Sinfully Funny

(Disclaimer: I was given full approval by a certain 2nd grade repentant to share his list of  confessed sins during his First Reconciliation this weekend.  He figures that since he received full absolution from the priest, there is no shame.  Jack is also the only child always looking to "make the blog."  For the record, the inclusion of "bad thoughts" came about when Jack was fishing for a list of venial sins and an explanation of "impure thoughts."  I told him it meant that he wished he had another kid's toy...or something along those lines....):

  

 

 

 

 

 

A Post of Desperation

I was so honored when Mary Deering from the Evergreen Park Library offered to host my very first book-signing for Epic Mom coming up on February 6th.  It felt so swanky and high-brow.

Let's forget for a second that I am neither swanky or high-brow.

I had visions of  wearing my least-stained JC Penney sweater and greeting 10, maybe 12, readers who really liked the book.  This was going to be great!
































Then I got nervous.

What if nobody came? 

What if it's just me?

I'd be left eating all those fabulous Jewel cookies.  By myself.

I needed to go the extra mile to make this event worthwhile.  I needed to provide an enticement to get 3, maybe 4, people through those front doors.

I called my sister-in-law Missy and begged:

You know I can't bake, Missy!  But you?  You are like the most incredible pastry chef EVER.  Please, please, please.  I'll give you ANYTHING.  Just whip up some of those really good cookies you made last Christmas and I promise to never make fun of you again for being from the northside.  People might not come for the book, but EVERYONE likes cookies.   

Missy agreed.

So if you were waffling on whether you would attend, know this:

There will be cookies.  Good ones.  I promise.

Register today at: PLEASE COME SO I DON'T FEEL LIKE A LOSER.

You don't have to buy a book.  You don't have to listen to my presentation.  You can just walk in, grab a cookie and go.  Like an Academy Awards' Night Seat-Filler.

Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?

Thanks, mom.



Snow White Was Not the Brightest Bulb in the Marquee

Forget being a gullible Disney princess.

I strive for bad-ass.

I'm practically the Evil Queen.

With my own talking mirror:

My mirror this morning: "Marianne, Marianne on the ground, any plans for taking all this Christmas sh*t down?"

Full story here in today's Chicago Parent.

A New Sheriff In Town

Bailey's and I are so over.

I have this wonderful niece, Ellie. She is a 21 year old college student in the process of getting her Master's in accounting. Ellie is very smart, and I trust her opinion on all kinds of things. Namely technology and liquor.

College students are really good at technology and liquor.

So when Ellie poured me a glass of this on Christmas Eve, I felt confident I would not be led astray:

 

Holy Great God of Thunder.  RumChata is like French Toast in a fancy white bottle.  Creamy, cinnamon-y heaven.

 

Needless to say, I had to get some of my own.

 

I went to FOUR stores.  FOUR.

 

They were sold out everywhere.

 

It was like trying to buy a Cabbage Patch Kid circa 1983.

 

Finally, I found the last remaining bottle hidden behind a Pina Colada mix at a Dominick's off 143rd & Bell. 

 

With a lot of writing on the docket for last night, I poured myself a glass for inspiration.

 

And then another.

 

And finally, a third.

 

I giddily submitted my pieces to various people, blogs, and editors feeling quite confident that I was in fact the funniest person ever to have lived.

 

This morning?

 

Crap crap crap.  

 

I think I wrote about my unholy fear of carwashes in one essay, and in another piece, I used the word "penis" 145 times.

  

RumChata, ladies and gentlemen.

 

My new muse.

 

Let's give her a nice, warm welcome, shall we?

Someone I Adore

As part of the blogging world, it is natural to seek out writers who are a bit like yourself.  My favorites tend to lean towards the irreverent, absurd, and funny.

And then there are certain posts that make me run like hell.  I call them the "String-'em-up-by-their-toes" posts.    A sampling:

Dear World:

The other day, a stranger/family member/total idiot said something very insensitive about me/my child/my life choices.  I think this person should cease to exist or take a year-long class on how to be better human being.

Signed,

Someone Who Has Never Said Anything Stupid in Her Entire Life

Then the comments from the angry brigade come rolling in:

"I would have hit her in the nose!"

"Did you call the police?"

"You should think about contacting her boss and report on what a colossal, insensitive, self-serving cad she is!"

These posts always make me sad and a little scared.  Mostly because I say the wrong things at all the wrong times.  I try not to.  But sometimes I just get flustered and nervous by an unexpected admission, and my mouth outflanks my brain. I really don't want the world to string me up by my toes because I suffer from the worst case of foot-in-mouth disease EVER.

Needless to say, I shy away from bloggers whom I know I would offend due to my inability to read from the sanctioned script.

And then I found Kat over at No Holding Back.  Kat blogs about motherhood and shares her experience on losing a child to Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome. 

Now anyone who has ever met me is shaking her head furiously and muttering "no, Marianne, NO." A mother who has faced one of the most horrendous things possible certainly does not need my kind of stupidity in her life, right?

Yet Kat also is one of those amazing people who can step away from her own pain and realize that the world is filled with crazy, nervous, stupid people.  And she doesn't force anyone to go to sensitivity training. She doesn't devote her blog to calling them out.  She simply tells her story and sometimes, stupid crazy people actually learn.  We learn from her wonderful writing and experiences, and not from a lecture and a dozen comments from the world of pitch-fork carrying angry bloggers.

I love Kat.  I think everyone should check her out.  Particularly this post, aptly named Awkward.

Thank you, Kat, for educating in a way that doesn't make me feel like the biggest dum-dum ever.  You are a gem.

A Bill Cosby New Year

The shift in defining New Year's Eve as a day of drunken revelry to one involving Target discount shopping has been gradual.

Yet here we are.

I am not afraid to admit that I prefer 2013 life over all the drama and mayhem of the stiletto-wearing parties I attended at the end of last century. 

I can't believe I'm able to use "the end of last century" in describing my life.

But now?

This is happiness:

Everything here was 70% off.  It was like $5.00 total out the door.  Warning: keep a close eye on your cart.  People are pilfering.

In case you're confused by my admission, I thought I'd perhaps elaborate by sharing the beauty of my new Huxtable sweater ornament collection:

I had this vest.  In 1987.

And I think I got this one for my dad in 1988.

 

The boy I loved in 3rd grade had this sweater.  He works in musical theatre now.

May all your days be filled with low-drama and fabulous sweaters.

Happy New Year!