.

#5 Do not let your spouse pick out your clothes for a party with you. We had a Christmas party to go to for my husband's work. I was planning on wearing something very casual, but my husband thought I needed to wear something a little more "party-ish." I ended up wearing my new Cat Woman boots and a cleavage bearing top to a casual party where all of the other wives wore tan pants and sweaters that had Christmas trees on them and actual bells as ornaments. Needless to say I was not spoken to all evening.

#6 Most importantly, for the love of God, do not ever-I mean NEVER EVER paint a room with your spouse. If you do not heed my advice on this one, just make sure the divorce papers are drawn up before you put the primer on the walls. Consider yourselves warned.

Buy Yourself A Gift...

If you do not own one of these, I highly recommend you rushing to the nearest store and purchasing one-do not stop at red lights, do not wait for little old ladies in crosswalks. Go as fast as your little feet will carry you.

It is orgasmic.

That is all I am going to say...


Surprise! You Get A Dirty Bra For Christmas!!!

Emma is really in the Christmas mode this year. Her favorite thing to do is wrap presents. She has been wrapping just about everything we own for the past few nights now. It all started with her helping me wrap the gifts for the Tag Tree at Church. She then moved on to wrapping some of her books that she no longer wants because they are "boring" and "baby books" so she has wrapped them for Mary Claire and put them under the tree. Next she started wrapping old Happy Meal toys. She does not want them anymore so she is giving them to Mary Claire and they are beautifully adorned with bows and stickers and placed under the tree. Last night she wrapped 5 of her Barbie dolls... they were all naked, but at least now they have bells on their knockers and a bow on their anatomical plastic butt. The Barbies are under the tree now as well. My beautiful tree is starting to look like a garage sale is happening under it. It reminds me of someone putting clean pants on over dirty underwear. It just ain't right.

All of this is very sweet, except for the fact that she is going through scotch tape at an alarming rate. My children love scotch tape and I usually have to hide it around here or it will be found and confiscated by some kid with dirty hands and a runny nose because they need to tape a rocket together or put up a poster of the High School Musical cast on their newly painted bedroom walls. Yes, scotch tape to my children is like crack cocaine to an addict. It is too tempting and they would sell their baby sister to get a hold of some.

This morning I decided to make some eggs for the family. I looked everywhere for my favorite spatula. I finally found it wrapped under the tree. In my search for the spatula I also found a dozen eggs, my hairspray, dog food, a bra belonging to my oldest daughter, my son's Tag Body Spray, some of my husband's socks and a can of tomato soup all wrapped by the resident 4 year old and placed under the tree.

This is going to be one interesting Christmas morning... Lord help us all.




I am sooo winning the best mom award this year-and this time I am not saying that becaue I have smashed my child's finger in a car door or dropped a jar of pickles on my child's big toe... no, this time I MEAN IT!

I have been on a driven search for a Wii for weeks now. I have made hundreds of phone calls, tried to bribe many a backroom stock boy and have spent thousands in gasoline driving from one store to the next. I have even gotten up at the crack of dawn and stood in line in the freezing cold for hours only to miss getting one by 3 measly people. Oh, OK, I did not stand in line in the cold for hours... but I did watch my husband stand in line for hours as I sat in the warm car sipping my hot chocolate and clipping coupons.

Anyway... Today the Heavens parted and Christ Himself looked down at me and said "Wii (meaning Him, God and the Holy Ghost) would like to play."

I was at JC Penny getting a birthday present for my daughter. While there I decided to buy them some clothes because JC Penny has good clothes for kids. Not too "hoochie mama" for the girls and not too "gangsta" for the boys. After I did that I saw a under the counter CD player on sale, which I bought and have decided to wrap and put it under the tree for myself from my husband. He always gets me just what I want that way. After JC Penny I wandered around the mall. I looked at watches for my husband and bought a t-ball set for my nephew.

Now you may be saying "Oh for the love of Pete! Just get on with the story about the Wii would you!"

I just wanted to make you wait... the way I waited patiently and when you wait patiently good things seem to just land smack dab in your lap.

As I am walking through the mall I turn to my right and notice that there is a Game Stop there. This is not my usual mall so I am not familiar with where the stores are and I do not know where the restrooms or food court is. Thank God for directories. Who ever thought of putting directories in the mall is one smart man-although, it was probably a woman because we all know how men are with asking for directions so to think they would even look at a directory to find out where the Fredrick's of Hollywood store is to buy their wife a present that she will HATE is beyond them. Do they even have Fredrick's of Hollywood stores anymore? Hmmm-interesting.

Where was I? Oh, so I saw a Game Stop and thought to myself "Wouldn't it be funny if I walked in and they actually had a Wii sitting there?" So I walk in and see 2 boxes of Wii systems on the wall. This is what ensued:

Me: "Are those actual systems or just the boxes?"
GameStop Man: "Those are just boxes."
Me: "Oh, I figured. This is a silly question, and I am sure you are asked it all of the time, and you are probably sick and tired of hearing it, but I have got to ask...do you have any Wii systems?"
GameStop Man: "I just opened this box that was shipped to us 5 minutes ago. We have 3 of them."
GameStop Man:
GameStop Man:
Me: "I think I may just have to marry you!"
GameStop Man: "I want a pre-nup"
Me: "Well all I have to offer will be this Wii after I buy it."

After handing over my debit card-

GameStop Man: "Can I see ID? I want to make sure you are not an escaped prisoner" (Those GameStop Men are so witty with their X-box humor and their band-aids on their fingers,)
Me: "I am an escaped prisoner from my home. You don't know how many kids I have and what it takes to get out of the house away from them. Don't tell anyone you saw me here. They'll find me."
GameStop Man: "So you're a criminal?"
Me: (standing there with my baby in her baby Bjorn) "Uhhh, Yes, why do you think I have this baby strapped to me? Hand over the Wii and no one will get hurt."

So there you have it. The eagle has landed. The chicken is in the pot. John has a long moustache. The chair is against the wall...

Santa is sooo not taking credit for this one. Sorry big guy.

Abercrombie and Fitch Stole My Money!!!

A few weeks ago I bought my niece a gift card from Abercrombie and Fitch. I have never really gone into the store because, a.) I am not a size 0 and b.) I am not uber rich. I always get my niece a gift card because she stopped wearing those "If You Think I Am Beautiful, You Should See My Aunt" t-shirts I always sent her... whatever.

When I called my sister to let her know what I had purchased, she told me that she does not allow her daughter to shop there... and that I should not shop there either. Her reasons were pretty valid-whether it be because of the soft-porn like catalogs they distribute or the fact that they market tee shirts with slogans exalting drunkenness and associated sexual behavior. T-shirt slogans include: "I Drink Irresponsibly," "Friends with Privileges" and "Cunning Linguist."

Sooo, I decided to take the gift card back and get my cash returned.

No dice.

It is store policy that they do not give you your money back from a purchased gift card even if you have the receipt. No where on my receipt does it tell me that I can not get my money back with receipt. They won't even give it back to you if you protest for 30 minutes straight. They won't even give it to you if you tell them they are stealing your $25 because they will not return it. They won't even give it to you when you tell the store manager (who is all of 22 and a size 2) that you will never shop there ever again and you are telling everyone you know that they should not shop at this snobby establishment. (I don't think she really cared if me, a 35 year old, slightly chubby woman wearing Levi's and a Bear's sweatshirt would never shop there again.)

Eventually, after I had all of the employees arguing with me over my $25 (It was like a bad teen movie) I decided to leave before they called security and I would end up on Fox News being interviewed by Greta Van Susteren about being tazered by a part time security guard wearing comfortable shoes and with ketchup on his lip, while my baby was in the Bjorn and my 10 year old son looked on.

When we left my son told me that the store manager had her fly unzipped. I said "Why didn't you tell me that! I could have turned and with a stern finger pointed at her said "You'll regret this! XYZ PDQ!"

So I am sending out this warning... do not shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. They are not nice. They have no customer service, and they all need to eat a Big Mac or something. Seriously. Like Totally.