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Momma Kiss: May 2011

Momma Kiss

If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I totally thought today was Monday

Wait. What?

I have access to blogger.

AT work.

And it's working? We'll see if this post goes through.

So happy belated Memorial Day! Do you say that? For Memorial Day? Is it really happy? Probably not, but I do truly thank all of the veterans out there for their service.

We were non-stop this weekend, and it was gorgeous out. 'Bout time, we needed some fucking sun.

Saturday I did my longest walk ever. EVER. And my feet paid the price. I used moleskin on the places I usually blister. Well now I know I blister between my toes. Yep. My toes are shredded. Thank God for our pool because I soaked my sore body as soon as I got home.

We had other crap going on every day, but ended with family time in the pool. The boys are like fish and I love it. We all have nice little tan lines and are ready for whatever amount of summer New England allows (read: short & fucking hot).

Anyone know anything about Allentown, PA? Me either. But Mr. Kiss is there right now interviewing for a job. It's the perfect position, duties and responsibilities. But it's in Allentown, PA.

So I have 8-ish weeks to go til the 3 Day walk. I'm pretty sure it's going to kill me. Hopefully Poppy will give a nice eulogy at my funeral.

And finally, tomorrow? June 1? My Big Kiss turns 6. SIX. I'm still amazed someone let me be a mother, much less for 6 years now. That little schmoopy kid is the sweetest and I never want him to turn into an angsty teenager. Please say he won't? Or lie to me?

I'ma hit publish, let's see if it works. And if so, can anyone comment? Stupid blogger.

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Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Urine for a surprise

I got peed on this morning. 


By my 3 year old.  He was pretty sleepy, I'll give him that. Seriously, tho?  He couldn't wait to turn his body toward the toilet and instead he peed on my hand as I tried to help him pull down his sweaty jammies.


This has been sort of a trend in the past few days, not gonna lie. 


Saturday night I was able to get away to walk and spend time with my girl A. I stayed over, which was heavenly.  When we got back from dinner, I offered to take her new puppy out since she does it all the time. To give her a break, you know?  Well the little bastard was so excited to go out, he couldn't hold it. Peed on my foot. And my favorite flip flops.  It's a really good thing I also have a dog and that stuff doesn't gross me out, but really?


Today, I got metaphorically peed on. Well, my ego did.  I got the whole "We need to cut spending" convo from Mr. Kiss.  Don't get me wrong. I knew this was coming.  It's just hard to fully face the reality that since he's had zero progress with the job hunt, and nothing looking good any time soon, well, it's time to skip Starbucks and name brand cereal.  Still, it hurt a little bit, in a selfish way. Since I've been working as a "grown up", I've never had to reign myself in…I've been comfortable.


Like I said, selfish – we now have kids with expenses and medical copays and a New England Sized mortgage.


Anyway, that's a lotta pee, ain't it?


Know what totally made my day? I got another donation for my 3 Day Walk.  Just this morning. I have already surpassed the minimum fundraising goal of $2,300 – they require every walker to raise at least that much to participate.  Know where I'm at today? At this very second?




Over four thousand dollars. Pledged to the Susan G. Komen foundation. Supporting me and my miles.  My girl A was gobsmacked, and I was too, if I'm being honest. I mean, every single dollar counts, and I've dropped to my knees I'm so humbled at times. (yes, me. I pray. And I'm grateful for the gift of humility).  I can't leave out my team mate Poppy ( who is also more than half way to her minimum goal.  We have some good people in our lives, that's the truth.


Since I'm focusing on the Not Being Peed On news, this just in!  I was on the 3 Day site and noticed that they had spectator info listed for the Boston event.  Get this – you can send me a letter to say "go you" or "Save Boobies!" or even "fuck off, yah bitch!" I'll get mail on the walk! That's pretty freakin' cool if you ask me.  Here's the info – it'll only cost you a stamp:


Write a letter expressing your love and support to your walker, which we'll deliver to her/him on the event.

Send letters to:

3-Day for the Cure


P.O. Box 181270

Boston, MA 02118

Envelopes only, please. No boxes or large packages. Mail must be postmarked no later than July 12th in order to ensure delivery at the 3-Day Camp Post Office. Please note: This address is not the actual location of camp, but a PO Box for mail delivery only. Any mail that is not received by the 3-Day by the date above or retrieved by the participant by August 7th will be destroyed.



**if you don't know my name but want to write a letter, e-mail me

I hope I get mail from you. And you. You, too – reading this post in the bathroom. Yes, even you. 

Now, go on. Enjoy your day. Feel your boobies. Hug a friend. Don't pee on them.



Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Computer Wrcer.

I got this from my son on Mother's Day. The one in kindergarten. The one who likes to clean my shower (for his allowance and more sancks).  He's pretty adorkable and I love him a lot. Despite this display of his skills, he's actually changed so much since the beginning of the school year.  Seriously.
But I think I need to ask the teacher to step it up just a bit in the spelling department. 
Let me translate for you:
My name - it's not "Don."   Don makes me think of Don Knots and that kind of creeps me out a little bit.
My age? It's SO off. Like by 10 years. Fine. He's right, but FFS kid, thanks for sharing. 
Oh - re: this age thing, and any number in general? The kid is obsessed with numbers. He memorizes everyone's age, school bus numbers, room numbers, numbers of teeth lost (his and friend's), goals in soccer or hockey. He's always reminding me what the clock says and what time he can get up or has to go to bed. How many days of school they've had and how many are left.  If he's Rainman smart with numbers, I'll be psyched. Numbers jobs are where it's at, people. Accounting, math, engineering. He'll always have a job. 
Which brings me to being a "Computer Wrcer." I've had the pleasure of bringing him to work when he's sick and we have zero kid coverage, and I sit here at my desk typing away. Or adding up numbers with lightening speed on that 10-Key! Accountants RULE! What? We're awesome.
Anyway - so he's seen me at work, and whenever we're at home and I know the boys are zoned out with Noggin or G.I.Joe, I try to do picture projects on the laptop. I tell them I'm working. Shut up, you lie to your kids, too.
Moving on.
"Good driver."  I literally laughed out loud at his take on my driving. So did Mr. Kiss. He then asked our kid if he was blind. 
My favorite food is not pizza, but we get it every Friday night. I'm sort of sad he doesn't remember that I rarely eat it with them - and instead munch rabbit food, but hell - if the kid has memories of Friday Night Pizza and his Momma is sitting there with them, that's OK by me.  Favorite food is grapes, by the way. #wine
He loves me because...I bring him to Sookr. No - this is not another True Blood novel. Not Sookie. He's referring to "soccer" which recently started up again. My kid doesn't love me for all the piggy back rides I give him? Or the pictures I color with him? Or the books we read together? Or for doing his LAUNDRY? Nope. Bringing him to sookr.  I guess he aims low.
At least he got the picture right: pink chubby cheeks, red lips, blue eyes and stringy hair.

If I took a self portrait right now, you'd see he got it just right. And he loves me anyway.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Menage a what? Yes. Trois.

I was an escort for a short time. College is expensive, yo.

I mostly worked for men traveling who wanted a hot date for a function without the attachment of a relationship.


That's totally fiction, but the following from the Mad Woman is not. She brings the sexy. She's a fab writer. And in light of my recent "cheating" on her with other bloggers, she decided it this story was appropriate. I agree. And I'm slightly jealous. Except for the crying, not jealous of that.

Enjoy - a tale of trois...


Thank you Momma, for having me at your warm and funky abode.

I’m here today to offer an education, some pointers and hope you all can learn from my experiences. I’m a giver like that. One caveat: these notes are best used by the single ladies.

Ah yes, Ménage à trois. No, this is not an article on how to get sponsored by a wine maker...though, ahem, maybe if I fill this post with links I might find myself in a friendly arrangement. HEE.

Where to start? Oh, well, lets make some assumptions, you are a single woman, in an open relationship or your partner wants to swing...this post is for you. You married ladies, you may find yourself happy to have yourself excused from the activities.

Let me tell you a story. A very good friend of mine wanted to give a gift to her on and off boyfriend. Their relationship was interesting to say the least, you’ll see why in a moment. That gift was a three way. And yup, she asked me to join them. Her boyfriend, Adam*, was attractive, in a big bear kinda way. I dug him, enjoyed his company enough, NOT completely repelled by him. Anyway, this was going to be a first for both she and me and she wanted to be sure we were both ready. How do you do that? A practice run, of course.

Yeah, I said interesting right? So my friend, Phoebe, had another friend, a friend with benefits, that was willing to be a guinea pig. Surprising, right? I know.

This friend, Kyle, was also an attractive guy. Think a cross between Tom Cruise and Mark Harmon and then throw in more muscle and testosterone, and a barrel chest. Yeah, Kyle was a looker. Obviously he fit the requirements.

Night of the test run, we have dinner and drinks and more drinks. We came back to my place (with the biggest bed and room, ALSO KEY! Do NOT attempt this particular game in a full size bed squeezed into a tiny room) and got down to business. Necking and groping and stripping happened at a leisurely pace. This may have been the evening’s downfall.

I had drank more than my friends, so when they started humping like rabbits, I sort of passed out. OOPS.

Footnote to this event: Phoebe left after she had her fun. Left Kyle in my bed and went home. The next morning, feeling a little randy, I decided I better make things up to Kyle and he was more than willing. Sadly, before we got past 3rd base, Phoebe called to check to see if I was okay with the near stranger she left in my bed. I was Phoebe, I was, UNTIL YOU CALLED.

That was the first round. And what did we learn? Don’t drink so much that you miss out on the real fun. Oh, and be sure to get in there and get yours! Had I been more aggressive (interested) I’m pretty sure all of us would have gotten quite the ride.

Next up, the REAL thing! Phoebe and Adam came over for a couple drinks and appetizers (no food coma, no over indulgence). After some initial awkwardness (Adam wasn’t so sure about my interest, HMPH!) things moved along well enough, necking, stroking, licking, all the good stuff. Phoebe wasn’t an idiot, she knew if this was going to happen she was going to let her buddy (ME) go first.

Sounds pretty good, right?

Yeah, about me. Hm. Let’s just say, if you want to have a successful ménage à trois, you should be emotionally available to the moment. You probably shouldn’t be hung up on a previous fiance. Tears running down your face while riding your new partner is a no no.

There is a third scenario, one where YOU’RE the star attraction, one where these boys (yeah yeah) are here to service you. From the previous two examples we know that you shouldn’t be TOO drunk and that you should have any hang ups about getting yours.

Well, there is one other factor that you might find useful: be sure you’re attracted to your two willing lovers. Nothing is worse than getting excited about be fully serviced only to find that one of the two servers doesn’t float your boat. TRUST ME!

Any questions?

*Names were changed to protect the guilty.


Protecting the guilty. So smart.

Thanks Mad Woman. Sorry it took me so long to share, blogger was being a fucking douche.

Amy can be found here and here. Follow along. You know you want to.

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Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Super Dooper Recap

HOH-LEE HAWL, kids. I'm exhausted.

Wanna know what's up? Too bad if you said no, sit your ass down and listen.

Work - douchenozzle still in prime form.

My girl A - only 4 radiation treatments left. She's got some rad burns, but is doing Incredible. Has also retired Nancy, the wig. She's got enough hair to not need Nancy and looks better than me. We'll be going out on Monday to celebrate the end of her treatment.

Kids - 3 year old's being a total THREE YEAR OLD. We got a "talking to" by his daycare teacher. That kid is SO my child, I'm very afraid. Also, almost 6 year old is a God Send. He cleaned my shower for me. I'm teaching him well.

Mr. Kiss - back healing, still moving slowly. Can't lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk. Interviewing here and in other states. Planting flowers. (yet, I still have to mow the lawn and take the trash out).

Me - Did Bloggy Boot Camp on Friday / Saturday. Which totally rocked. Shared a room with the infamous Erin of I'm Gonna Kill Him. Also hosted Pursey Galore. She's a trashy ho, that purse. We collected money like crazy women. Met lots of fab women. Woke up on Saturday to the sound of a breast pump. Also, missing my pants.

I have pictures up the WAZOO, some that have been made public. The chins. The drinks. The cleavage. Oh my!

Thing is? I still haven't unpacked. And I had to also be honored for Mother's Day (duh).

Alas, I'll have to leave you with this...

The pigs were tired. And may or may not be pantsless.

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Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Momma's Momma

Mother’s day is coming up. Duh.

Instead of going on and on about what *I* want to receive for the holiday [ahem *massage or full spa day* ahem], I figured I’d share some memories of my own Momma. Yah. Memories of Momma’s Momma

Besides, I’m not really feeling the love from my own heathens right now – so maybe writing about good stuff will help me realize that one day those heathens may just blog about how awesome I am. Of course, I’ll be senile by then, but a girl can dream.

Ok. Some Memories of my Momma…

When I was – oh – 7 or 8, Momma signed up the family to be in a traveling marching band. She played the base drum. I was a flag girl. We marched in parades in 90 degree heat. We marched in rain. I almost broke my shin with flag, more than once. My little brother? He was a water boy. Thinking about it now, I can see why Momma did this. We were on welfare, and by us doing this…together…we got to travel all summer and see fun things and it was all free. I think we did some fund raising, probably, but I don’t remember that. Just the bus trips and laughs and songs and parades.

When I was a senior in high school, Momma finally got her dream job. In a town 4 hours away. Instead of making me move during my last year, she took the job and moved there herself. Leaving my brother and I on our own. He was a sophomore at the time. She came home some weekends, but mostly she mailed in the rent check and simply trusted us. Can you imagine? Letting your 17 and 15 year old kids live on their own, 4 hours away? She had no choice. And to be honest, we were good kids. I had one party – no alcohol involved – and my little brother was just excited to be part of the group that he didn’t tell on me. Otherwise we just went to school, I’d go to my job most nights and pick up my brother from practice. I’m quite impressed we survived, honestly – but hell, to do that today? I don’t know how she did it.

Momma is a cake decorator. We always had the bestest coolest most delicious cakes growing up. She’d make one for us to bring to school , and make everyone gather around it for pictures. She even taught cake decorating classes at the high school some nights. Sometimes I got to tag along – I was the official frosting taster. Momma owned a bakery where she’d make cookies and cakes and donuts and lots and lots of Finnish Nisu (sweet dough, like cinnamon rolls, but way more divine). She was able to make decent money decorating cakes for weddings and other parties. I remember looking through her zillions of pictures in albums at all of the cakes she’d made over the years, noticing the fashion and hair styles that changed along with the photos.

Momma made my wedding cake. Nothing crazy like fondant or berry cream filling or anything. Plain old vanilla with white frosting and a silly monogram or something on the top tier. I was so proud to tell people she had made it for us.

Momma is beautiful, strong, talented, funny and stubborn. I’d like to think this apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma.

Love you more.

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