Blood, Meth, and Tears … I Feel Like Sundays Are Really Going To Suck Now

Image via Amctv.com

 

Dear Vince,

For five years I’ve been waiting.

Waiting.

And waiting.

Then on Sunday it happened. Redemption. Revenge. Awesomeness. Closure. It was the best Sunday of the year. It was better than Super Bowl Sunday.

“I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. I was alive.” — Walter White

The fact that you created something like this … that you wrote something like this and directed it … I can’t even tell you. I think I would give you my last piece of chocolate.

I would love to randomly run into you at a restaurant, at Trader Joe’s or on the street. You know most people might not go up to you for fear of bothering you … for fear of the I’m going to freak-out and sound stupid in front of this guy scenario, but not me. The very fact that you created a show like this trumps any fear running through my veins. I’ll risk stupidity for you. I will. You are that awesome. The finale was awesome.

Definitely not half-assed. Definitely a full-measure.

 

Image via Amctv.com

 

I sat there by myself … on the couch … in the dark … in disbelief, desperately needing a Breaking Bad cohort. I’d been waiting for it and now that it was here, I felt happy. I felt sad. I felt like Sundays were going to seriously suck now.  I’d never see Jesse Pinkman or Walter White again. I was having withdrawals all night and the following day. I mean who could be without Jesse and his “Yo’s” or his famous “Yeah Bitch! Magnets!”

Genius. Sheer Genius.

And even though I was sitting there by myself,  I experienced all these Holy Crap moments that were so amazing that I started having conversations with myself.

“Can you believe what happened?”

“Holy Crap! The Ricin was for Lydia. Lydia! Can you believe it! I never saw it coming. I thought it was going to be for Elliot and Gretchen Schwartz. I’ll never look at Stevia the same way again.”

“Holy Crap! Jesse finally escaped, and Todd is dead. Todd is dead!”

“Holy Crap Walt died. Heisenberg is dead!”

Dude.

I was talking to myself all night. I was so into it that I logged onto AMC with the rest of the nerd masses and watched some of the extended interviews. The “inside” information with Talking Bad.

Vince … you’ve done good. You’ve done good. And to think after all that you never took a Chemistry class.

Genius. Sheer genius.

But now that the genius is gone, I feel like Sundays are really going to suck now. It’s a good thing I have my Breaking Bad Final Episode Survival Kit.

 

Image via Amctv.com

 

Thanks for five great seasons.

The Guat

 

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Stupid Ricky Martin

Livin’ La Vida Loca CD

I hadn’t given him any thought in years.

Years.

But a friend of mine recently lost her father, and after talking to her, trying to comfort her, I remembered my own loss, which happened a couple of years ago. And all the feelings came rolling in. That’s when Ricky Martin resurfaced.

Pinche Ricky Martin.

There’s a point in everyone’s life when you realize that your parent was trying to do something nice for you, trying to perform an act of kindness. There are times when you get it. You realize that it is happening and you appreciate it and hug it out. This was not one of those times.

This was the time when I was a jackass.

A jackass.

Luckily I corrected my mistake so that ugly window didn’t last long, but still … still I was a jackass for a couple of minutes and that wasn’t cool and for some reason that memory seems to stick with me whenever I see Mr. Livin’ La Vida Loca.

Everyone has an I-love-this-singer-so-much-that-I’m-going-to-marry-him phase. Yeah I was in college. I had dreams and I was going to be Mrs. Enrique Iglesias. He had just come out with his first CD and you know when people sing in Spanish the meaning seems to be even deeper. I had gone to three of his concerts that semester, listened to his CD over and over, and knew all the words to his songs. I was hooked.

He was my man.

So when I came home to celebrate my birthday that summer, I had a little shindig with my family and a couple of friends. My dad came home from work, exhausted, but still managed to smile, pat me on the head, and wish me a happy birthday. He set down his briefcase, opened it up and handed me a small gift.

It looked like a CD. I was excited. My dad smiled. Had to be his new CD. I unwrapped it and there he was staring at me …

Mr. Cup of Life

Ole, Ole, Ole.

Ricky Martin.

Dude.

I was so not excited and had the “Oh…um….thanks” look on my face. And then my dad’s smile faded into confusion. “That’s your guy, right?”

And you know what I said? Do you know what I said? Instead of saying thank you, instead of smiling and giving him a hug and appreciating the effort you know what my ding-ding knucklehead brain said?

“Oh, Dad … this is not Enrique Iglesias.”

“It’s not?”

And as soon as I said it, I wanted to kick my own ass.

I visualized my dad at the Tower Records browsing through the Latin Heart Throb music section, probably being the only white-haired bald dude in his late fifties hanging out in that aisle. I pictured him confused and trying to decide which CD out of all of them was not on my shelf. All the hunks look the same.

I pictured him standing in line behind a couple of kids, who were probably looking at him strangely as he proudly held onto that Ricky Martin CD. I pictured the clerk giving my dad the one-eyebrow raise as he happily paid for my present. I pictured my dad patting himself on the back on a job well done.

These images flashed before my eyes.

“No dad it’s not. It’s Ricky Martin and it’s an awesome CD. Thanks dad! Thanks.”

I gave him a hug.

The CD still sits in my collection.  

 

For All My Office People …

Image via LeFunny.net

 

At least you don’t have to hit the gym … Happy Monday.

 

 

Being Drafted and How Ray Barone Helped Me Out

I looked at the empty field and then at the piles of bases and baseballs next to the bench.

“So you need any help,” I asked pointing to the equipment.

“Um … Yeah you wanna be the Team Mom?”

Do I look like a team mom?

Me?

I’m more of an assistant coach.

Team Mom? I didn’t even have a fancy outfit or anything. I’ve seen some Team Moms before, I’m don’t fit into that crazed-PTA-I’m-going-to-send-you-an-email-every-five-seconds category. I’m an athlete. I can help you with batting practice or taking stats. I looked at my son, he smiled.

“Um … sure.”

And that’s how it happened. That’s how I got volunteered into the special position of communicating with other little league parents. I don’t really like parents. I know all the parents I need to know. But this little endeavor is going to open the gates of Guat and the acquaintances will begin.

Practice emails. Parents Code of Conduct signatures. Players Code of Conduct signatures (although I don’t think they can sign anything yet). League Office emails. Game schedule emails. Parent contact information emails. Post-game snack emails. Shutterfly Team Page announcement emails. Advice emails from last season’s Team Mom, who made it a point to mention several times that she was the team mom before and that she’d done it dozens of times. Dozens.

Welcome to the World of Little League Baseball.

Well, to be fair the coaches all seem to be nice. Nothing too intense or crazy from what I’ve seen. Just genuine trying to help the kids out kind of deal. So that was a relief. But we haven’t had our first game, so we’ll see how that goes.

And who do I owe my thanks to for all these new relationships? My son.

He decided that in addition to his golfing skills, he wanted to try his hand at baseball this season. So here I am … drafted in the first round as Team Mom and now getting things ready for his first baseball game on Saturday.  One of my duties was to create a “Hi-I’m-the-new-Team-Mom-you-can-contact-me-at-anytime email, which I dreaded because it was like introducing yourself at one of those new meetings where you say your name and three interesting things about you that may not really be that interesting. This was then followed by the oh-so-important snack schedule.

Apparently this is a big thing in Little League and so I made sure not to mess it up. But you know me I couldn’t send a regular schedule. I had to put  a little bit of Guat into it, some personality so they wouldn’t be so annoyed with future emails. So I mentioned that there would be no Ray Barone Little League Approved Snack Meltdowns. Bring what you want, just remember to bring it so the kids don’t pass out after the games.

 

 

When I went to practice today, everybody seemed to be pleased with my non-meltdown policy. Everyone seemed to enjoy the humor. They were nice. I hope it lasts the entire season.

I Was Reminded How Awesome I Am

🙂

 

I had forgotten my awesomeness.

Whenever you’re going through a rough patch, during the quiet moments of the night, you don’t feel like yourself. You don’t see yourself. You stick to distractions and try to picture who you used to be. Most of the time when you’re in this state construction you don’t see it. All you see are the bits and pieces. But then someone that matters, someone that always sees you the way you want to be seen, says something and it clicks.

You have that oh-yeah moment.

I originally saw this image on Diary of a Quirky Girl’s website. I thought to myself this is totally my son … this is totally my daughter. They are awesome. And as I was printing it out, my son noticed it and smiled.

I read it to him and he said …”Mom, you’re pretty awesome too.”

Dude.

Yeah.

Yeah … that’s me in this picture.

 

 

The Great Outdoors … My Lunkless Ticket To Fighting Fat Cells

 

 

The Lunk Alarm.

Apparently some people take offense to it. I thought it was funny because it’s true. There are all kinds of people at the gym. However just like anything else this doesn’t happen in all gyms, but it does happen.

I remembered The Lunk Alarm this weekend as I was hanging out with friends and we were all talking about weight loss, eating habits, and the constant body changes after having kids, and the changes currently happening as we are all reaching 40. They all talked about what they could and couldn’t eat, self-restraint, gluten allergies, and portions. We all talked about trying to keep ourselves healthy and the work it took to maintain healthy lifestyles.

Apparently I’m not the only one who feels that it gets a little harder as you get older.

Tired becomes a factor. Tired from work. Tired from school. Tired from kids. Tired from marriage. Tired from a busy life. Tired becomes a problem sometimes.

And as it became my turn to chit-chat about my outlook on the matter, I admitted, tired is a factor Most definitely. I admitted parts of my body have changed, maybe not the same ones as everyone else but nevertheless stretch marks and fat cells are part of my I had-two-kids life.

And food? I’m in love with it. I admitted to the Claim Jumper size portions. I admitted my love for pasta and that I ate it at least four times a week. My adoration for chocolate. I was a food lover who had seconds, and thirds. But I did admit that because I had a deep Food Network type of amor for food, I did have to get off my ass and workout.

It just made sense.

I had to.

If I ate whatever I wanted, I needed to make sure that I got some exercise in the process. But what I failed to mention was that I hate going to gyms. All these sweaty people in one place, crowded workout areas and the Lunks walking around staring at themselves in the mirror and then staring at themselves again naked in the locker room. Yeah that’s really not for me.

It’s all good that you’re beefed up or that you’re “hot” … dude fantastic. You’re great eye candy, and a nice distraction for me and everyone else I imagine. High-five to you, but sometimes you’re a little too free with your body around me.

I’m all about freedom, but I love my personal space.  It’s mine, but sometimes staying out of my one-foot radius while you’re naked becomes a little too difficult for you while you’re blow drying your hair, brushing your teeth, applying make-up or sitting down. All while you’re naked you do this. I’m clothed. I’ve got a towel. I’ve got bra and panties. I’m good, but skin on skin contact is not allowed, not even feet or elbows. Not even accidentally.

So because I value the non-naked personal space radius, I don’t go to gyms. They’re just not for me. And I know not all gyms are like this. I know, but I happen to prefer The Great Outdoors anyway.

I like to do things that don’t make me feel like it’s an actual workout. Sports. Swimming. Biking. Hiking. Dancing. Boxing. Martial arts. Any outdoor recreation is good. Triathlons are good. Races are good. I’m not reminding myself that I’m working out, because I’m actually having fun.

I’ve never found that working on a Stairmaster is fun for me, even if I have the best playlist on my iPod, it’s just something I don’t look forward to … it feels like a chore. The Great Outdoors … that doesn’t feel like a chore at all. The Great Outdoors makes it possible for me to stuff my face … to eat carbs. It makes the non-workout, workout possible. Plus it has less naked people bumping into you. The Great Outdoors … my ticket to fighting fat cells and stretch marks that are trying  to kidnap my 40 year-old body.

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Inside

Inside

Always curious … always exploring … always wanting to look at what’s  inside.

The Web of Lies That is Parenthood

It started with Santa Claus, then the Easter Bunny. A web of lies and secrecy that becomes a code once you enter parenthood. Lying to your kids … this is part of parenthood.

You teach your kids not to lie, but then here you are becoming a master of deceit, acting happy when the Easter basket arrives at your door, and surprised when the Christmas cookies are missing and presents sit underneath the tree.

You would think the lies would stop there. But no … they don’t. They go beyond holidays. Sometimes they’re attached to moments and sometimes it’s not even you who does the lying. Other parents take it upon themselves to spread the dishonesty.

The magical appearance of The Tooth Fairy invaded my son’s head this week as one of his baby teeth became loose. I blame his kindergarten teacher and the neighbors for the start of this new deception. I never introduced the tooth fairy to him. I never instigated the lie, but yes I’m guilty of perpetuating it. As soon as his tooth fell out and I saw his excitement I knew the lies had to continue.

I looked online for mythical stories and other parent liars out there, and apparently there are all kinds of websites that help you print Tooth Fairy certificates and letters from the very elusive tiny creature.  Some bastards even charge you for printing proof of your lies. What is that? I thought we were in this together? How could parents be charging parents?

Ridiculous.

Thanks to the power of Microsoft, I made my own creative gesture. But before Operation Tooth Fairy could unfold I had to get him to bed, and how is easy is that, right?

When you know that someone is coming to bring you something awesome, the concept of sleep sort of escapes you. And I couldn’t get too upset with him. I mean really he’s known that the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus both come while he’s sleeping. It’s no wonder kids never want to go to sleep. No wonder bedtime routines sucks sometimes. Apparently all the awesome stuff happens when they’re asleep.

The letter

So after reading a story about the magic that is the Tooth Fairy, we brushed our teeth and got ready for bed. He folded his note, placed it under his pillow, put his tooth in a little box, and then put that on top of the note.

He fell asleep with a smile and I guess I knew the Tooth Fairy lies were justified, just part of growing up. The sad part is in a couple of years I’m gonna have to out myself as a complete liar, something which I don’t look forward to, but I’m sure he’ll eventually get through it, just like I did.

So despite knowing that I’d later be considered the biggest mastermind ever, I went on with my Tooth Fairy business and he woke up ecstatic. Sad about the Tooth Fairy taking his tooth, but happy about his reward for growing up.

 

 

Sometimes You Just Need More Options

 

Image via LeFunny.net

 

 

The Women of SOA … Are You Tara or Gemma?

I thought I was having a bad week, but being in prison and thinking your mother-in-law put you there … yeah that seems to raise it up a level.

Tara Knowles-Teller … Jax Teller‘s old lady.

Image via TVNetworks.com/SOA

For months, I’ve been dying to find out what the hell happened on Sons of Anarchy. I’ve been counting down for the awesome SOA party premiere … Guat Party of One. And I rocked it with my pot roast and baked potatoes. Food-Network worthy for sure.

But aside from my awesome spread, the show itself had me. It got me. I didn’t need ambiance to appreciate it, the love just grows as you watch and get attached to the lives of these people, because they change. They’re no longer characters … they’re people.

And even though I love looking at Jax (the amazing Charlie Hunnam), and hearing his awesome internal dialogue, which shares wisdom necessary to life as you know it, I was more interested in the women’s story line.

These are strong women.

Fierce.

Image via FXNetworks.com/SOA

Granted one is a crazy. Gemma, the mother-in-law who lies and manipulates her son and others in order to gain some sort of influence within the biker club. There is nothing this lady won’t do to keep her family close. And even though she’s crazy, I think that crazy suits her. The crazy comes from a weird caring, and loving place.

And she makes no apologies for her means to an end. Gemma is the matriarch that keeps them together, that’s how she envisions herself. She’s a woman of authority and respect. And the strength that comes from that doesn’t even have to come through violence, or threatening words, although for Gemma they do. However it’s her demeanor, her style, that is it strong and the love for her family only strengthens her resolve.

But we don’t all want to be the crazy kind of strong. We want other kinds. Sometimes the Tara kind.

Tara … she fell in love with Jax, her high-school flame and now president of SOA. And I loved the line from the Season 5 finale where she told Jax that part of being his old lady meant being strong when he wasn’t, and being able to make decisions that he couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Being able to recognize that characteristic put her on another level.

I liked that because she was right. I liked that even during rough circumstances, she knew the conversation with Jax was going to be uncomfortable, but she had it anyway. She stood her ground ready to take the kids and leave the biker town of Charming. She sensed that the cycle may start repeating itself, so she took a stand. Granted she was arrested right after that, but we all know she didn’t commit any kind of conspiracy to commit murder. And that whole lingering thought that Gemma made that happen definitely had my wheels spinning. Might have been the crazy strong driving her. But of course we find out who was really behind her arrest in the Season 6 premiere and all you can say is ‘Holy Crap!’

I admire that not all chicks on this show are weaker than their male counterparts. I enjoy that both of the female leads are badasses in their own way.

But I’d probably prefer Tara’s type of strength. It’s strong, vulnerable and smart. Although when life happens you really need your crazy Gemma strength on speed dial.