Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Thank You...

... as in thank you notes. As in I finally wrote them and delivered them to Stinker's classmates. Only one month late. Ah, well. I am relieved to have them done - not just for formality sake, but because I really am grateful at the turnout of support for his big 3 Fiesta.

I'm one of those whack-a-doos that likes to yuk it up and have fun, but believes in formal tradition of notes, black in winter, white in summer and apple pie on Thanksgiving. I think it has less to do with being a sheep and more to do with having markers in our lives that we can count on. Despite impending doom, we can look forward to thanking Grandma Stella for our ninth pair of purple knit pom-pom slippers each year (no sarcasm intended, Stel - I do love my slippers. They're not helping my sex life, but I'm comfy).

No word from agent on pilot, so am going to get my first magazine query out next week. Yeah, you've heard it before, but now that my show is done, it's time to move in another direction.

Random notes

- Pipsqueak has taken to screaming "boo!" with her little fists over her eyes. I pretend to be scared and she just laughs and laughs.

- Today at lunch, Stink threw his hands together in exhuberant prayer and shouted, "My god is a GREAT GOD so STRONG and so MIGHTY there's NOTHING MY GOD CANNOT DOOOOOOOOOOO!" Such enthusiasm and innocence. And trust. Made me smile.

- Rex came home with a hammoc as a surprise the other day. It's blue and yellow pin stripe with some black thrown in for good measure. I see cold beer, sleeping children, and sun warming my tan skin (All of it is a true except for the tan. I am about as tan as Michael Jackson.)

- My mom made a great statement a few weeks back: "It is easy to hold on... the hard part is letting go". So true... of our homes, traditions, stereotypes, love, hate, routines.

- I am glad not to be obessing anymore over silly house projects. The floors will be done when they're done, and Rex and I have really hit this teamwork groove.

- I realize how lucky I am when I see news about the Middle East.

- Yesterday I saw a young Hispanic man in a rubber Statue of Liberty suit, waving a sign for Instant Tax Returns. I thought how depressing it was, but then realized that for him, that was probably food on his table for a week. It's all relative. Or paying for relatives... however you want to look at it.

- Tonite we celebrated my niece's 20th birthday at my sister's apartment. My sister put on videos of us from 20 years ago. I miss my old body, but not my old glasses and hairdo. "I'll take 80's Cheese for 200". Watching those vinettes, it was the first time in a while I could look at imagery of my dad and not feel loss. I miss him, but his spirit lives on... in all of us. I choose to be happy for having him in my life. If I ever have a third kid, which I won't, but if I did, I'd name him or her Mel.

- I've been overeating on crap which is causing me to crash. Time to refocus mentally, physically, spiritually and intellectually.

Time to count my blessings, not my dollars. Thank you friends, family, America, Starbucks and the senor who was waving the tax return sign on DeSoto and Parthenia. May you have nothing but happiness from sea to shining sea. (But have it in a better costume than Lady Liberty of Canoga Park. Even Camilla Parker Bowles wedding feathered otrocity was cuter than the green foam birdsnest - that's not saying much)

Monday, January 30, 2006

Guess Who's Pregnant?

....Not me, you freaks. Great Grandma Stella! She's 84 and, according to her email, "It's a boy". She won first place at her mobile home Halloween contest and hasn't stopped partying since. If someone makes a pumpkin martini, I'll put you two in touch.

People, I might bitch about manners in front of post offices.

I may have the occasional run-in with the mean mom at the play area.

I might worry about the labrador retriever spirit inside of me bounding into the wrong person's personal space and sniffing their unsuspecting butt.

But I hope that with my new awareness of social etiquette I never lose the Stella spirit.

Here's to everyone's knocked up ballerina. Let's twirl! Or at least stop tip toeing and start dancing on our toes. (Or in Stella's case, after one of her 4PM concoctions, let's start tipsy toeing.)

If someone doesn't approve of our exhuberance dancing, especially an uptight male, there's always a Nutcracker.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Making the Cut

With the delicious anticipation of children and husband asleep - fresh coffee wafting in - I am awash in... hmmm... what's that odd aroma? Oh... peace.

I spent some much needed time with Rex and the kids on Saturday, doing a whole lot of nothing... banking, drycleaning, food shopping, getting Stinker's haircut (his first time at a real barber shop), getting Papa's hair cut, visiting family in Calabasas, going to a 3 year old birthday party. It was so average and cliche and heavenly.

Despite my beat up floors (tiling won't be completed until April if we're lucky)... despite my walls in the tv room screaming to be patched and painted... despite a new pimple the size of the Astrodome on the right side of my neck... I feel like the luckiest woman alive.

I thank you Rex, Stink and Pip for being my family. You don't just mean the world to me. You are my world.

I love you!

(Pictured: Rug rats pre-cut, goofing around in a Simi Valley barber shop. With its plaid wall paper, glass jars of blue liquid with combs and old cracked leather chairs, this joint is a far cry from some of the Valley's "KIDS HAIR SALONS!" resplete with video games, candy and enough primary color to blind Elmo. Steve's Razor Edge only loses the Norman Rockwell Experience Award due to no dog's tail wagging below the barber sign. The photo of Stink solo is post - cut. Yes, he does look like Jerry from the haircutting episode.)

Friday, January 27, 2006

Green Eggs & Ham

I do not like my Cheerios
I do not want them on my nose
I do not want them in a dish
I do not want them with a fish
I do not want them hard or soft
I do not want them with Zoloft
I do not want them round and tan
I only want Green Eggs and Ham

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Quick Turn Around

Last night I rocked Squeak to sleep to the tune of Rex reading "Green Eggs & Ham" to Stink. "I do not like them Sam I am" Rex would shriek, emphasis on the"doooooooo". I went to bed last night with the grateful sigh of a woman who is fortunate to have her husband step up to the plate with parenting duties.

Then this morning, Stink threw a fit over his routine Cheerios. "I dooooooooo not like Cheerios, Mommy. I want green eggs and ham!"

Guess who put food dye on the shopping list?

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Comfort Food

...as in couch potatos.

Just when I thought I'd never break Stink of random toy taking or pushing Squeak to get out of his way, I walk into the tv room to find this.

Let me state for the record that the "1,2, 3...Magic" book rocks. The whole Mom staying calm, staying in control... it's rough... it takes time... but my toddler really is taking to it (and I'm not a book advocate necessarily). Of course every kid is different, which makes a parent's role so difficult, but between everything I've tried, I love this method. The only thing I don't like with this idea is that you're not supposed to explain why the kid was in time-out. That's fine while they sit there, but afterwards? I find it helpful. Stink is at an age where he can start to understand "taking toys hurts someone's feelings". Yes, he gets a consequence, but he also needs to learn the "why" and get some support from mom. (This coming from someone who never thought she'd be touchy feely psych mom. It's true what they say... kids change everything.)

Any one else out there find there's this fine line between letting your kids run wild, and letting them be kids? I think I'm seeing the sun come out of the clouds and finding my groove. If anyone of you have hit a rocky patch, I find that patience, time, consistency, willingness to change if something isn't as effective as you'd hoped, and lots of girlfriends are just the right trick.

And after the kids sleep, there's always drinking. (If they get to hit the bottle, why can't you?)

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Heart Attack

Squeak & Stink, you will never know how much you are loved. Even when you're teenagers, and you know everything.

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ~Elizabeth Stone"

(Pictured: Pipsqueak at top, Stinker at bottom - both at 2 weeks.)

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Let Them Eat Cake!

Between more than a few social clashes, and Operation Stink Crackdown (breaking him of taking toys from Squeak or pushing her out of the way rather than using his words), it has been a rough week emotionally. I am talking lots of tears: from Stinker, to me wondering if I'm handling it right, to some worried calls to a preschool director, to some frantic emails to Rex, to more than a few cell phone minutes to trusted advisors.

After some good advice from friends and family I care deeply about, as well as random opinions I'd have rather avoided, it is becoming more and more apparent that it's time to step up to the plate and be a grown-up. In my case, a grown-up who looks around her car in parking lots for other drivers that may or may not want my space. To be more on top of my kids' general appearance (crumbs work for me - "they're kids... they're playing!" but apparently some people don't want their grubby hands all over their kids' toys, and though it was hard to hear - and embarrassing - I have two words for you: Wet Wipes.) I am learning that while criticism is rough, it can also be incredibly helpful and I thank the Lord for friends that love me, cherish me, then call me on my flaws. Like a trusted middle finger, however, there is always the flip side, and I'm slowly realizing that it's okay to not listen to everyone - and everything.

If I were a cook, I'd describe it as putting everyone and their thoughts, either asked for or not, in a big strainer and shaking it three times for good measure. The ones that remain I keep and use for essential life ingredients. (That includes even the ones that are flattened to the side of the bowl, half in, half out, like a ten year old kid on one of those spinny rides at the carnival that really wants to get off but it's going so fast they're too terrified to press that bell and risk jeering.) The ones that fall through the cracks? I turn on the disposal and don't look back.

Of course, my problem is, as Oprah is so fond of saying, my emotional eating. Translation: While I'm enjoying my fabulous cake, made from true salt of the earth ingredients, I am racked with guilt and self doubt... "what if that person, or opinion, that I chucked could have made it taste different? Was I too quick to throw the switch?" And yet, here's the deal.... it doesn't matter if it would have added a different flavor to my cake. If it makes me vomit, it's not working for me. Rather than fret, what I need to do is print off that recipe card, get a book deal, make a mil, and call it a day. Everyone will have a good ironic chuckle during my Oprah taping (or lack of, because I was so nervous I had a panic attack in the bathroom and even Gail couldn't talk me down. This would not only be a fabulous cocktail party story - not that I ever go to these sort of sexy events - but it would make the ones I threw down the sink feel ever so smug for being smart enough to call me on my faults in the first place).

Still, I'd have enough pride to throw a fiesta for my core ingredients. Instead of "Mama P's Big Oprah Moment!" I'd have a banner printed "Mama P's Big Faux Pas Moment". And you guessed it, I'd serve cake.

Side note: Why do even blunders sound so much classier in other languages? I bet if that guy in the post office had screamed at me in French, I'd be eating croissants and smiling at the good ol' days. (* Photo - taken when Stink was supposed to be on "time out" but Squeak was "helping" him. Like a good mother, I told him "You have one minute left, sir, and before you get up... smile so I can take this picture!" Squeak had an unfortunate encounter between a toy dump truck this morning. Maybe it didn't like what she was calling it - see post below.)

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Screw the Zoloft, I Need.....

Rude Awakening

For those of you that don't know, I used to write for the Showtime series "Rude Awakening" (starred Sherilyn Fenn & Lynn Redgrave). http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0165057/ (oooh, my maiden name is listed... I was Frazer back then)

Little did I know that I'd be having a rude awakening of my own five years later - in the form of rude people. Which I have run into quite a bit lately.

To back up, I was raised to be nice to people at all costs. Don't hit back. Give up your place in line to be nice. Share your toys. Always give people the benefit of the doubt. I have also been raising my own brood like this. Clearly my friends (many of over 20 years) live like this, too, as I don't have issues with them. Ever.

Clearly I've been living in a bubble the past few years, however, because,
for risk of sounding high handed (and I hate self righteousness) I've run into the most obnoxious people. It's mostly started since Stink began school. The 3 hour time frame between drop-off and pick-up forced Squeak and I out into the world at large. It was fuzzy at first, but now it's becoming a bit clearer. And it's something like this: people let their kids hit other kids with no consequences. They order bagels like they're kings and queens of the Chatsworth empire. "Gimme a pumpernickle... and a Dietetic Soda... no ice, extra lemon. That's EXTRA lemon POR FAVOOOOR". They don't wave if they drive fancy cars since their name plates entitle them to the right of way, even if the law doesn't. They don't smile for fear of smudging 25.00 Mac Lipliner or they can't smile, due to a freak of nature or botox. Things of that nature.

Then, yesterday at the post office (yes, yet another mail incident) I had left my driver's door open by accident. I was buckling in Squeak on the passenger side and this old geezer pulls up and screams, "Hey, move your car, will you?" Okay, was he right in telling me that I shouldn't have it sticking out? Hell yes. But was he rude? Yes. Did he bother to stop and think "Hey, she's struggling with a kid and forgot to close her door? " Like I would? No. So what did I do? Very nicely I responded "Oh my god, I am so sorry. I totally made a mistake. It happens." Did he say "No problem" and smile? Like I would have? No. He says "Well, it shouldn't happen." That set me off. I turned to him and said, calmly "You know what? When you are getting your award for being a perfect human being, please send me the invite so I can come congratulate you."

Then a miracle happened. He walked off.

What did I learn from this?

1. Bullies are usually scared off when you call them on their crap.

2. It's okay for me to stand up for myself. I don't have to go through the 3 hour litany in my head of "maybe their father beat them as a kid so that's why they are that way..." No. It's not okay.

Bottom line: I will always... ALWAYS... try and give the benefit of the doubt. But you know what? Some people don't, and if they can walk around this world like their shit doesn't stink, I'm not holding my nose anymore and going to pretend like it smells like flowers. They can kiss my ass and smell some of my crap for once.

Here's a website I found on rudeness. I likey likey.


Any thoughts out there?

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Act 2 / Keep on Truckin'

I kid you not when I tell you that Stink, upon hearing the rumble of the trash trucks this morning, took her bottle out of her mouth, sat up in my bed, and yelled, "Fuck! Fuck!"

Rex poked his head out of the bathroom. "You really have to stop cursing, Love". In my defense, I told him I hadn't been. He asked her to repeat it. Rex: "Say Truck, Squeaker. Truck!"

Silence. Then, Big Pipsqueak grin...


That's my little lady. I'm keeping an open mind that she'll learn to pronunciate. But the day I find naked lady mud flaps on Stink's tricycle I'm calling 1-800-Speech Therapist.

PS: Thanks to Bridethatwas for reading my movie (which I won't post , so everyone relax) and passing it on to her upper managers at her production company. Fingers crossed. If it's going to be used for coffee coasters, let's at least pray they're for Starbucks cappucinos.

PSSSS.......... here's the rest of my pilot. No word yet from Super Agent.




Jimmy is sleeping on a mattress in the middle of the office.

I knew you and Hillary were fighting, but this seems ridiculous.

Crazy Eddy sucked me into a buying a bed, but Hillary thinks I bought her cruise tickets, so I'm hiding the evidence while I figure out how to pay for both.

You could return the mattress and tell Hillary the truth.

I'd rather live in fear of bankruptcy and divorce, curled up in this fetal position. Could ya leave me a bowl of water?

Sure. (HANDING HIM A LAP TOP) But while you're regressing, I need you to fill that job order. I've got private school tuition to pay for.

Your comforting side is your best quality. What do you do when your kids scrape their knees? Have them fill out college applications?

Nah. I told them I wouldn't be able to send them since my business partner is such a wuss.

A wuss with the best mattress in town, baby!

As Jimmy turns to his computer, cut to:

Jimmy comes home to the baby screaming. His toddler is going through Hillary's boxes and there's popcorn everywhere. The normally high strung Hillary has Hawaiian music playing.

Honey, are you aware that Hurricane Toddler has been elevated from a warning to a touch down?

So, it's a bit messy in here.

A bit messy? We could apply for FEMA.

Nicky throws, and breaks, a vase. Sophie screams louder.

(A la newscaster) This just in: We are now eligible for FEMA.

More money for pina coladas. I don't see mess... I see beaches. I don't hear crying... I hear ocean.

We're... not going to the beach.

(DISAPPOINTED) Oh. (THEN) Is it skiing? A spa? Wait, don't tell me.

I don't want to tell you, but...

Stop! (Taking his hand) Remember the fun of first dating? When everything was new and fantastic and exciting? When you couldn't wait to see what was going to unfold?

He does. Far too well.

I feel that way for the first time since I had Nicky. I know it's dumb, but it took this vacation for me to feel alive again. Don't ruin it. Just give me a teeny hint: hot or cold.


Cold. Very very cold.

Then step this way mister, because it's about to get very, very hot.

But what about the kids?

With how long it's been since we've had sex? We'll be gone 2 minutes tops.

As she drags him into the bedroom, cut to:



Jimmy is now holding court on his office mattress: pillows, papers and fax machine. He slams down the phone.

I hate Crazy Eddy. I hate that my mortgage is due and I have to dip into savings. And I hate this music.

Frankie turns off the stereo.

Any calls?

(Staring at her red sweater) Elmo. He wants his mommy back.

This is red cashmere, you freak. And I'm sick of your attitude. It's not my fault you're not getting sex.

Oh, I'm getting it alright. Twice last night, once this morning.

Then what's the problem, stud?

I can't believe I'm saying this, but given the false pretense my wife is in, I didn't enjoy it.

Ooooh. Under that grouchy exterior beats the heart of a teddy bear. Guess you're heading toward telling Hillary the truth?

Yeah. I'm just not sure if I should tell her on the slopes or on the plane ride home.

That's your plan?

It's either that or kidnap a financial analyst-slash-Play boy bunny away from Hugh Hefner's mansion, place her with Crazy Eddy, then keep my mouth shut.

Great plan. Maybe we can get a job order from the Delusion Institute while you're at it.

They already turned me down. But I hear the Insane Asylum has an opening.



Hillary and Jimmy's kids are playing trains and dolls with Frankie's kids in the living room. Cloe supervises as Hillary folds laundry in shorts and a tank top.

(HOLDING TINY GLOVES) The irony of being both a mother and a terrible housewife is I can never tell if these gloves are my kids or mine.

(LOOKING AT LABEL) Unless you've picked up a train fetish lately, I'm thinking they're Nick's.

Then where are mine?

Frankie has a million. Borrow from her.

The only thing we share is a nanny.

And making fun of Daddy.

JACK (frankie's son)
And you and my mommy both work. Though my mommy says she makes more money than you.

Well my Mommy told my daddy that she doesn't like your mommy.

Nick, that's not nice!

It's okay. My mommy told my daddy she doesn't like you very much either.

Jack, what did we say about repeating things you hear from other people?

That I should keep it to myself. Especially the thing about Hillary's vacation being a gi-normous lie.

When did you hear that?

When I was hiding under the mattress Jimmy and my mommy were sitting on.

That's it. Cloe, you're on kid duty. I'm not letting something so precious to my heart just be ripped away.

I know Frankie's not your favorite, but I can bet my life she isn't taking Jimmy from you.

You're probably right. But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about my vacation.

On that last note, Hillary exits in a huff.



Jimmy is sitting on the mattress in the middle of the office. Frankie is sitting next to him on it. Crazy Eddy is pacing.

Do you mean to tell me in the entire state of Texas you could not find one woman that has a background in finance, the brain of Bill Gates and the knockers of Daisy Duke?

Shocking, isn't it? (THEN) What about Georgia Porter?

Georgia turned out to be a George. And he didn't even bother to shave his legs for the interview.

I'm sorry people, but if you can't find a chick to fill my henhouse I'm gonna have to find some other cat that can.

Just then Hillary enters. She is on fire. So on fire, she's hot hot hot.

Pardon the interruption, but if I learned anything at the Wharton School of Business and all my years selling stock it's that one and one ain't three, and from what I'm seeing and hearing, something isn't adding up.

By whose calculations?

Who the hell are you?

What I want to know is who the hell are you? (LOOKING AT FRANKIE AND HILLARY) And why have you been hiding this lovely firecracker from me?

This is my wife, Hillary. And I have a bit of explaining to do.

You're damn right. You can start with why you and Frankie are on a mattress.

Not just any mattress, but a posture perfect thousand dollar luxury spring.

It is pretty comfortable. (THEN) And the truth is I bought it for you and me, but then you thought I got you a vacation and I didn't want to disappoint you, so I hid the evidence.

You're no better than Nick. Just yesterday, he put the lid back on the cookie jar on, thinking I wouldn't notice a few cookies missing, but then he left crumbs all over the counter.

That was me.

You're not helping your case.

Would a sorry help?

That and a promise to take the kids all weekend so I can sleep.

You got it. (OFF HANDEDLY TO EDDY) My wife's quite the negotiator.

Well, I better go unpack.

Hold up, Cowgirl. Stop this here mopin', cause you ain't got time for a vacation anyway. Beginning Monday morning, you are my new mattress spokeswoman.

Aren't you Crazy Eddy?

Indeed I am.

No offense, but I think your commercials are completely sexist.

Oooh, that hurt. You'll be earning a big corner office to smack me around some more.

You couldn't pay me enough to work for you.

He writes something on a sheet of paper and shows her.

Except that. But I'll need time off for preschool functions.


And half days Fridays.

Of course.

And this bed moved for free from this office to my bedroom, with the promise from that man right there that if he ever wants to sleep on it he is never going to lie to me again.


What about us lovely lady. Deal?


(TO JIMMY AND FRANKIE) I'll express you a commission check tonite. Deal?


Hillary leaves, followed by Crazy Eddy.

What just happened?

I believe you get to stop sleeping on the futon, your household income just got doubled and we made a commission.

Now that's a deal.



Jimmy is gathering his pillow and blanket off the couch. He picks up the teddy bear from the first scene.

If one bear ends up in a trash can, and no toddler is around to see it, does that mean it didn't happen?

Jimmy takes a quick look around, then volleys the bear into the trash can.

He shoots, he snoooooooooores! (Talking to can) I'm off to sleep with my wife, suckaaaa!

He exits the livingroom and walks into the bedroom.

Jimmy walks in. He turns on the light.

SFX: Light on

Hillary makes the "shhh sound" as she points to Nick and Sophie, sleeping in bed with her.

(MOUTHING WORDS) Sorry. Love you!

Jimmy smiles as he looks at his family. He mouths the words back to her.

Love you, too.

He means it. On his face is an expression of disappointment, but and frustration, but above all, love.

Jimmy exits the bedroom to go back to his old standby.



Jimmy puts his pillow and blanket back on the couch. He lays down when he hears...

SFX: Trash can. A tiny bear voice is heard.

If a guy gets a new bed but he has two kids, do you really think he's going to use it?


Jimmy picks up the bear and opens the front door.

Jimmy throws the bear.

SFX: Teddy bear voice

We can hear the bear's voice trailing off screen.

You're still not going to get lai-----

Jimmy turns the lights out.


Monday, January 16, 2006

Scenes 4, 5 & 6

So this takes you thru to Act 1. Act 2 will be posted tomorrow in one big post to make it easier to read.


Jimmy steps outside his house to see George walking up the driveway they share. He's still in a kilt.

Wow. It's like a scene out of Rob Roy. If Rob Roy were a geek and carried a cell phone.

George sits down next to him with a sigh.

Bad day on the battlefield?

Turns out it was a company takeover party and the new C.E.O. Is from Mexico, not Scotland.

Ay yay yay! In a tribute to his homeland, have a Corona.

Gracias. (NOTICING JIMMY) Bad day for you, too?

Depends on your definition of "bad day". Does being in debt and fighting with your wife count?

It's better than lots of money and no wife to fight with.

Most days I'd agree with you, bud. But today I just miss being...

He's struggling.


There. He said it.

How about you, buddy. Ever think about cheating?

Every time I see Laura Croft.

With a real woman.

Are you kidding? Real women don't go for me. The first time I got Frankie in bed, I flipped her over to check for batteries. (THEN) How about you?

Sure, I think about it. But I wouldn't. My wife is way too smart.

What if you couldn't get caught? Like with our hot little nanny?

I have two words for you: Jude Law. (Then) I just wish my wife weren't so stressed out. She's acting crazy.

Frankie was nuts until the kids started school. Hillary will find her groove again soon.

I hope so. Because as nice as your legs are, I'd rather be drinking this beer with her.

A beat.

You know, even if I knew I would never get caught, I still wouldn't cheat. (THEN) And I thought my wife was crazy.

As they down some beer, cut to:



Frankie is dealing with Mr. Edwards who can't sit still.

...I don't understand why it's taking so long to fill this job.

Perhaps if you sat down, I could show you some resumes--

Sit, schmit. I lay around on mattresses all day. And if those mattresses could talk--

They'd ask why you've turned down 3 of our best sales guys.
(pointing to one)
Jim McQuilan has five years of financial analysis.

But he doesn't have breasts.

And you need breasts to get a sale?

I'm giving you a job, ain't I?
Look, I run a mattress business, and if there's one thing I know about sales, if my head of sales is going to sell mattresses, she has to look good on one.

An exhausted Jimmy enters.

Take this man over here. Is there nothing you like better than a good looking woman on a mattress?

I don't know. It's been so long, I wouldn't recognize one.

With the way Crazy Eddie operates, I'm shocked he ever sees one either.

I like you. You're bold enough to call me on my crap. And smart enough to know that for the extra 10% I just raised you, you'll find me a head of sales with all the right attributes.

As soon as I take off my bra and clean my oven, I'll get right on it.

She exits.

She's feisty. You and her ever...?

Nah. I'm a celibate fellow.

So you're married.
Look, come on down to my mattress warehouse. I'll hook you up in more ways than one.

With all due respect, Mr. Crazy Eddy, I'm a professional who is going to fill your job order, not some schlub who's going to pay astronomical prices for a mattress you claim can get me sex.



Ext. House - Jimmy, out of breath, puts a mattress up against the side of the front door and enters.


Shhhh... the baby just went down.

He sits on the couch. On the teddy bear.

SFX bear: I got honey honey honey in my tummy tummy tummy YUMMMY!

Thanks a lot!

They are both now screaming over the toy and screaming baby.



Well whatcha know about this?


Do I laugh, cry or call an orthodontist?

Smile, because I have a surprise for you. (BEAT) You're not smiling.

That's because surprises "for me/from you" all have cords, remotes or fish tank sized speakers.

That's not true.

Five words for you: Anniversary Car Seat Ass Warmers.

You're always calling me a pain in the butt. Didn't those help? (OFF HER SMILE) That's better. Now as shocking as this sounds, I've been listening to how exhausted you are. I spent almost a grand of savings, but it's something we both can share. Starting this Monday, you're getting--

--A vacation? You booked a vacation!?

(SHOCKED) I.. Uh...

Oh, honey... no dishes. No kids!

Wait... wait...

We can finally have sex again!

(NOW HE'S ON BOARD) Surprise!!!

She jumps in his arms and hugs him. When she walks away, she leaves milk stains on his blouse.



Macaroni Thrills/Scene 3

Rex and I went for our weekly date to the Macaroni Grill, which we've renamed Macaroni Thrills because A) We haven't laughed that hard in a while, B) We didn't have to make any of those curly noodles with orange powder C) The place looks like a theme park with the food the size of a Dora the Explorer's head and D) For a heavy fine, you, too, can leave without any dishes to do!

We met a few friends that Rex knew from his In & Out Burger Days and just hung out. We covered everything from mutual friends, to mutual funds, to house payments, to kids, to work, and to why women can site from memory their husband's exact food order at any major drive thru chain, but men can't figure out to bring home flowers once in a while (Yes, K, life isn't an episode of Friends, but Casa Di Mama P would feel a little less like Married With Children if we had a few suprise buds around here. And no, not those kind of buds, though that might solve the problem, too).

My point: We had so much fun that it was determined that a Vegas trip, though a huge daydream, is in order.

When was the last time any of you took a vacation? (Other than Cecelia, who just came back from Austraila. And Herb, who is still in New Zealand. And Texas Lizzy, who just went to Vegas and California. And Sister R, who spent Thanksgiving in Arizona. And Ali, who went to Sacramento for Xmas. And Mrs. V, who went to Portland a few months back, and Mama P Light, who spent some time with her mom holiday shopping in Vegas and... maybe it's just me who never travels?)

Here's the 4th Scene. Since I have heard no comments for about 2 weeks, but my hit meter (located at the bottom of the page) keeps getting steadily higher, I can only assume people are reading but hate it so much, they're scared to note it. Or there's nothing to say because it's just that brilliant. I am not hanging my hat on either and am going to just keep plugging along. So there.



Is it my imagination, or do I not see rugrats?

Cloe has them. Instead of working I decided to sleep. And drink.

You should be ashamed of yourself. Drinking and sleeping in the afternoon... without me.

You've got a job, babe. Last time I checked, hanky panky didn't put a roof over our heads. In fact, it put two new heads under our roof.

Who are not here right now.

Which is why you need to stay sober and make a placement. It will make everything better.

No. Sex will make everything better.

So we can live in a tent?

If we're having sex in the tent, is that so bad?


Oh, honey, you know I adore you. But I've had two kids poking and prodding me all day. I don't need to be poked and prodded by you, too.

I'd be insulted if I didn't want to poke and prod you so badly. (THEN) You know, Frankie and George do it three times a week.


You've been talking to Frankie about our sex life?!


Technically, I talked about our non sex life.


And it's not just about sex. I miss spending time with you. It seems every time we have one quiet moment you use it to sell on E-Buy.

It's important to me. It's my outlet.

I know. I just wish your outlet could make some money.

Whoops. He did it again.

Great. Now Frankie thinks I'm a lazy and sex less.

And soon to add "drunk".

And you wonder why I don't want to have sex with you.

I was kidding! (LOOKING IN HER EYES) Hellooooo... Hiiiilary!

What are you doing?

I'm looking for that sexy lady I married. You might remember her? Long flowing hair who did that wacky seventies move every time she'd bowl a strike. (HE DOES A FUNKY MOVE) The football freak who was so excited to get married she proposed to me during the Super Bowl. The one who was so thrilled to have a baby she threw herself a shower at six weeks?

(FEIGNING SHOCK) You didn't hear? Dumb broad got broadsided by a killer mortgage and no time to herself.

I know you need a break. I do, too.

You get that break. Every day. From 9 - 6.

It's called work. It's not a vacation. You think I don't want to stay at home, drink a beer and sleep?

Is that what you think I do all day?

No. You also find time to complain about not having time and then use the time you do have to pick a fight with your husband.

You forgot, "And to tell him to leave."

Fine, but not without one thing.

Hillary makes a lame attempt to purse her lips for a kiss.

Sidestepping her kiss, Jimmy grabs two beers and exits.


Sunday, January 15, 2006

The Terrible 3's

Anybody out there in Cyber Space find raising a 3 year old like raising a puppy?

- Sit there! Good boy!
- No peeing on the couch!
- No jumping on the bed!
- Thiiiiiiis way!
- No! No! No!
- Hey, no biting!
- Don't sniff that person's butt, it's rude
- If you're a good boy, you get a snack

And, like having a puppy, sometimes Mommies need to take a class - as in I will be taking one in February. I am going to refer to it as a T I T - Toddler in Training. I just hope they don't make me walk Stink around a circle with a choke chain.

Here's Scene 2 of WAC

Hillary is working on her lap top when a young college girl, CLOE, enters. About twenty same size boxes surround her.

Got some E-Buy packages going out?

I wish. The only thing I'm expressing today is right here.

She turns off the breast pump and starts fixing bottles.

I'll take the kids and then you'll have some time to yourself.

Oooh goody. Should I start with the laundry? Perhaps the toilet? I think I saw my career there. And my size 2 jeans. Quick, grab a plunger!

We'll need a long one. Your pedicure is lodged there, too.

When I hired you to be my nanny, I don't remember one of the qualifications being "smart ass".

And I don't remember my dream accomodations being a storm cellar.

A storm cellar with cement siding and no windows. Now that's living.

So is having a husband that worships you and two great kids.

I know. I know! I shouldn't whine.

You're just pooped from doing too much.

When the kids sleep, Mommy works.

I thought "When the kids sleep, Mommy sleeps."

That's only for moms with maids. And since my MBA now stands for Maid/Broke but Ambitious, I get to do it all!

Hillary slumps on the couch.

Hey, I'd kill to be you some day.

Of course, not until I finish college and get my practice going. I'm talking at least 15 years of freedom first.

I was flattered until that last sentence. Now I have to fire you.

I'll cite post partum for my radical termination. Before I go, here's my parting gift.

A six pack of beer? This isn't going to cure my sleep deprivation.

There's nothing a six pack can't cure.

You'll be the only psychologist I know with a keg in her office. Is it too early to book weekly appointments?

If you don't get sleep soon, you better book some dailies.

As Cloe grabs the bottles, they smile at each other:

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Male Man & Scene 1 WAC

As I was rushing to transfer my sleeping chillins from the SUV to the house, my mailman, Scott, ran up to me. He's a nice 32 year old guy that looks more like a cute bartender than a government worker. As it turns out, he used to be in the entertainment business, but once he got married and had kids, he had to get a stable gig. I usually donate my Writers' Guild scripts and DVDs to him, leaving them on the front porch for him to pick up during a route. On the rare our occasion our schedules collide, we chat in the driveway about movies, kids and how to balance life with dreams... all sorts of your average post man/house frau conversation.

Today he handed me his card and shook my hand, announcing that he'd been transferred back to Lancaster where he lives. He wanted to stay in touch so he could bounce WGA stuff off me, which is fine. While showing me photos of his family, he mentioned that his 4 year old daughter just landed a commercial agent and is going out on lots of auditions. He told me if ever I wanted to get my loud mouth baby girl on the Pampers Money train to give him a shout out in return for my script and writing generosity.

Who says housewives can't do business from their porch? With cute mailmen and Ebay, we can run the world!

Here's the next scene of my pilot.... And keep in mind... this is not meant to be a rocket science script. We're talking ABC midstream TV, okay? It's also a first draft. Not that it's not hiiiiiiilarious, because it is. Sometimes. Just shut up and read.

Also please note: Women Are Crazy is going to be shortened to WAC from now on. As in Mama P is WhACked for typing when she should be sleeping while her kids are sleeping.

And now, a final shout out to Papa John who attended Stink's school on Grandparent day. He loved it! "He" meaning Stink. Papa John? I'm not so sure, but he was a good sport. And I heard from a few moms in the lobby, while we were waiting for the big grandparent/kid dismissal "Oh, you brought Papa John? He made quite the impression during circle time."




Jimmy stumbles into his garage - also the home office for his job placement business, MFA - "More Frequent Assignments". His female business partner, FRANKIE, is already fast at work, headphones on, typing on the computer, drinking coffee.

What are you so happy about?

Just George. You know how frisky he gets after a night of online gaming.

I wish I didn't, but every Monday you tell me.

GEORGE, a handsome geek, crawls out from under a desk.

Not only am I the online conqueror of nations by night, but I am your server's master by day. Bow down!

I'd do it if I were you. My husband just saved us thousands of dollars in computer repairs.

Which I'll be putting toward therapy if I ever bow to a man in a skirt.

It's a kilt. For our Scottish CEO's welcome lunch. There's a reason I keep ascending that corporate ladder.

As long as I'm not under it while you're climbing, good for you.

FRANKIE (turning to George)
Bye, babe. Don't be late tonite. Don't forget the milk. And stop by the cleaners... and the pet store.

Anything else, just call.

Or yank his leash.

And with a kiss to Frankie, George exits.

He wears the skirt, I wear the pants.

And if I don't make a deal soon I'm gonna lose my shorts.

Lucky for you, I just got us a contract with Eddy Edwards.


He's looking for a V.P. of Sales.

Nice, title. Nice title means nice salary. Nice salary means nice commission. Nice!

I knew you'd be proud of me. I told him we knew a lot about mattresses because we both have two kids.

Well, in my case you should have said, "He also an expert on futons." I swear I haven't gotten lucky since my son was conceived four years ago.

You have a one year old daughter.

Once in four years is not lucky. It's begging.

Does it make you feel better that I'll never have as much sex as you did in college?

Since apparently I'm not going to either, the answer is no.


Typo Found by Warbride

Frankie is a different character.. It should have said Hillary. The first scene of the show (The Cold Open) is just between Jimmy and his wife, Hillary.

Thanks, warbride!

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Women Are Crazy - Cold Open

Okay, so I am done with the First Draft of my pilot, Women Are Crazy. I am going to put a scene a day up so you can read it without being stuck at your computers for a half hour at a time. For those non script readers out there, a typical script is 40 pages long, 10 scenes or so, 5 per act.

I hesitated to post this, for fear of plagery. Then again, I should be so lucky someone from my old biz (other than my agent) is out there trying to steal my work. I'll take the chance for some good feedback.

Hope you smile a bit. (I like it anyway, so nanny nanny nanny noo)

Drum Roll............

Women Are Crazy

A Pilot by Mama P

Cold Opening

A brass bed is covered in various articles of clothing: a veil, a bow tie, a blue garter belt. Hillary and Jimmy, an attractive couple in their early 30s, kiss madly.

I could make love to you forever.

Since you just married me, that's a good thing.

Was that what we did today? All I remember is downing three shots and dancing with a fat chick.

That was the mother/son dance. (THEN) And watch the fat jokes. What if I gained weight?

You mean going from a 36 B to a 36 C kind of weight?

I'm talking 38, 48, 38.
Jimmy takes a beat - confused.

I'm pregnant. Found out this morning. (OFF HIS LOOK) What. You wanted kids after we married.

Not five minutes after.

I guess we unofficially had a shot gun wedding.

(LOOKING UNDER COVERS) I say we celebrate with a 38 special.

Hillary rolls on top of him and kisses him. Pan out.

Pan in: 9 months later. Hillary sits on Jimmy's lap, 8 months prego.

Still want to make love to me forever?

(NOT BREATHING WELL) I do. And I think the end is near.

Oooh, do you need some oxygen? (Kissing him, then huge smile) Did I mention how much I love you?

She smiles at him.


PAN IN. Hillary is still smiling - at an adorable toddler.

(TO BABY) Did I mention how much I love you?

(A LA BABY) "Yes, Mommy. Now it's time that this bed had some action!"

He picks up the baby and slides it up and down Hillary's once again prego belly. Hillary laughs some more.

Remember those days when all we did was make love in this bed?

Yes. And we will again. Promise.


PAN IN: Jimmy and Hillary on one side of the bed. Nick, now 2, is doing an Evil Canival jump over their 6 month old daughter who screeches with laughter. Jimmy looks at Hillary.

Babe, I have to get up early tomorrow.

(VERY PISSY) Then go to sleep!
PAN IN: On a very defeated Jimmy.

PAN OUT: On a still defeated Jimmy. He is alone, on the couch, covered in a baby quilt. He picks up a teddy bear.

Will I ever sleep with my wife again?

He pulls the teddy bear's string.

Not a chance in hell, Suckaa!

Off Jimmy's surprised look:



Today can best be described as a series of ups and downs.

Down: I had about as much sleep last night as a solider guarding the queen thanks to Squeak's teething issues.

Up: I managed to organize most of the kids' Xmas and birthday treasure trove (Squeak's goes under her bed, Stink's near his door)

Down: We had to leave a Moms group early due to Stink's grabby behavior and Pip's screaming.

Up: Stella came by this afternoon with her typical assortment of pasta boxes, left over hangers, odds and ends of sauces, magazines and sweaters. She also brought her usual load of upbeat conversation, including some stories about some Japanese cousins the kids have thanks to someone named San San who married Stella's husband Gerado's sister's grandson's wife. It's all more exciting when she tells it, especially over a martini (Which she did not have today. In fact, she rushed off at 3, under the pretense of missing traffic. Personally, I would bet my son's preschool tuition that it was to be home for that 4:00 martini).

Down: Stink is not in the most agreeable post nap mood.

Up: I got some Ebay done while he hemmed and hawed over a cut-off Scooby Doo.

Down: Squeak dismantled my entire desk while I staked my Ebay claim.

Up: Rex will be home in an hour.

Down: It's now 4:00. What to do with the remaining hour? Go for a walk? Be a soccer monster? Teach Stink Farse?

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Pilots Are Sexy...

As in television pilots. As in I sent mine off to ye ol agent today via Priority.
Perhaps its the New Year. Perhaps its the moon. Or, as is my guess with everything, perhaps it's the Zoloft. I don't know, but since 2006 began, I have not only managed to keep to my writing schedule, but I have actually managed to consume less calories than an Army platoon. Of course, I still can't find my keys and exercize is an illusive mystery, but let's go with baby steps, shall we? There's plenty of time for personal trainers and drivers when I make my script millions.

How's your New Year's resolutions going? (And no wise crack remarks from Cecelia or Slim.)

Here's a random joke Rex sent me which made me smile. All you good Catholic's will especially chuckle.


A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak. After mass he asked the monsignor how he had done. The monsignor replied, "When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get >nervous, I take a sip." So next Sunday he took the monsignor's advice. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink. He proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon his return to his office after the mass, he found the following note on the door:

1.. Sip the vodka, don't gulp.
2.. There are 10 commandments, not 12.
3.. There are 12 disciples! , not 10.
4.. Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.
5.. Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.
6.. We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J. C
7.. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the spook.
8.. David slew Goliath; he did not kick the shit out of him.
9.. When David was hit by a rock and was knocked off his donkey, don't say he was stoned off his ass.
10.. We do not refer to the cross as the "Big T."
11.. When Jesus broke the bread at the last supper he said, "Take this and eat it for it is my body." He did not say "Eat me".
12.. The Virgin Mary is not called "Mary with the Cherry".
13.. The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A-Dub-Dub thanks for the grub, Yeah God.
14.. Next Sunday there will be a taffy pulling contest at St. Peter's not a peter pulling contest at St. Taffy's.

Monday, January 09, 2006


Mrs. V brings up an excellent point re: leakage. It's not pretty. It's not sexy. But the fact is, moms (especially after two kids) have a hard time laughing, sneezing and jumping without raining on the parade float. Will it happen to you? Depends. (Pun intended).

Here's some other equally glamorous facts that people don't tell you about motherhood:

- Just when you're at the final pushing stage, your husband waiting for your offspring with open arms, you will poop on the birthing table. Just go with it. Personally, the Texas Longhorns could have walked in and I would have cared less
- For some moms, breastfeeding is about as easy as cracking the DaVinci code. Regardless of those signs stating "Babies are born to be breastfed" it doesn't work for everyone. If it does, good for you
- Attachment parenting is great on paper. Then you have a one year old that can't eat a cracker without being permanently lodged to your nipple
- Kids are their own person. Enjoy dressing them while you can, because when they hit 2, they are going to wear their shoes backwards, boys will want to wear Dora underwear, girls will want to wear Xmas sweaters inside out to Easter parties, and they will lose their shoes on the way to preschool
- No matter how unique you think your child's name is, you will find some kid at a mall play area with the same one.
- If you want a girl, you will probably have a boy, and vice versa
- Just when your child is dressed for pictures, they will poop, urinate or vomit
- No matter how much you exercize, you will mysteriously gain little side rolls. The negative, you can't wear muffin top jeans. The positive: extra cushion for your rugrat and no side carrier necessary. And just when you finally believe you're doing the best you can and this is what you will look like forever, you will run into some mom who lost all her baby week just 2 hours after giving birth
- You can pay 1000 dollars for your Baby Bugaboo stroller, but the kid still isn't going to want to sit in it
- Your husband isn't going to find your reasons for time off as necessary as his. Make a understanding with him and move on
- If you compare yourself to other parents and what they have, you will ultimately be disappointed. Especially given that they are probably doing the same thing
- No matter how open you are to others, people will make nasty comments. For some reason, there is always that mom in the playgroup that has elevated herself to "baby expert". Let her blend her own baby food and be glad to have her wisdom
- Friendships are torn apart more than bonded when kids are born, since every mom thinks their angel is the most precious on the planet. I strive to not let this happen and hope it doesn't happen to you
- Family and friends aren't as accessible as you once thought they might be due to busy lives. Join a support group and adjust. Everyone does the best they can
- You will forget birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and being 30 minutes late counts as being on time
- Babies can tear apart marriages or bring you closer - it all depends on how you want to look at it
- Treating your baby like an adult is only going to insure that they go from crib bars to real bars. Structure is the best way to make them safe
- You will change your mind ten times on how to handle something and that's okay
- People will give you their opinion whether you want it or not. Sometimes they might be right, which is super irritating
- There's a million ways to parent, and yes, you are the best parent on the planet with the most precocious, smart kids that ever roamed the earth. She can stand up and smile at the same time? Wow!!! But guess what, no one else thinks she's as cute and smart as their kid. It's okay

And finally.........

- Just when you think your baby will never sleep through the night, they've turned 3 and learned how to work the remote control.

It's a fun ride. Even if you leak a bit on on the front seat.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Squeaky Sunshine

I talk an awful lot about Stinker. He's at that age where he can tell me stories about "ghosts that ate his macaroni" and how he "doesn't want the blood to fall out of his body". His verbal skills make him easy fodder for blogging.

However, let me just state that my little Pipsqueak is really coming into her name sake. She is a fireball of energy who greets me each morning with a tilt of her head and quick turn back, shrieking "no kisses! no kisses!" She can name all parts of your body (including "eyeball! eyeball!" which she'll thrust her pointer into... thank the Lord I wear glasss). She repeats all that she hears and never stops moving. She is all girl with her love for shoes, purses and dolls. But she's also Miss Rough and Tumble USA who is fearless. No jumper, vacuum cleaner, ball or mud pile is safe when Miss Pip comes lurking. With her dimples and and quick laughter, she's a true joy to hang out with. Even her tendency to hang on me with unwavering attention (which used to bug me to no end) is now just another endearing Pipsqueak quality. I even taught her to say "I'm a pain!" (pronounced "EmmaPen") which she follows up with an air kiss. Little brat.

She's so going to kick Stink's ass.

(Pictured: Sophie swinging, about 4 months ago post bad mommy buzz. I still say she rocked the haircut, but my husband begs to differ)

Jumping for Fun

Thanks to my girlfriends, husband, mother and Little Debi (my box car cakes, thank you very much), Stink's 3rd Birthday Thomas extravaganza went off without a hitch. Well, if there was a hitch, I was too busy running around like a crazed mom to notice (as evidenced by this photo, thank you Rex. If there was a caption over Stink's head it would read "Yes, Mommy, I know you are trying to encourage me. Now back off before your eyes pop out of their sockets and land on my cabooses you freak").

Random things to note about throwing a birthday party (well, they worked for me... take it or leave it)

- If you invite your kids' whole class, they just might show, so be ready to cook 80 quesadillas (any moms of class mates, if you are reading... you are the best group of girls I could have ever asked for to go through toilet training, party circuits and general toddler mayhem... thank you!)
- Spend the extra money and get alcohol for the parents - they deserve it (especially the few dads that showed up... cheers to them!)
- Every time a party guest asks for one of your kids' presents, divert them with a bright colored party bag. This tactic also works for husbands, only insert "computer game" over the words "party bag"
- For $72.00 and a good sports bra, you too can have this incredible bouncer pictured above. Just Jump for Fun Fun at 1-800 -281-6792 before your boy turns 13 and he's dialing 976 Jump for Fun.)
- There is such thing as too many presents. I have seen less gifts on a Toys R Us commercial (But thank you to all my friends and family... I joke about gift overload, but these are going to come in so handy on rainy days when I pull out a new set of play dough, truck, maid gift certificate... wait, that last one was my fantasy gift. Nevermind.)
- For all the work I put into this party, I'm still glad I kept it simple. The homemade quesadillas really only took me 30 minutes, the bouncer took 10 minutes to order, and I didn't go crazy baking homemade train cakes. Creative I am, Martha Stewart I ain't, but I think it all came together. (That or I drank too many of the beers Mrs. V. kindly brought over.) Whatever the case (and I'm not talking beer) there comes a point where we moms need to plan, make lists, then move on. I did that and actually had fun.

In closing, today Stink went to his cousin's Princess Party where, yes, there was more cake, presents, games, and a jumper! Since it only takes a few days for toddlers to create a habit, is it any surprise that Stinker announced that "tomorrow I have my Scooby Doo party". When I asked him to go use the bathroom one more time, he said he'd do it for a present. Thank God my little Pipsqueak still thinks that going to the supermarket is a fiesta. I give her two more weeks.

Friday, January 06, 2006


No sooner do I put away holiday decorations do I find myself knee deep in 3 year old party planning. The goal was to keep it simple - some cake, a jumper, some easy food. But when you're trying to entertain 20 toddlers and feed their parents something other than pizza, things ultimately get a bit more complicated. Between ordering the bouncer, buying paper goods, dropping more than a few ducets at Costco, trying to sanitize the house with two rug rats chasing the vacuum cleaner and finishing my pilot, I've had stuff on my mind.

The question of "tacos" vs. "quesadillasa" was running through my head at exactly 2:45 this Friday as I made a left turn into the post office to mail my script. I had fifteen minutes before I had to get the kids from Grandmas (who was kind enough to loan me 2 of her folding tables and one patio set. Well, she didn't loan me the patio set... I just took it. The blessings of both an SUV and a comfort level with your mommy). Apparently I cut some guy off and took his parking space. After being flipped off and yelled something, which I could only assume wasn't "Love your hair!" I braced myself for the inevitable parking lot brawl as he stepped out of his car toward me. It went something like this.

Man: You took my space!

Me: I'm sorry, I didn't mea--

Man: You just whipped right in and nabbed it. What the fxxx?

Me: Look, I --

Man: Watch the way you drive you bxxx.

Me: (Okay, I was fine up until that compliment) Do I look like I meant to do it? I had a lot on my mind and...

Man: I don't give a flying fxxx--

This is where it gets ugly. If it were the Old West, both of us would have been dead. Pistols on the ground. Priority packages stained with blood.

Our words clashed over each other like fists in a wrestling fight. And not a title fight, like in Vegas. A stupid WWF fight. It was Mama P Make My Day vs. Bad Business Suit Mad at Ex Wife Toyota Camry Driver.

Me: What is wrong with you? Why are you so angry?

Man: Just learn how to fxxxin drive--

Me: Get yourself some Prozac, asshxxxx--

Man: Don't tell me what to do you b---

Me: You need some serious anger management courses.

Man: Shut the fxxx up--

Me: No, YOU SHUT UP YOU PRICK! What if I had cancer? What if I had just lost my mother? What if I went to Baja Fresh and they didn't carry Diet Coke and I was driving around crying into my Diet Pepsi? It was an accident! Jesus!!!!!! (Everything I shouted is practically verbatim, minus the Diet Coke line. But you get the idea)

The entire parking lot is now looking at this middle aged man in a suit cursing out the mother in the pony tail and Jackie O Glasses.

And then he started to walk away, but not without screaming

Man: Fxxx off!

Me: No, you fxx off you fxxin axxxhole!

Lots of fucks flying. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I try not to lose my cool. I really do. But damnit, sometimes it pisses me off that here I am trying to raise healthy kids, keep a level of spirituality going in this nutty world, exercize for my health, exercize for my mind, be a good citizen. And then I run into people like this.

The most interesting part of this experience was how, despite obscenities flying (and the potential of getting punched out or shot - this is L.A.) I remained fairly calm. My heart was beating, but I wasn't freaking out. Maybe it was the Zoloft, but I'd like to contribute my grace under fire to starting to know who I am. And yes, I might have said "Fuck" (sorry mom) but it was done with dignity. It's not okay to yell at me. It's not okay to assume. I will stand up for myself and feel good about it.

The theme of the week must be bounce because:

- We had to bounce back from Xmas right into the Thomas the Train Party
- I have had to let more than a few insults bounce off my back
- I've done more laundry than a Chinese Drycleaner and used the wonderfully smelling Bounce sheets
- I bought Bounce paper towels for my many upcoming party spills
- I rented a bouncer
...and if I keep on running into obnoxious Valley dwellers and don't start shutting my mouth, I'm going to need a Bouncer.


Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Chuckle Cheese

Had my first experience at Chuck E. Cheese today, thanks to Texas Lizzy and Toddler J. My first note: It's such a typical mother to travel half way across the country and still have energy to find a chain restaurant to accomdate her kid. As for my kids, they loved it. Minus a small injury incurred from Pipsqueak heaving herself off of a merry go round (landing on her nose and causing some blood), all went off without a hitch. My second note: if a rat in a zoot suit can make this much money, I have no excuse not to sell my pilot. That leads me to my third note: gotta go and do my one hour of writing. But not without my fourth note, because I'm a rambler and a mother - this combination always leaves room for "One More Thing Before You Go" (as Maria Shriver's latest book is entitled)... HOOK EM HORNS! Or as it will most likely be in Texas Lizzy's household tonite, hook 'em horny.

Congrats to her husband and all you UT fans out there. I personally could give a rat's ass who won the game. But like I said before, given there's a huge money making rat's ass in every city of this country making a fortune, I gotta go write myself up a huge helping of pilot cheese so that in regards to my TV career I'm not "standing alone".

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

It's Beginning To Look Less Like Xmas...

"....And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again..." No truer Xmas song was ever written. Stink went back to preschool today, I regained my sanity (as well as one key made and a car wash) and there is peace on earth.

I had such a wonderful time this year. So many people love my kids. So many people came by. I baked so many fabulous cookies. And now, that damn tree is going out by the curb, people can go back to their own places and I can detox the fridge.

Never have I been so happy for boring normalcy.

Any of you out there have New Year's goals that you plan on breaking next week? I certainly do. And being the over achiever, I hope not to break them. Being half Catholic, half Jewish, I can also flog myself with guilt when I inevitable falter.

Here's my top 10 goals for any of you who care to read them:

1. Be working part time by September in one of 3 capacities (A being the most desired). A: Freelance TV. (Okay, so I am the lamest person on the planet. My pilot is done. I just need to finish one more punch and mail it off. Yes, it's a month over due. I suck so much I can't stand it, but that leads me to my #2 goal below. But first, here's Plan B) Freelance write for magazines. Thank you, Mama P Light, who steered me in that direction. I have the tools. I just need to get those letters out. Which leads me to #3, but finally, plan C: Work part time as an assistant, God help me, in a company I love where I can eventually go full time when the kids are in school, or break in creatively. I suppose Plan D could be to Writers Assist on a show again, but those hours are nuts.

2. Stop badgering myself. I can only do so much as one mama, wife, daughter, friend and so on.

3. Stick to my Monday/Tuesday and Thursday one hour writing deal at night after the kids sleep... (And not blog writing, though I love you all.) I need to focus on my script writing. That's my first love, and as my agent can tell you, it's been on the back burner too long.

4. Get a great office set up for myself. So it's not my dream office, but I'll get that when my script sells (note to self: send script to BridethatWas this week). Meanwhile, I want my black shelves and bulletin board for appointments and nice calendar and fresh paint job. I can do that!

5. Stop obsessing over the little things in the house and get out more, even if it's just to a museum, or a new park, or the zoo. I refuse to turn into Suzy Baseboard Obsessor. Move on. (Though I would kill the pope to have Nate Berkus suprise me with a shelving makeover and one year supply of towels from Linens and Things. Note to self: Write to Nate Berkus)

6. Watch the news for five minutes a day. Or online. It's time to be more aware. If anyone out there knows of a fun news blog, that would work. I find humor makes even the most boring stock report go down more easily. Or at least a bag of Twin Dragon Almond Cookies. And since dieting is not one of my top 10 goals (since I seem to have an eating plan that is already working for me) I can eat whatever during the news. As long as it's in the morning or before 2.

7. Finish my bedroom. I have a scrap book center (translation: my photos in old boxes gathering dust). While I might not ever be part of a crafty clutch, I certainly want my photos and videos in pretty albums or boxes where I can find them more easily. I want my walls covered in beautiful frames of my girlfriends, family and kids. I spend so much time taking pictures and making memories, but then I can't look around and see the fruits of my labor. Also, this center is my space where the kids can't get their paws on it.

8. Learn Civilazation IV for Rex. I hate it so much right now. I don't know a "wonder" from a "culture bar". But he friggin loves it. And more than once he has thanked me for trying to learn. I figure the more I understand it, the more I will get inside his techno brain. Which makes him appreciate me more. Which makes him more open to things I love, like dancing, music and theatre.

9. Laugh every day with my kids and everyone around me. I could die tomorrow, so life's too short to be crazy. If I ever get cancer (God forbid) I'm getting a blue Marge Simpson wig that sits high on my head with a teeshirt that says "I have cancer, what's your excuse?"

10. Not pay so much attention to what I think others think, but try to beat my own drum and wear headphones. I can't please the world, nor is anyone asking me to. It's time to put on my big girl panties and face reality.

Well, that was longer than I expected, but it's done. I am now going to print these and hang them on my bulletin board in my office. I mean, if I had paper in my printer and a bulletin board, I would do that.

See what I mean? Time to get an office!

Please, share your thoughts with me on your goals, or lack of!

(* Pictured: Stink, Pip and me admist floor rip out, Phase 3. I am sad to say, I look every bit of my almost 36 years. Not that 36 is so old, but it's closer to 40 than 30. And I just can't believe how fast the years fly by. Even more reason to stick to my goals and have a blast. Or maybe a blast by a Microabrasion specialist. Whatever.)

Monday, January 02, 2006

Mall Madness

A combination of hyper children, need for socialization and torrential downpours led me to mall today. Not the mall near my house, where it's usually me and a thousand people speaking Spanish and old abuelas sharing their Vallarta Cheesey Puffs. It was at the mall near my mother. The pretty one, where the nanny / child percentage tops most peoples' credit card APR. Where there's a fancy children's boutique outside the play area, beckoning you to spend money you don't have on overpriced baby blankets that your child is just going to vomit on. The one with the fancy furniture stores where I can feel guilty for having mismatched desks in my office when for $6000 Rex and I can have complimenting mission style ensembles. But let's face it, it's our mission style ways that led us to our two children, which led us to eating cheap Mission burritos on Taco Tuesdays, which made us spend less on our style in the first place, so the hell with that furniture. I'll get my Pottery Barn office... it's just going to be in bits and pieces. Like most of my dishes - thanks to my children. Which just validates me even more for not spending 6 grand on an office set.

My point? Lots of DKNY babies, Calvin Klein mommies, screenwriting Daddy O's on lap tops and Petunia Picklebottom toting nannies casing the joint. Enter a rain dripped Sophie, Dominic in mismatched socks, and a hunkering Mama P in her pony tailed finest.

Quick side note: To give myself credit, I have a Petunia Picklebottom diaper bag also. My mommy friend, L, has one also. (L is fabulous... I joke that she's just like me, only 100 pounds thinner... From now on, I will refer to her as Mama P Light) I didn't spend the money on these threads to have the label - I just love the bag, and I'm worth it. So is L. And maybe most of these moms are boring sheep like me who all like the funky but oh so exclusive line of Chinese silk baby bags. Good for them. Good for me. I'm not here to make a judgement call on our individual tastes, or lack of. Why be critical when it's so much more fun making up stories about them in my head? ("Oooh, that mom could be snarling because she really isn't as rich as she looks, but instead gets her clothes by shop lifting because she's pissed at her abusive Arab and she's biding time before she leaves him for the pool cleaner"... You know, those normal kind of thoughts).

I try so hard to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Especially moms, because I know what it's like to have great kids go loco on you, or unexpected illnesses, or just plain rotten days when even the dog talks back at you. I know.

Which is why I was so upset when this woman turned to me near the slide and said, "Your son had an accident. You need to to change him."

It's true. Scooby Doo had sprouted a leak. I had just noticed it myself and was planning on leaving seconds before she accosted me, which is why I told her as uninterested as possible,"I don't care. It's just pee. I'll get to it when I can."

Which is when I turned back to my mother, who had arrived moments earlier, and watched as she took this mechanical grinch out of a giant Xmas bag and pressed to button, causing it to gyrate in green glory.

So there I was... the tacky mother who had a mismatched child with pee on him, Sophie with a birds' nest hair do, and my mother making a green Xmas monster do the Margarena.

Eventually I turned around and left, but not without turning to Miss Nosy Mommy and saying "You know what, I know my son is wet, but mind your own business." At which she said "It's my business to keep the play area safe for other kids who don't need your kids' pee on the slide".

Which, she was right, but fxxx her. At which my mother, Grinch in toe, said to her "Watch it!" and took off.

I hate judgemental mothers. And I love my mother.

And any mother out there reading this... if you see a mom with bad hair and a wet kid, let's trust that she knows he needs a clothing change. If you can't be nice, don't say anything at all. Or at least ask what size cappucino she wants.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy Birthday 3 Year Old

It's hard to believe that 3 years ago New Year's Eve I left my own party to go give birth. Stink was a month early, but he clearly didn't want to miss the celebration. I thought I'd be freaked out about labor, but my water breaking came as such a surprise, I didn't have time to panic. Before I even settled into the hospital bed I had an epidural and fell asleep. Eight hours later it was time to push, and minus one hour of discomfort when they turned my drip off, I had a text book delivery.

Rex and I didn't know what we were having, and I can still picture my mother and Rex's mom at the delivery room door screaming "What is it! What is it!" and Rex yelling back "We don't know! It's not all the way out yet!" And then I felt something like a slippery fish fall out of me and the doctor said, "It's a boy!" And they put him on me. I could smell his newness. He was crying like a little sheep. And as I held him close I couldn't help but think with terror, "Oh my god, he looks like Cartman from Southpark."

His looks really were an enigma. Where did that big circle headed boy come from? Why was he blonde? What was with the blue eyes? These attributes only made me love Stink even more. He was his own person from day 1. I realized then and there that God doesn't give us kids as accessories. They are full packages with their own agendas. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and making the trip into the NICU. I remember the exhilartion of picking him up and kissing him for the first time, thinking "I can't believe I did this. He's mine." I had never felt so intoxicated with happiness in my entire life.

I know some of you moms out there didn't bond with your kids right away. I understand that, as it took me a bit longer with Pipsqueak, who I now adore with every fiber of my being. But with Stinker, it was as if the world st0pped. I couldn't stop eating and calling everyone I knew and snapping photos. This kid was mine, and from the moment I saw him, my heart burst in two and I knew I'd never be the same again.

I totally get why people want more and more kids. They want to relive that first experience just one more time. How cliche, but how true, it is that they go from little babies who coo at your every look to potty trained toddlers who love all things Dora, Scooby Doo, Diego, and of course, trains. Stinker is Mr. Personality, half angel, half devil. With his big eyes and blonde curls, I fall in love with him more every day.

Big sarcastic me wants to say something witty, but I'm too busy crying right now.

I love you Stinky Malone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(* Pictured: Nick in the NICU, or as we dubbed it, the NICK U... Me post epidural - you can see the needle in the photo. Despite its length, I highly recommend it! And of course, my three year old, last week on Xmas eve at Stella's.)