Get to know a little bit about me before it comes as a shock at BlogHer

If you're going to BlogHer there are a few things you should know about me...

1.) I have a peanut sized head and a huge forehead. I'm not fat, per say, however, in relation to my body, my head is not proportioned... much like these... don't stare at me- it's freakish, I know.




2.) It is because of #1 that I steer clear of cameras and hate myself in pictures. I am in need of a haircut and I'm thinking of asking them to add volume (and possibly bangs) to give the illusion of a normal sized head- I'm crossing my fingers.

3.) I don't dance. I will Karaoke. Or chair dance. Or possibly even lap dance. But don't expect me to break it down on the dance floor- I feel like a dork.

4.) I don't usually drink (read: lightweight). If I drink too much- it's a pretty good bet I will get sick. This, and the fact that my dad was a raging alcoholic when I was growing up, is why I was a pothead. It's all cool now, though, my dad has been clean for 20 years and my husband confiscated my bong and bowl. The only thing that remains is an occasional pesky smoker's cough, a fear of abandonment and self-esteem issues. Note to Anissa and Brittany: you may want to consider giving me the bed nearest to the bathroom, as a consolation, our room will be spotless due to my OCD.

5.) I am technologically challenged. I use a desktop computer. I will have my step-dad's laptop at BlogHer. That I have no idea how to use. Therefore, I will be even more technologically stumped than normal- shocking to think that it can get worse! Pity me- offer up advice- whatever- just don't point and laugh.

6.) Besides the fact that after 14 years of not having been away from my kids and/or husband and I am like a ticking time bomb and really need to get away- financially, I have no business going on a trip. Seriously, we're broke, but I'm looking at it as an investment in my sanity and probably cheaper than the institutionalization that's on the horizon without this as an intervention.

7.) Because of #6, I am open to whoring myself for most basic necessities: chocolate covered pretzels, fruity beverages with umbrellas, and adult diapers.

8.) I'm shy at first- it takes me a while to warm up- not literally, I will be sweating profusely.

9.) I don't care how shy I am- you will get a card from me. Why? Because I accidentally bought 1000! I'm not a fan of waste and I don't know if I'll ever get out again- so I may be passing them out to random strangers on the streets of Chicago, as well.

10.) Seriously, I have no idea where the train station is in relation to the hotel- should I know that? I have never ridden in a cab, much less flagged one down- do you even have to "flag them down" in Chicago. Watching Sex and the City is about as close as I've been to a cab.

11.) I predict my cell phone will ring approximately 306 times. My husband has extreme anxiety. What do I care- as long as I get out of the house. I also like the ring on my phone- it sounds like an old 70's porno!

12.) Again, related to #6- I will attend any free events. Are there any free events? If so please send me the information. I may also be found scrounging dumpsters with Chicago homeless for meals, that is, if I make it to the hotel in the first place- otherwise look for me near the train station passing out business cards with chow mien on my chin.

Dear Kathy Griffin- ummm...

Open letter to Kathy Griffin,


Luckily, I have envious bowel control or I would have shit myself when you called me at 2AM on Saturday night! But it would have been a good, pleasantly surprised, totally worth it mess.

I'm the captivating wife of the Police Officer that you ran into and wished he were arresting you (for the publicity). You called me from his broken flip phone that is held together by tape- how embarrassing! I've been meaning to take care of that, but with my glamorous lifestyle of 16 and Pregnant marathons and bribing kids to be quiet so I can finish watching the last season of Arrested Development on DVD, it slipped my mind.


When my husband called me, yelling over the background noise of all the drunkards downtown, "I have someone that wants to talk to you,"- I dreaded hearing a drunk random old friend out having a life! I wiped the just-fell-asleep sweat from underneath my boobs and turned down the rerun of Roseanne and put on my best, "No, I wasn't sleeping" voice- could you tell?

When you said, "Tena, this is Kathy Griffin" and I think I responded, "Get the fuck out"- that was sincere- maybe not fully thought out, but sincere nonetheless. I'm a little rusty from my last brush with greatness in 1993 when I waited for Lenny Kravitz after a show and was able to touch his dreadlocks. I know, it's hard to believe someone with such charisma as me, doesn't get out more- maybe it's the sarcasm and the self-deprecation that holds me back. No, I think I'll blame it on the kids, like my stretch marks.

I was sound asleep and caught off guard, but normally, possibly, there's a slight chance that if I were awake, I may have been able to join you in a witty repartee. Or probably not. Just maybe less stuttering. And waaay less perspiration, hopefully. I assure you my vocabulary goes beyond "umm" and "Oh My God". Usually.

Anyway, I would have said in my dorky, trying-too-hard-I'm-a-huge-fan-voice that I adore your inability to filter, love of celebrity trash talk, and agree with you on everything. I love hearing you on Howard Stern, and, of course your show "My Life on the D-List" is hilarious!

I've been a fan since you were really on the "D- List"('cuz let's face it, you're moving up, bitch!) and have watched all of your shows and specials. I don't get you confused with Vicky Lewis... and since my husband thought of me and orchestrated this phone call and all... I probably shouldn't embarrass him and say that he just asked me last week if you were on News Radio.

Please take no offense to the fact that I was clueless that you were in town. Of course you had a show! Could I have made it more obvious that I don't have a life? That was very sweet of you to have offered me tickets, you know, in hindsight, for pretend, or whatever. For what it's worth, I would have loved it! And next time you're in town, since Tom's hometown is St. Louis, we could totally hang. Or I could just go to a show. In the nosebleeds. Or not- whatever.


The second I got off the phone with you, I tweeted "Kathy fucking Griffin just called me!"...where I was the envy of all the cool mommy bloggers (you know the ones that don't have their panties in a bunch about your " This Emmy is my God now...suck it, Jesus" crack) and your main gays. I then found you on Twitter and am now stalking you, so that'll be fun, my apologies in advance.


Now that I've had time to absorb it all in- what I would have been curious about... Is there still a Facebook position open in Team Griffin? Cause I think I could rock that.

Tiffany has lost some weight, huh? She looks great.

So, what's the real deal with what happened to Jessica?

Can I also say that I already have the Joan Rivers' Roast written on my calendar (because you know my calendar's so booked!).

When my husband got home, he said he would have like to say something witty, too, and mentioned something about your mom and tea bagging- I'm so lucky he doesn't think on his feet, either! That could have been ugly.

So, thank you so much for taking the time out to say hi and chat with me.

Sincerely,

The person you called last night that you probably wish you hadn't.

My plan for the weekend...

This weekend is our "Parish Picnic"- a weekend long, money pit, breeding ground for annoying drunks, lost kids, and "carnie" infestation. The air is thick with the smell of funnel cakes and motion sickness puke. Most people would jump at the chance or, at least, give in to the CONSTANT begging, whining, and moaning by their kids to attend. Not me- I am strong. I am broke. I am short of patience when it comes to close quarters in 100 degree weather with people I don't like.


My kids go to the school (against my internal battles). We are parishoners. I make an asserted, yet flawed effort, to make it to church on Sundays. I am a bad, but true Catholic- my dad was one of 13 and they were all drunks, but they went to church every Sunday, damn it. My kids play sports for the school. We are constantly surrounded by people that belong to the parish. So there are pressures to attend and help support the cause.

The sun sets and rises with the parish picnic, in most of these peoples' lives. If I openly admit to them that I am in town this weekend and choosing to stay home and not drop $300 each day- I will be doomed to eternal damnation and no one needs that.

That's why I'm lying and saying we're out of town this weekend.

Amen.

Friday Fragments

It's time for a Friday Fragments. Random thoughts from the week- God help you all. If you would like to join in with your own with Mrs.4444...

***Went shopping for a bra yesterday. How. Freaking. Depressing. When did that happen? I used to be able to buy a bra- no problem. Now, dresses, shirts, pants- and GOD- swimsuits- total different story, but bras- I could handle. Yesterday, something was different. Little bulges and bumps and lumps and divots in my shoulders- blech! I walked out, needlesstosay, without purchasing an over-priced bra and went to my daughter's softball game and had a sno-cone and a hot dog- that'll show Victoria's Secret! Long live the sag!

***In more news about my vanity... I got a facial last Thursday. I'm cheap. I don't do facials, except when I have a gift card to a swanky spa from last Christmas that's going to expire. I decided facial was the best choice since I'm dealing poorly with my aging process. I got my first "peel"- I don't know what kind it was- but it didn't feel like much (she claimed it was supposed to burn or itch- nope!)

I was hoping for a '10 years younger' appearance- well, more like 20... my face has 3 huge zits. I look like a 16 year old again! The girl claimed that some electric dildo thingy that she dragged across my face was supposed to stop me from breaking out- well, it didn't.

***I had trouble sleeping this week- very anxious- and busy. Flute lessons every day (my kid's school band plays the National Anthem at Busch Stadium in August), 6 softball/baseball games, and on the horizon, of course, BlogHer. I am so overwhelmed with everything. And to find out that Tim Gunn will be there now? I thought I was meeting up with a bunch of gals that embrace the yoga pant, WTF?

*** Back in December, my husband had an incident at work. To be thoroughly vague and confusing, I can't give details. He was eligible for retirement as of January 3 (20 years) and that had been his plan- to go to another job where medical insurance was less than $750/month. Well, I'm proud to announce that JUST 8 MONTHS LATER- the situation has been resolved. We are hoping for good things- please throw out a prayer or good thoughts for us.

*** I suck at this blogging thing- seriously. I adore all the connections I've made, but feel increasingly inferior to all the wit, sincerity, and talent out there. 12 days out from BlogHer is not the time to be feeling this way- or writing like shit or maybe that's why I feel this way. I need a good kick in the ass. Or maybe just some quiet so I can compose a sentence. Or maybe a talent. Or a life, who knows?

I have drafted about 12 things this week and each one is suckier than the last (fuck you, spellcheck- "suckier" is the perfect word to describe them.) So I wanted to take this time to apologize for my recent crap and let you know that I'm aware and am working on it.

***My husband had a dream last night that we were "rocking it"- that was his quote- and I said, "dude, you need to get that penis enlargement!" Self- conscious much? Or has he been reading my spam inbox?

Someone's been watching an Everybody Loves Raymond marathon

When a soda explodes in your kitchen, drying up the floor with a napkin is not sufficient. That's not just me, right? Someone please tell my husband, please?

I made the mistake of leaving my house to do some gardening- that's right, I garden my ass off- I'm every woman- suck it! So, I'm outside gardening and apparently, my husband drops a can of soda and it explodes in the kitchen. He dried up the floor with a napkin- so the kids wouldn't slip- wasn't that big of him? Nevermind that my kitchen looked like a meconium filled amniotic sac exploded all over my white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. And the floor! Good God the floor! It felt like there were 800 upside down Post-it notes under my feet!

As I scrubbed the floors with my Cinderella-esque bucket and rag (I don't do mops- they gross me out), I paused to watch my husband watching TV on the sofa with an ice cream cone in one hand and quite possibly a handful of belly button lint in another.


"Marriage is like an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond without the laugh track."

-Knocked Up

No truer words have been spoken in a movie, especially in my house.

The episode about the can opener and the one when Ray buys the crappy tissue...the one where his brother moves into an apartment and Ray is jealous.. the one where they realize they are nicer to strangers than to each other, and the one where Ray thinks Debra has PMS because of a mood (and yes, when she gets caught with hair remover on her upper lip)- I really should consider some type of lawsuit against the writers because my husband and I have lived out each of those episodes- way before it was cool. And scripted. And funny.

I think where I first go wrong...my husband isn't a comedian.

Some other adjustments I'd make to the show...I keep a clean house. My mother in law does not live across the street. I'm not a crappy cook and I would NEVER ruin Thanksgiving with fish instead of turkey! More flannel and yoga pants- less twin sets. My husband has a less glamorous job (he is the policeman, not his brother, but his brother, does, indeed, still live with his mom at 41.) There would be waaay more cursing (think HBO) and I blog.

me being pathetic, again.

I did it. I booked my train ticket for BlogHer. That was the action that I've been putting off because I'm a big pussy and found slight comfort in the fact that I could still back-out. Well, that comfort is gone and I've got to be a big girl, now.

Unlike most moms, I don't have concerns about leaving my kids. I'm not afraid to travel by myself. I'm not worried about taking a train for the first time to a city where I know no one. I'm not even leery of meeting up with hundreds of people that I've never met that I feel inferior to (well, maybe a little on that one) or sharing a room with complete strangers that could very well chop me into tiny pieces and sell me on E-Bay.

The reason I've never gone anywhere is because of my husband's anxiety. It's a battle that, after our second child and a few years of marriage, I chose not to fight. I fought for my kids, but forgot about me needing a life. That was a mistake and I now know it- no lectures. He needs hardcore psychotherapy and he knows it, but he won't do it- no lectures on that front either. I have been a big fat enabler and I'm trying my best to stop.

I have learned that the more I do, the more he'll get used to it and adjust which will eventually make us both healthier and happier- well, that's the plan, anyway.

Back in March, I brought up BlogHer to him. At first, it was attacked and ridiculed and I expected nothing less from someone that thinks the only people online are pornographers and homosexuals. After a few weeks of the silent treatment and some very rough patches, he agreed, to my surprise, that it would be good for me. I booked the ticket immediately.

Here we are 4 months later and just 2 weeks out. I have not spoken a word of it to him since. I won't. I can't. I'm certain that he thought it was a phase, something that I just got over. I can't have his anxiety and what-ifs percolate for the next two weeks. I am anxious about how he will react- period- that's my anxiety. I may spring it on him a couple of days before- or not.

On the morning of July 23, his Aunt(who I adore and has encouraged me to do this and given me the nudges that I needed) will be arriving here as I leave on my little adventure. She will be staying here taking care of the kids and running my house in my absence and I couldn't feel more indebted to her. She knows his patterns because his family had the same issues. She doesn't just judge it as an outsider- she knows it, has seen it and has lived it. I'm so lucky to have someone like her.

This trip is huge for me. I'm hoping this will be all I'm imagining it will be. Meeting new people, creating friendships, laughing, and maybe even a little learning- or not. There is nothing funny about this post, if anything, it's relatively pathetic. Just an explanation of why I'm so pathetic.

I would, however, love to win this contest... It is for a Slim Perfect little black dress and a $250 gift certificate. As I understand it, the dress is made of Spanx-like material or iron or something- whatever it is- it pulls in stuff- and I could use a good stuffer puller inner- especially with all this emotional eating I've been doing!

It would help greatly if you went and harass left a comment here explaining how I could be the perfect model for the stuffer puller inner dress at BlogHer! Or you can tweet:

@muffintopless @tenakim needs to win SlimPerfect LBD or else- jammie pants with holes in the crotch- and no one wants to see that!

If I don't win, I'm going to have to do more sneaking around and hiding those damn Macy's bags around the house and that will just add more stress that I don't need.

Pride

This may go without saying, but my kids drive me batty. So needy and messy and loud- damn, they are loud! Today, they had their yearly physicals and shots- maybe that will shut them up! I know that's mean- too bad.

Anyway, all of my kids are healthy, not remotely obese and brave little suckers! Each of them got a shot (Beebs, 4, got 4!) and not one tear shed! I gotta say, I was pretty proud. Especially when my sister called and said that my niece, 5, cried while getting hers yesterday- everything's a competition!

That is an odd thing to be proud of, isn't it?

Well, my son's report card for the last quarter had 4 'D's (I call it the 4-dimensional report card and it pisses him off). My 8 year old and 10 year old have been threatening each other's life for the last month and they're scaring me. And today, when the Dr. asked Beebs if she knew her ABC's (that she's known since she was 2!), she sang, "A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I,J,K,How are you today!"

Not my proudest moment.

So, today, I think I'm going to hold onto the fact that they didn't cry during their shots. I know it's little, but it's all I got! Now I think I know what 50cent's mom feels like.