Archive for August, 2006 Page 2 of 2



Party on.

So I went to this jewelry party last night. Effing pyramid schemes, I swear. At this time, I want to make a plea to all of the world’s women – do not let corporate America use you and your friendships to hawk their overpriced wares. Don’t serve up your friends, who only came to your house to see your new dining room set and rifle through your medicine cabinet. Don’t tear babies from their mommas, who’ve spent all day at the office playing Free Cell and want nothing more than to put on their elastic pants, cuddle with the kids and watch “Big Brother.” Men don’t do this to each other. Why do we?

Serve up all the soft drinks and cocktail weenies that you like – it doesn’t make it right. I mean, what is it about getting older that means every party that you are invited to involves shipping and handling? Somewhere along the line, y’all forgot what a party is. Guns-N-Roses, ice cold keg beer, camp fire, peeing in the weeds, screwing in the weeds – that’s a party. This is merely an ass-fucking charading as a party.

All night, the hostess kept telling us, “If you have a party, you can get four pieces of jewelry for $10 a piece!” I’m sure this little incentive worked on some, but it just pissed me off. It means that right now, I am paying three times as much as I should for some stupid necklace that, in a bid for sweet freedom, will break off my sweaty neck and fall into a storm drain the first day I wear it.

I am such an alien, I thought to myself. These other women, they are enjoying this. They’re being social, acting like real women who care about the eating habits of someone else’s three year-old. They’re not all quiet and off on their own, awkwardly pawing jewelry and sidling up to conversations that do not pertain to them. They don’t talk at precisely the wrong second, allowing someone else to talk over them, thus nullifying their comments and ensuring their status as “the slow woman in the corner with barbeque sauce on her shirt.”

Fuck, as if being at a jewelry party wasn’t bad enough, now it seems I’ve been transported back to junior high. Good thing I’ll have a pair of $30 earrings to commemorate the event. For this price, I should hope that they’d engrave them with my graduation year and school mascot.

Losing her religion.

Talking to untitledmother today, I found out that she went to church for the first time in six months this past Sunday — and only because she was on the schedule to serve breakfast after the service. Six whole months without the holy ablution, the sinner’s license to watch “Real Sex” on HBO and keep a mysterious bottle of KY in your nightstand. Six whole months to eat Vienna sausages (low carb!) by the bowlful while reading “Prevention” magazine. Six whole months to give dollar store gifts to your loved ones while you yourself wear nothing but the most expensive brands.

Sense a little bitterness about that last point. Well, that’s because there is. A few weeks ago, she gave untitledson a “Faded Glory” outfit from Wal-Mart — which is just fine. I have no problem dressing untitledson in Faded Glory this or that. But then she had to go and pass it off like she got it at a fancy department store. Before giving me the gift (which, long story short, was a guilt gift — her way of not looking like an asshole in front of family), she said, “It’s from Nordstrom’s.” “Wow, Nordstrom’s has some cute things for little boys!” I exclaimed, waiting for her to fess up. But alas, nothing. Treacherous cunt. In the immortal words of Royal Tennenbaum, “I see you, asshole!”

Now the part that perplexes me is her complete lack of Christian knowledge. She knows the Bible, but she doesn’t KNOW it, if you know what I mean. She’ll zip right past the part about gluttony and greed, using the potato chip grease on her fingertips to help turn the pages.

I asked her why she quit going to church. At first, she blamed it on the pedophile priests she reads about in the Enquirer — her OTHER bible. But eventually, the truth came out. “I just like sleeping in on Sunday.” Just like she does on Monday and Saturday and every afternoon, for that matter.

Yeah, I know. It sounds like depression. We have some experience in untitledhousehold with that, and I feel fairly confident that her “depression” is self-induced. She went to a psychiatrist for a few months, and he prescribed her a plethora of pills, none of which “worked.” I’ve seen chemical imbalance, and this is not it. This is physical unbalance — the result of sitting on one’s ass for so long, that nothing seems enjoyable. Typical weekend day for untitledmother:

9:30 a.m. Wake up
9:45 a.m. Eat breakfast
10 a.m. Watch TV and read newspaper
10:30 a.m. Morning nap
Noon Eat lunch
12:30 p.m. Get dressed and go shopping, drop $350 on clothes for self
3:30 p.m. Afternoon nap
6 p.m. Go out for dinner
7 p.m. Watch TV
9:30 p.m. Bed

untitledmother has checked out of life, putting forth as little energy as possible, for as we all know, she who sits the most WINS. She has no hobbies, for that takes effort. She joins no clubs, again, the effort. And now she has quit going to church. She eats every meal out. She hires others to clean her house and do her yardwork. She would’ve hired someone to hook her bra a long time ago, if not for her embarassing back fat (hey, I have it too). It seems she won’t be satisfied until she has completely outsourced her life.

Now I’m only 35, and I’ve already figured out that to enjoy life, you have to get out there and get your hands dirty. Volunteer. Walk around your block. Go to the state fair. Sure, it takes effort — and it would certainly be much easier to sit on your floral couch and watch re-runs of “Walker, Texas Rnager.” But life will always be work. It seems that even happiness takes a little bit of effort. untitledmother is so screwed.

Anonymous blogging and company don’t mix.

I apologize that I’ve be MIA since last week. untitledmother-in-law has been staying at the untitledhousehold, so I’ve had no privacy to write. And, to top it off, I’ve actually been busy enough to work while I’m at work. Crazy.

untitledmother-inlaw has left the building, so look for a post tomorrow.

How I earned my humiliation patch.

As part of my prerequisites for my bariatric surgery, I had to have a psychiatric evaluation. I must do this, along with six months of physician-directed diet and exercise. Six months. Jesus, what’s going to happen in six months? I’ve spent 25 years being the fattest person in the room. Trust me when I say that there is nothing a doctor knows about diet and exercise that I didn’t already know by age 8. I knew the fat grams in a Chips Ahoy cookie before I could tie my own shoes.

Talking to the psychiatrist, she asked me what my first fat memory was. I thought for a moment, and said “second grade.” It was in second grade that I joined the Brownies. I was so excited to go the meetings with my friends and do all the fun things that a group called the Brownies must surely do. Hey, maybe they sat around and ate, gasp, brownies all day. Now that’s an organization I could put my weight behind.

It was all good until it came time to order uniforms. I was only slightly overweight, but none of the uniforms came in my size. I was devastated. There were no husky sizes to be found. I mean, why be a Brownie if you couldn’t wear the brown jumper? untitledmother took matters into her own hands and sewed me a Brownie uniform out of thick brown corduroy. It was most obviously not standard issue. The only thing more embarassing than that brown abomination was when I split my pants in gym class while playing “Clean Up Your Own Backyard.”

Looking back on this scenario, it just pisses me off. How fucked up is it that an organization designed to boost the self-confidence of young girls was directly responsible for ruining mine? Thinking about this got me all worked up, so I went to www.girlscouts.org to check out their current offerings. Low and behold, they now carry plus sizes for the kids and adults. God blessit. As untitledhusband so keenly noted, “it’s the least they can do, considering their organization freely peddles fat and calories door-to-door in every town in America.”