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Be afraid, be very afraid

Posted by Domestic Diva at 5:15 pm Uncategorized

Jun 072011

A phobia is defined as an extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something. Key words there being extreme and irrational. I’ve always been prone to make a big deal out of things, and a fair adjective to describe me would be dramatic. So when I say there are things in this world that scare me, know that what I am trying to convey is that there are things in this world that simply terrify me.

I got to talking to a friend about one of my phobias, and then I began listing a few others. By the end of the conversation my friend was in tears and giving me a referral for a shrink. Some of these irrational fears I’ve conquered while some I battle every day. So, in the event that of you thought I was even a little sane, here’s some of my irrational fears (or are they?):

1. An Appearance by the Virgin Mary

I’m a recovering Catholic, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned before. I attended church every Sunday as far back as I can remember, and I attended Catholic School beginning in Kindergarten and continued until I graduated high school. After seeing a VHS (or BETA) movie in elementary school one day where the Virgin Mary appeared to some children I began to fear that the Mother of Christ would appear to me and make me deliver a message or do something holy. I would try to fall asleep as fast as I could each night in order to not see Jesus’ Mom in my bedroom. While most kids were afraid of the “Boogie Man,” I was afraid of a divine visitation. When I told my own mother about this one day, all she could say was, “Boy, you sure think highly of yourself.”

2. The Birthing Doll

This crocheted catastrophe is my newest phobia, and it’s been terrifying me since last week when Babble posted an article with this Birthing Doll. Pediophobia, the fear of dolls, isn’t exactly what I have, but I couldn’t find an exact match for the extreme fear of a knit doll with a super bush and scary boobs with another doll that resembles Bert from Sesame Street coming our of her crocheted crotch. Perhaps even more terrifying is that these dolls go for $200 a pop. This thing is so bizarre to me, I can’t imagine a use for it other than terrifying people like me. Special thanks to my friend Blake who said it looks like the thing from the movie, The Ring. It will be chasing me in my sleep some night very, very soon.

3. John Quiñones & the “What Would You Do” Crew

I’m not as nice as I may seem on the internets. I have very little tolerance in real life for ignorance and stupidity, and I have been known to express my opinion to complete strangers that are acting like douche bags. My fear here is that John Quiñones and crew would stage a scenario with people doing ridiculous stuff (as they do every week on the show), and I would be filmed telling off an actor playing the part of some average asshole. This of course would undoubtedly embarrass the hell out of my parents (and probably my husband too), and the whole world would know what a loud mouthed bitch I truly am.

4. Octomom

Bringing the fear since 2009

Is Octomom contagious? Is her condition hereditary or could any Mom develop this at any time? A person with this level of crazy terrifies me. If there was an Octomom vaccine available (FDA approved or not), I’d take it. Three kids, each two years apart is challenging enough. I can’t imagine eight at once.

5. Mall Santas

Photo from http://www.holytaco.com/25-creepy-mall-santas/

My parents have photographs of me crying, screaming, reaching for the safety of their arms while I am being held (against my will) by a mall Santa. I remember the panic I felt, and I still get the creeps around these…creeps. I hate malls Santas. I fear mall Santas. My kids have never sat with a mall Santa.

Don’t leave me hanging here all exposed….what are you afraid of (and not the normal stuff like death or flying)? Leave me a comment with the good stuff! And if you liked the post, or want to help me get help, click the link below which casts and automatic vote for me! Thanks!

What’s bugging you?

Posted by Domestic Diva at 6:14 pm Uncategorized

May 142011

Friday the 13th started as most others did. The chipper chimes of my phone’s alarm annoyed me from my slumber. I begrudgingly turned on the shower and began the start of another day. This morning, in addition to being unlucky because of the date, would prove to be another busy day between schools, shopping, yard work (we expanded my garden an extra 5×20 ft), and doing some stuff for the website. At least today there were no volunteer hours or field trips which seem to take a valuable chunk of my day right out from under me.

As I lathered my hair, I thought about yesterday’s field trip to one of Delaware’s State Parks, which truth be told was more like a swamp, with Joey’s Kindergarten class. Although it was a rather short trip, just under three hours in all, the kids managed to squeeze in a lesson on the importance of trees, a quick craft, a walk through the nature center, a walk around a pond (swamp), followed a trail into the woods and finally grabbed a picnic style lunch.

When I dressed Joey that morning I put him in long pants even though the temperatures were forecast to climb in the afternoon. I choose similar attire, and as we walked through the woods and I spied patch after patch of poison ivy, I knew I made a smart decision as far as the apparel was concerned. Although, I did forget hats. Aside from the fact that ticks (and Lyme’s Disease) are prevalent here, I would have preferred an extra barrier between my head and any other creatures. I also skipped perfume and lotion, yet still managed to come come with no less that a dozen mosquito bites. I’m hoping not to be the state’s first confirmed case of West Nile Virus because I saw some of these massive blood suckers as they began feasting on my flesh. These winged beasts looked like something out of the Jurassic Period.

Anyway, I was ready to jump out of the shower when I remembered another day warm temperatures laid ahead so I broke out my shaving cream and razor and began shaving my stubbly legs. This daily shave (above the knee even) was really the only bad thing about warmer weather that I could come up with as I went up the back of my right leg and did a half turn to reach the upper part of my thigh. Just because it’s not an easy reach I looked back to be sure I covered the massive area. last thing I need is a tuft of leg hair sticking out of the back of my shorts (although it might camouflage the cellulite at least).

Ah, I had missed a spot and as the razor took the hair and cream away I saw a tiny black spot. I brushed the spot with my finger and it was smooth and slightly raised but didn’t come off. As I contorted further to inspect this freckle perhaps, it moved…and when I say it moved, I actually mean the spot crawled.

I opened my mouth to scream but no sound escaped. I then proceeded to leap into the air, however, with my body already oddly contorted I slipped and began falling out of the shower. I grasped at the liner which stopped me from tumbling out of the tub but it did tear right through the plastic where three of the rings were. That was the furthest thing from my mind though. I needed to find the creature that was on my leg. I calmed myself as best I could and tried to re-assume my previous position. I was too panicked to hold that twisted position so I quickly sat in the tub and flipped my leg over.

It was there, through the unrelenting spray of water still coming from my shower head, that I saw the tick positioned inside a dimple just south of my right ass cheek. Oh the horror! The tick had just begun to bite, and perhaps my fatty thigh, although most likely appeared delectable to the tick, was not as easy to grab so I was able to pull him off with little effort.

Being a large child trapped inside an old Mom’s body, my eyes welled with tears as I washed the tick down the drain to his watery grave. Oh, were they all over me? Where had it come from? My afro? Not caring about the time, I rinsed my hair and repeated my earlier wash. About half way through my wash I saw another on my arm. “I’m infested!!!” I cried out to no one.

This tick was even easier to remove and unlike his friend had not bitten me as of yet. “See you in hell,” I told the blood- sucker as I sent him to the same watery grave as his friend.

Needless to say, I’ve been freaking out for more than a day. My hands are constantly feeling my scalp for any abnormalities (I know, I know. The real abnormalities are beneath my scalp). I feel buggy. I feel gross. I have a growing hatred of nature. I’m left wondering what will kill me first- the Lyme’s Disease or the West Nile Virus? Then this morning I pulled a tick off of Jake who didn’t even attend the trip. It had bitten him right on middle of his chest. I’ll be checking his chest and my ass for redness and or red rings for the foreseeable future, and if this creepy crawly feeling doesn’t go away I may end up shaving my head.

Can you imagine what would happen if a bunch of bugs got into my mustache or worse yet, penetrated my afro?! It would be like a bug party and I'd have to shave it off and just start over. I may be posting bald pictures soon.

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Mommy Poppins

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:00 pm Uncategorized

Apr 062011

Today was “Kite Day” with Joey’s Kindergarten class. Kite Day, in case you didn’t know, involves every child bringing in a kite and all of them running around in an open field flying them at the same time (or at least trying to). Kite Day, my friends, is even more fun than you’re imagining it is.

Today’s festivities were rescheduled from last week due to wind/rain/snow, and although it was a bit chilly the sun was shining, and there was a steady kite flying breeze. Thankfully, all of the kites had been assembled by the “Wednesday Mom” this morning, so all the kids had to do was get them in the air. Sounds simple enough.

Joey has an awesome kite. It was purchased from “The Kite Store” where the name says it all. This kite puts all other kites to shame. It is comprised of some aerodynamic fabric and developed by NASA. The color combination and design will leave you breathless as it soars through the air. That kite is in my parent’s garage at the beach house.

Today Joey’s kite, from family Dollar, cost all of $2.50 and was made of trash bag type plastic, two skinny wooden sticks, and a string roll on a cheap plastic handle. I thought it was going to take Jesus Christ himself to appear and make this piece of shit fly.

Kite flying, as you may or may not know, is all about location. Location, location, location. So as I surveyed the available space, did a quick assessment of the wind’s speed and direction, and saw where most of the children were clustered, I took the kite and my son over on a hill by the far end of the field. I was not hopeful as I position my son and the crappy kite, and I was completely shocked as the kite took flight with ease. Joey wanted to watch me fly the kite, and I was so excited that ours was one of the first in the air. This caused me to get a little cocky and let that p.o.s. soar higher and higher.

“Mom!!! It’s gonna go to Mars! It’s too high! You’re making me nervous!” Joey whined.

“Are you kidding me, Joey? Look around, you’re supposed to fly your kite as high as you can. Welcome to Kite Day, son.” I half scolded.

I made Joey hold the kite a few times, but he preferred to backseat kite fly and critique my technique.

“Joey, relax. Have fun. Isn’t this fun? Watch, I’m going to make it go higher!” I squealed.

And so it was for twenty minutes. Yes, for twenty minutes my Joey’s kite soared higher and higher. This kite flew longer than any other kite I had ever flown, and I was pretty pleased with myself. I hummed the “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” song from Mary Poppins and thought those musical Londoners had nothing me. Joey, although nervous, began to see my mad kite flying skillz for what they were, and I took the time to prep him on what he should say to my husband when we got home. He was never going to believe this. I was rocking this kite flying business and after twenty minutes I had that kite flying 50 feet in the air.

The thing with a kite being 50 feet in the air is that if the kite loses the wind and spirals back to the earth it has the potential to fall 50 feet in any direction. I’m sure many of you are thinking I crashed the kite into a group of five year olds, into the teacher, or smack on top of the principals head. I didn’t, thank you very much.

But when this Family Dollar airborne miracle lost the wind beneath it’s wings and came crashing down, I watched helplessly as it spiraled out of my control right into a line of 35-40ft pine trees. Fudge…only I didn’t say fudge.

Joey cried out and my brief moment as an ace kite flyer was over. “It’s in the tree, Mom! I told you it was too high! It’s Kite Day and my kite is in the tree!” Captain Obvious wailed.

And there, atop the might pine, my pride and joy was wedged. I struggled for a moment and the kite fell down a few feet. A swift breeze spun it round a branch and as I tugged I knew it was a lost cause. “It’s over, Joey. I should have listened; we (I) flew it too high.”

Joey has no poker face. He sulked and slumped over and I tried to keep him with me and help some of the other kids whose parents didn’t come for the fun. Joey helped me help his friends and he also made sure to point out the kite in the pine to anyone who would listen. I laughed it off, seemed typical enough for me, just the ending I’d expect, until Joey walked over to observe another boy’s kite high in the air, down in the field below. Joey congratulated him on flying his kite so high and then quickly pointed his finger at me and called me out to yet another parent, “Yeah, my Mom flew my kite right into a tree. My Mom broke Kite Day.” I apologized again to Joey, but the other boy’s father said he’d go take a look.

I tried to explain it was 35 feet in the air and there was no way it was coming down. The boy’s father continued over towards the trees and pushed away some branches at the bottom. As he looked up at the tree I could not believe it as I saw him place his feet on a branch and he began a precarious ascent up the sappy pine. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “That is so unnecessary! The kite cost $2.50 and we flew it for awhile, it’s not worth you breaking your leg(s) or neck!”

The boy’s father ignored me and continued up the tree. The branches crackled and made snapping noises as he made his way all the way up to the top of a tree. Perhaps he was a bear in a previous life, maybe a squirrel, or maybe they teach police officers these things at the academy now (he’s a state trooper). Either way, after what felt like a lifetime he reached the kite and made what felt like an even slower decent. I kept thinking of what I’d say to his child when he fell 35 feet from the tree, and how I’d pay for his inevitable medical bills. Could I somehow have this covered under my homeowners insurance? Doubtful.

As he handed me back the kite Joey and several other children erupted into cheers. I knew the real miracle of Kite Day was not my long and glorious flight, but rather it was that this every day hero didn’t break his neck rescuing my kid’s crappy $2.50 kite….cause that is also my kind of luck.

: Nice flying, Mom.

With 2.50 for paper and strings
You can have your own set of wings
With your feet on the ground
You’re a bird in a flight
With your fist holding tight
To the string of your kite

Oh, oh, oh!
Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let’s go fly a kite!

When you send it flyin’ up there
All at once you’re lighter than air
You can dance on the breeze
Over ‘Kindergartners and into trees
With your first ‘olding tight
To the string of your kite

Oh, oh, oh!
Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Let’s go fly a kite!

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Murgled

Posted by Domestic Diva at 12:34 pm Uncategorized

Apr 042011

Looks unassuming enough, right?

I pulled into the empty gas station early Saturday morning and quickly filled up my tank. Relieved that the adjacent ATM enclosure was also empty, I made my way to get some cash. I parked my car in front of what I call the ATM hut and went inside. Just as I put my card into the machine I heard a loud vehicle come to a stop just outside.

I turned around to see an old white windowless cargo van parked just outside the door. I immediately felt uneasy as I looked around the still vacant parking lot through the glass enclosure which was the only thing separating me from this suspicious vehicle parked not in a space, but just outside the doors. The sound of the ATM beeping impatiently brought me back to the task at hand and tried to keep my mind focused as the questions kept popping up on the screen:

CHECKING OR SAVINGS

Why is that van sitting there nearly blocking the exit?

SELECT A DOLLAR AMOUNT

Okay, there’s at least two men in the front. Why are they just sitting in the van? What are they doing…or rather what are they plotting??

THERE IS A RIDICULOUS FEE TO BE MURGLED (MURDERED AND BURGLED) IN THIS ATM HUT. DO YOU ACCEPT?

So this is really happening. I don’t even have any pepper spray on me. I only carried my keys and debit card in here. At least I have my shit kicking heels on; they can try to murgle me in here but I’m gonna take out some eye balls and testicles when I go.

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU NEED?

Other than a cop, or some brass knuckles? No, that’s it. Here I go.

GOOD LUCK- YOU NEED IT.

Okay, the ATM didn’t say that last part.

I stood a moment longer facing the ATM, placing the cash and receipt in my back pocket. I positioned my car keys between my index and middle finger, ready to stab at whichever would-be-murlger approached first. I put on my “I’m-fucking-crazy-and-you-don’t-want-any-of-this-face” and headed towards the door. My plan as I opened the door was to walk past the back of the van so they couldn’t pull me into the front. I wondered if I should start screaming as I walked out into the parking lot, or with no one around, if my energy would be be conserved for kicking someone in the balls.

Armed with my keys and crazy face I took my first step out of the ATM hut and had my crazed eyes fixed on the man staring out the passenger side window. Whatever these bastards were up to, I knew after the last three minutes, wasn’t gonna be good. I went to take my second step, the one I knew would be the most precarious, the one that would take me right past the windowless sliding back door of the serial killer van.

Just as my foot, secure in my fabulous leather black boots, hit the pavement the back door of the van was thrown open with a loud and thunderous crash. Although fully prepared for my impending attempted murgle, I yelled out, leaping backwards into a half crouched ninja like stance.

It was then the van exploded with laughter from three men who appeared to be ~~total assholes~~ painters.

This band of morons obviously sensed my apprehension and thought it would be funny to scare the shit out of me first thing on a Saturday morning.

I paused, flipped off the gang of morons, and got into my car.

Once seated in my car with the doors securely locked I breathed a sigh of relief. Although now I was totally pissed, I appreciated that I would live to write this post. As I sat there a moment composing myself, I resolved to A) not drink as much coffee in the morning B) Start watching less 48 Hours Mystery, 20/20 and Dateline (some lady is always getting murgled on those damn shows) and C) always carry my pepper spray with me to the ATM. It really does no good in my car when I’m being murgled in the local ATM Hut. Plus, it would have totally foiled that van of morons “funny joke.”

Leave me a comment, I’d love to hear from you! I also added a new box of favorite posts on the top right side of the page if you’d like to read more, and while you’re here, give me an automatic vote on Top Mommy Blogs just by clicking the link below:

Still a blushing bride

Posted by Domestic Diva at 3:28 pm Uncategorized

Mar 262011

My husband and I have known each other for over a decade. We met through work, dated for about a year and a half, got engaged and then were married another year and a half later. So after knowing each other over ten years, nearly eight years of marriage, having had three children, two homes, two dogs, and more goldfish than I’d care to admit ~~murdering~~ owning, I realized today that my darling husband, even after all this time, can still make me blush.

So as I stood there today in my PJ pants and pink fuzzy socks, the refrigerator light illuminating behind me, I was caught off guard not only by the sound of my husband entering the kitchen, but also by the immediate warmth I felt in my cheeks. With just one glance, just one look from this man, even after all this time and I was blushing.

Slowly, I lowered the bottle of Ranch dressing, swallowed ~~what remained of my pride~~ the mouthful of Ranch I had just squirted into my mouth, and just stood there ~~totally caught Ranch-Handed~~ blushing like a bride even after eight years.

Don’t judge me. It was nearing the expiration date and before I made a whole salad I just wanted to make sure it was still good…at least that’s what I told my husband.

In other unrelated news, my daughter, once she saw her dino-disaster gone viral, tried to explain away my last post. If you didn’t see the last post you can View the photos here before seeing the video below:

One last thing, thank you so much for everyone who’s voted for me at Circle of Moms, Top 25 Funny Mom Blogs! Voting ends in just two days, so please keep those votes coming! All you need to do is click the following link and then the “thumbs up” sign next to my name. Thanks again! Vote here: http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/funny-moms

That’s not Barney

Posted by Domestic Diva at 12:52 pm Uncategorized

Mar 242011

As I approached the edge of the devastation, I could see the bodies lying everywhere. It seems the creatures had not spared anyone. The dead lay out in the open, in the trees, and really, just about everywhere I looked. The young, the old, and even the animals had all been decimated. It was like a scene straight out of a movie (Jurassic Park IV?), and I instinctively covered my mouth with my hand as I found a group of the monsters still “feeding” on one of the victims. Oh, the horror!

As I looked around, I wondered if the Little People, Little Einsteins or their friends could ever recover. If it was up to my 20 month old daughter and her army of dinosaurs, probably not. I worry about this kid sometimes. I hope that this is just what comes from having two older brothers, but after the “Bad Baby Cook” incident and now this, well, I’m beginning to worry that we might have an evil genius on our hands.

See for yourself:

: Here’s an airel view of the carnage

This human didn't stand a chance against T-Rex

Poor Leo from Little Einsteins. I bet he wishes he had a Rocket now.

June had a similar fate...

: This one, of the dead unicorn and the three dino’s still feasting, gave me chills

And perhaps worst of all, St. Batman, as I'm sure he'll be called after the Pope sees this, gave his life to save the baby Jesus.

I need your help…there are just a few days of voting left in the Top 25 Funny Mom Blogs search. We’ve been nominated and are doing great, but I need your continued votes just until March 28th! So please click the link that appears below and click the “thumbs up” symbol next to my blog to vote. You can also vote for more than one blog, so check out some of the other funny ladies too. Thanks for your help! Vote here:

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Butt Fingers

Posted by Domestic Diva at 10:46 am Uncategorized

Mar 152011

I didn’t just wake up one morning a total germ freak. I’m a product of my environment. I developed my chronic hand washing/sanitizing as a result of seeing some really disgusting and foul things over the years. Now that I’m a Mom, and my kids are still young, I’m battling to keep them healthy in a dirty, disgusting world.

Just so you understand, and don’t judge me too harshly, here are some of the reasons I am why I am:

If you’re new, you may have missed the incident last year where I was trapped in a car and forced to pee in a Huggies Size 6 diaper (you can read that one here). Now, had I just used a public rest stop bathroom, I wouldn’t have had this problem. My issues with public toilets had been building for quite some time, but one incident that occurred when I was twenty really sticks out and was probably one of the biggest contributors to my public toilet phobia.

I went on Spring Break with three of my roommates to Cancun, Mexico. On the next to last day of the trip, I was so drunk and dehydrated that I drank melted ice water from a beer cooler at a bar. Genius right? The last day of our trip (and for another three weeks after) Montezuma had his revenge. Long story short, our plane was delayed going home and the airport was under renovations. When I finally located an open bathroom, there were only two stalls. The first door slowly creaked open to reveal a clogged poo and pee filled bowl that made me gag instantly. I stumbled backwards and felt a shift in my own bowels that was the only thing propelling me forward to the next stall. I bargained with God, swearing never to drink again of this next toilet was workable, and cautiously approached the door. After the door opened far enough for me to see the only other available toilet, it revealed a horror my brain could have never comprehended before. The seat…the seat….I’m sorry this is hard for me even now….the seat was COVERED in pubic hair. And just so we’re clear, I mean the entire seat was covered in HUNDREDS of short, dark and curlies.

I remember standing there just totally sick, hungover, and tired staring at the seat for a minute. Then I began to cry. My mind couldn’t comprehend what could have taken place in that stall. It was one of the worst things I had ever seen, and if you’re a believer in post traumatic stress, I’m telling you I had it after that. I’ve never looked at a public toilet the same way again. So what did I do? I cried a while and I stood in the bathroom holding my stomach and wishing I was back in the States. A friend said she’d stand guard and I could go in the sink, and then a stranger came in with the same travel related illness. This girl was either crazy or a super hero, but either way she braved the pubes and the crabs I was sure were there too, and wiped the seat down. After she cleaned and used the toilet, I layered about 7″ of toilet paper on the seat but still hovered, praying my ass wouldn’t catch anything from being within 3 feet of that previously furry seat.

That was just one incident in a foreign country’s airport. Surely, my experiences here would be better? Or not. I worked for years in a corporate setting, with various levels of management, and I can’t even begin to count how many times while using the bathroom at work, that I would hear a toilet flush and then the door open and close. These people just wipe, flush and walk right out of the bathroom without washing their hands. These nasty people, many times slipped in and out without revealing their identity. Who were they? Who knows…was it the person using the copy machine or fax ahead of me? Maybe. Were their shitty hands punching the same buttons I would be using? Were they hitting the elevator buttons and then heading to the cafeteria? Were they handling the cups and sticking their poop-ridden hands in the ice (don’t even get me started why someone’s bare hand need be in the ice machine)? Perhaps. Were they someone in a meeting who would shake my hand? Could be. So when coworkers would tease and joke with me about my hand sanitizers and Clorox wipes, I would always smile and laugh too, but who knows, maybe they were the ones not washing and then carrying on with their day happily spreading shit (literally) around.

Bad news for some folks was if I caught them trying to leave without washing, I would say something. Not embarrassing for me; they’re the nasty ones. Anyway, my point is, I’m like this because of the things I’ve seen time and time again. I’m like this because every time I see something I thought was the worst possible thing I could see (like the pube toilet), someone does something worse.

Without further delay, I give you the worst possible thing I could see someone do in public. I’m pretty sure I would go postal on this lady if I saw this. (If you watch Tosh.0, you probably saw this on last week’s episode. If you don’t watch Tosh, and you are easily grossed out, don’t watch this nasty ass-digging lady who could live in your town, pump from the same gas pumps, shop (and handle) the same produce, share the same library books, etc, etc, etc).

Tosh.0

Tuesdays 10pm / 9c

20 Seconds on the Clock – Dingleberry Season

tosh.comedycentral.com

Tosh.0 Videos

Daniel Tosh

Web Redemption

Hey! Guess what? I’ve been nominated on Circle of Moms as one of the Top 25 Funny Mom Blogs! Awesome right! I love Circle of Moms and was totally excited to be nominated with some fabulous other sites. Can you all help me out and vote for me on Circle of Moms? Voting is once per day and runs just until next week (March 23rd). Just click the link, scroll down and find me on the list and click the “thumbs up” to vote. Thank you!!
Top 25 Funny Moms
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Lucky Me

Posted by Domestic Diva at 11:02 am Uncategorized

Mar 102011

I’m excited-like jump up and down, do a little victory dance kind of excited. I tried on a pair of pants this morning and they fit. They were even a little loose. These aren’t just any pants. These are my Lucky jeans. “Lucky” as in the brand of the pants; the pants themselves hold no special powers that bring good fortune (that I’m aware of anyway). These pants were way too expensive and very short lived as I became pregnant for the 3rd time just after purchasing them. Then, sometime last year, I was able to squeeze into them and I discovered I had been suffering from Reverse Body Dysmorphic Disorder. God knows how long I rocked a muffin top or camel toe without realizing it. Who knows how long I had living in ignorant bliss. Here, I thought just because I could manage to get into a smaller sized pair of pants, I should be wearing them (and sadly thought I looked good doing it).

So this morning, after realizing I was free of muffin top, in my favorite jeans, I thought of this post (just FYI: I am not yet “thin” just thin enough for this one pair of fabulously expensive jeans):

“Lucky” brand jeans my ass. Lucky was the last thing I felt as I tried, desperately, to squeeze my rolly-polly rear into those pants. I did it though. I even got them buttoned. I hopped around my bedroom, doing squats in hopes of loosening the denim, finally collapsing on the bed, sucking in all the breath I could, and then it happened. The zipper gave it’s last bit of resistance as it reach the top. My thumb throbbed as it did as I commanded and thrust the button through the hole. I was there. Finally. I laid there on my bed, breathless and sweating, in sweet disbelief. I am wearing my smallest sized pair of jeans. My “I paid way too much for these” Lucky Brand pair of jeans. I rose from the bed without bending, yet still victorious. I stiffly waddled over to the mirror. For a brief moment I saw myself as the woman who bought those jeans fifteen months ago. The woman who only had two kids, not three; the woman who was running a 5k and eating healthy every meal. As I turned to see my “rear view” I went to tuck in my shirt…and my skin. Oh the horror! I had the worst case of muffin top I have ever seen. I cried out and tried to crumple into the fetal position but fell stiffly forward into the mirror.

It was there, on the floor, stiff and without sensation below the waist, that it hit me. I am suffering from the worst kind of fashion disorder. When I look into the mirror I see a skinnier version of myself. It’s the opposite of what those suffering from anorexia and bulimia see. Technically termed, body dysmorphic disorder causes suffers to view themselves in an altered state. These people see themselves as fat even when they are wasting away. I, on the other hand, see myself as thinner than I am. The absolute joy of zippering and/or buttoning a smaller sized article of clothing blinds me. The rush of getting into smaller sized clothing, even when it does not fit properly, causes me to think I look much thinner than I actually am.

Now that I have diagnosed myself as a sufferer of reverse body dysmorphic disorder, I have been living in constant fear. Every time I change clothes I spend triple the time in front of the mirror studying the image before me. Is it real??? So if you see me (and my muffin top) out and about, please don’t judge too harshly. I’m sick…really, really sick.

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How to entertain young children Tip#473

Posted by Domestic Diva at 8:31 pm Uncategorized

Mar 092011

It’s “Wordless Wednesday” again, and I would do a real post, but my husband has been away all week and my brain is way too tired to formulate more than a few sentences…so all I say for today is that the weather better improve soon because my kids are going stir crazy, and I’m going nuts right along with them. I’m hoping for warmer, dryer weather in the near future (we’re expecting a monsoon tonight through Friday) before I need to seek mental help.

I’m running low on ideas to entertain the kids, and after dinner this evening I was rapidly approaching a triple meltdown from the three kids, so they took turns sitting in front of the webcam and taking photos. It burned about 72 minutes which is a huge success in my book. Thank God they’re easily amused.

How to Entertain Young Children

#473 Take Silly Webcam Photos for 2+Hours

The natives are restless, and Mom is nervous.

Happy kids = Happy Mom

Thank God my husband is due in later tonight…and a special shout out to my own Mama who came down and helped me with the kids yesterday & today. Two on three may still be a zone defense, but it’s much easier than three on one.

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Wheat free me

Posted by Domestic Diva at 11:33 am Uncategorized

Mar 072011

In case you’re new, I’m allergic to wheat. It’s one of the many things that is wrong with me. I didn’t always have a food allergy, and here’s the short version about how it happened (and if you already know the back story or you don’t care, skip to the 3rd paragraph): About nine years ago I started getting sick. It started one October and I literally threw up almost every day until the following January. The only reason I didn’t puke seven days a week was because there were some days I was too sick to eat any food. I had to go to the hospital more times than I’d care to recall so I could be re-hydrated and given IV medications to stop the puke-a-thon. They’d send me home, tell me to stick to a bland diet and then the whole cycle would start over again once I ate a piece of bread, crackers, pretzels, or anything else made with wheat/flour. So after three months, an upper GI, CT scan, and a barrage of blood work and other rather unpleasant exams, no one ever mentioned the possibility that I could have developed a food allergy at age 23. Well, no one except my chiropractor, who was a bit alternative even for a chiropractor, and a lady my Mom worked with who had a similar experience.

So I cut all wheat products out of my diet and I stopped getting sick. It was like a God damn miracle. My initial intent was to slowly introduce wheat back into my diet and see what happened. I never made it that far though because I ended up eating food containing wheat by accident. I learned the hard way quite a few times about how foods are labeled such as “modified food starch” could contain wheat, and one of the worst was eating food that was labeled “gluten/wheat free” BUT also label as “made in a facility that processes wheat.” Basically that means that there could be cross contamination and as long as that’s on the label, it’s an eat at your own risk situation. Wheat is also in a number of foods you might not expect, or realize, like some soy sauces, seasonings, and let’s not even talk about beer/alcohol (it just depresses me). My point here is that I’ve basically become a label freak and read and analyze everything before I eat it. If I’m going to a restaurant that is a larger chain I go to their website, read about ingredients, and have even emailed with questions. If I was going to eat wheat and get sick on purpose I’d eat a whole pizza, drink a ton of beer, or enjoy a Cappriotti’s Italian sub with extra pickles.

So anyway, I’ve had two recent wheat accidents. One was at a Wendy’s where I ate some French Fries, which at some point used to be listed as gluten free on their website, but now either the fries themselves have changed or now they are just cooked in the same oil as other wheaty items like chicken nuggets. Either way, I love french fries, and Wendy’s fries were always my favorite, but now I can’t eat them. The last time I ate them I was super, super sick. Did I also mention that aside from puking, getting the cha-cha’s along with swelling in (ALL) my joints? So it’s real easy for me to determine when I have a stomach bug/food poisoning versus wheat poisoning.

Even though I already knew the answer, I called Wendy’s customer service to confirm their fries were now another item I could not eat. I told the customer service rep my story, and instead of saying, “sorry, the new fries do contain wheat and we’re so sorry you were sick for three days after eating them” she says, “Yep. The fries do have wheat. The good news is you can still eat our salads without the croutons.” That’s the good news? Seriously? I don’t know about any of you, but there is nothing appealing about eating a Wendy’s salad. If I wanted to eat something sure to give me diarrhea like their nasty lettuce, I’d just eat the fucking french fries. That was pretty much my response to her too.

Over the weekend I opened a letter from the Perdue company and found an enclosed check for $15.00. They sent this in response to an inquiry I made into their Perfect Portion individually wrapped chicken breasts with roasted garlic seasoning. The package said “gluten free” but the time I spent in the bathroom, and the very unpleasant things that happened in there (along with the joint pain), was a pretty big indication to me it was not gluten free as advertised. They sent me a very generic response to my initial inquiry about the cleanliness of their sites, how they feed, monitor and process the chickens which didn’t answer my question which was “are there other items that you process in your plant that contain wheat?” They actually called and left me a voicemail saying there was no chance of contamination because the plant was wiped clean at night and the gluten free products are always made first. I took that as there are wheat products in the plant, and as such there IS a chance of contamination. As far as the $15 check they sent, are they paying me back for the product or for the pain and suffering…or perhaps for the toilet paper I had to use? At least they didn’t suggest I eat a salad.

In other news, I’m losing weight still without the need to exercise. It’s probably in part to my occasional accidental wheat-purging and the fact that I’m reduced to eating foods like salad (thanks Wendy for the suggestion). Also because I haven’t had french fries in months which may be the cause of my bitchiness (not the cold weather as I initially thought). Sorry for the whining, I let myself indulge in a pity party every once in a while about my allergy. I know it could be worse, but to someone who loves food as much as I do, and someone who would love the simplicity of eating a fucking sandwich, it’s a bummer.

Found this cartoon at http://jacattack.wordpress.com/2010/07/14/you-no-eat-a-no-wheat-a/)

Oh, and just so you all don’t experience anything close to what I go through when I eat wheat, please don’t miss the Skippy Peanut Butter recall. It sounds shitty. Happy Monday!

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How to entertain young children Tip#473

How to Entertain Young Children

#473 Take Silly Webcam Photos for 2+Hours

Wheat free me

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