Truth or Lie Revealed! Part 1

First of all, my life was not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. (Broken noses and suicide are all the rage! Didn't you know?). I just spent a few years as a rebellious former Christian girl partying it up in San Francisco is all.

Second, let me address the assertion that some of these don't sound plausible. Anyone who reads either of my blogs knows that I'm very self-deprecating and the first to call myself out. So, I assure you all of these are true (except one). Further, my family and several of my friends read this blog, so believe me, they would be all over anything that wasn't accurate.

Such as. Chris is insisting that I tell you that Dean Cain didn't exactly hit on me as much as he checked me out, smiled, and then stared at me all night while his girlfriend sat next to him. But, he would have talked to me! If Chris and also Dean's anorexic girlfriend hadn't been so, you know, there. So, slight exaggeration on that one I admit. *am ashamed* But! I do have a funny story about that.

So, in Vegas Dean checks me out and I was with Chris (who was only my boyfriend at the time) and my best friend. Well, since it was so obvious, of course we all had to talk about it for the rest of the weekend and maybe one of us (me!) talked about it a bit longer than that. Like years.

As an aside, anyone who's known me for ten minutes knows that I've always been self-conscious about my prominent Italian nose. And I always will be - that's just the way it is. (I swear this applies.)

So, over the last seven years it's always been this little thing that made me smile - Dean Cain wanted my bod! Well, imagine my surprise when earlier this year I read this quote in, I think, Parade magazine.

Dean says, "I don't know why, but I've always been attracted to women with larger noses.".

Hahahaha! Wha...? Who says that? How tragic for me!

Anyway. Moving on.

Would you like to know which was the lie? Let's review...

Since this is a list made up of some pretty decent stories, and I know you have a life to get to, I'll just devote the next few posts to the details surrounding each truth.

I already talked about #6 - Dean Cain, which was true-ish.

So, now for #1. I was once approached at a bar in San Francisco by Cuba Gooding Jr.'s bodyguards during the shooting of As Good As It Gets and was told that my presence was requested by Cuba and his entourage.

TRUE!

In 1997 I was out with a bunch of my girlfriends at a popular bar in the city. I even remember what I was wearing because to this day I have not lived it down. A bright orange spandex half-top with a huge hole cutout in the center. Cleavage wasn't enough for me - I wanted the boys to see my pancreas.

So, we were at this bar where we always hung out and someone told us Cuba Gooding Jr. was there. I had just seen Jerry Maguire and I was a little hot for Cuba. The bar was very crowded and we were looking around for where his posse might be. The next thing I know two large men come up to me and ask if I'd like to meet Cuba Gooding Jr. "because he'd like to meet you".

Um, YEAH. OKAY. YES. And PLEASE.

He leads me (and all my girlfriends) over to a group of guys who have formed sort of a protective circle around someone. They part when we approach and therrrre's Cuba! He smiles at me, says hi, and then says "I like your shirt". Yeah, I bet you do.

My girlfriends are all falling all over each other (Literally. I think there was some girl-on-girl streetfighting later because of it.) to talk to him and his friends. His cousin, Kenneth, and I chatted for awhile. Then Cuba told me about the movie he was in town filming with Jack Nicholson. And then I may have insisted he say "Show me the money" because I am super original.

A short while later he asked me if I wanted to go back to their hotel for a big party. He was very polite and respectful and only stared at my orange cut-out whore top once or twice. (And SHORT. He was barely 5'7" I would say.)

Of course all my friends and all my friends' friends want to come too. So, when we get outside the bar, two black SUV's pull up, but there's not room for all of us. Cuba gets in one car and Kenneth holds the door open for me. My friends are all giving me the evil eye because they don't want me to leave them to follow us. (Haters.)

So, this is where the story gets realllly boring. My friends and I follow Cuba and his entourage all over the city trying to find I don't know what and then we realize it's almost 3:00 in the morning and one of us (not me for a change!) was starting to, uh, hurl out her window. So, I called Kenneth on the cell number he gave me. (Where was Ebay when I needed it?) I told him we had some sick friends and needed to get home. Cuba asked to talk to me and I told him it was nice meeting him and he said we could get together the next weekend.

I actually talked to Cuba's cousin for a few weeks. We made plans to go out, but I was in lust over some loser at work and stopped returning his calls.

The End. Not very exciting, but almost interesting. Just like me!

Next up: Amber Alert. Did I maybe save a kidnapped child? Or is that The Lie? Tune in Thursday for the dealio.

A Cutting Edge Post

I don't remember exactly where I saw this game done before. I was going to link to it, but then I started looking for it and frankly so many blogs have done this at this point that I honestly don't know who to give credit to. So suffice it to say this is not an original idea and am lazy copier blogger.

Moving on.

Following are eleven occurrences in my life that all happened (it's true!) except for one (is dirty lie!). Can you guess which one is a lie?

1. I was once approached at a bar in San Francisco by Cuba Gooding Jr.'s bodyguards during the shooting of As Good As It Gets and was told that my presence was requested by Cuba and his entourage.

2. I once reported a car driving in front of me that was on an Amber Alert and maybe saved a kidnapped child.

3. I once ditched an entire Analytic Philosophy course in college, then showed up for the Final and aced it.

4. I once was pulled up on stage by LL. Cool J during a concert.

5. My nose is currently broken.

6. Dean Cain hit on me at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas.

7. My aunt had Post Partum Depression and jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.

8. I bought my mom a $5,000 sapphire ring when her cat died.

9. I once was a Christian missionary in Utah and was chased by a rifle-toting polygamist.

10. I once got into a drunken political argument with Adam Duritz at The House of Blues in L.A. and then accused him of having an affair with Monica Potter.

11. I once threw a party and no one came.

Guess in the comments and I'll come back and provide the juicy details on all the true statements! There will be a prize! Of some sort!

Confessions Of a Bad Mutha

I often get emails that carry a similar sentiment: You make me feel like a better mom. While I know this is supposed to convey a compliment, it always makes me genuinely laugh. In other words, you’re such a bad mom, that you make me feel better about myself! Thanks!

I know. I know. What they’re really saying is that we’re comrades and they appreciate my honesty and also that I’m very pretty. Or at least they’re thinking it – I can just tell.

So, in honor of my most favorite emailers, I present the following list. Now go forth and feel awesome.

I Confess – The Bad Mom Edition

• I sometimes erase Savannah’s shows on Tivo so that more of mine will fit.
• I have lied and said library story time was cancelled because I made us too late to get a seat.
• I only wash Savannah’s hair every two days. Or maybe three.
• I only remember to clip her nails when I notice in public that they’re grimy.
• I discriminately throw away her art work and hide it under other trash, so she won’t see it.
• I have lied and said we were out of broccoli because I didn’t want to steam it.
• I have sometimes waited so long to go in and give her a “goodnight joke” (I can’t sing) that she falls asleep.
• I have skipped copious pages in books. (“So, then Cinderella’s carriage turned into a pumpkin…Aaand then she married Prince Charming. The end!”)
• I have pretended not to hear her sass me under her breath because I just don’t want to deal with it.
• I have let her watch TV all morning so that I can write.
• I have left her with Chris without saying goodbye because I want to run errands alone.
• I have let her explain the birds and the bees to herself. (“So, the doctor put the baby in you. And then daddy took it out.” “Umm, yeah. Pretty much.”)

Yet despite all that, she still tells me every day that I’m “the best mom ever”. She’s an easy crowd.

What’s your confession? Come on. Let it out, comrade.

If You Sweep It, They Will Come

Number of days listed: 7

Number of calls received: 0

Awesome! At this rate we'll be propping our house on the curb with a "Take Me. I'm Free!" sign taped to it by the time this is over with.

*cries*

I have painted, scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed, dusted, weeded, hoed (what else is new? har!), shined, and redecorated. Aside from lying in wait in the closet with a kitchen knife and a Sales Agreement I cannot imagine what more I can do to sell this house.

Come and knock on my door/Take a step that is new/Make an offer on my house that's not a joke/Three's company too-o.

Front Door ...duh.

Be sure to see what Chris and I did to it first. For we are wizards.

Entry-ish Place

Sitting Room or Where The Dog Sits


I died a little painting these cabinets.

Where I can be found eating Twizzlers and yelling at the television.


Master Bedroom, for I am the Master.

I am never on this, so I thought someone should be. She looks nice, don't you think? I might draw her in my closet trying on clothes with me next.


Master Bathroom because I am the Master Bather.

Savannah's Room - this color is called p-i-n-k. Even though it is actually orange. I'm sticking with my story.

My office. Where good posts go to die.

Playroom - Where the playas play.

Yard - Don't. Breathe. On. The. Tan. Bark. Love, Chris.

No house of mine will ever be this clean again. The days of six day old dishes and dust bunny gangs are over! This is the new and improved don't-you-dare-use-a-dish-and-not-rinse-it-after-or-so-help-me-god-I-will-crush-you house.

It will sell, right? RIGHT?

Don't Forget To Tip Your Stripper!

If getting the house ready to sell has taught me anything, it's that I have a lot to be ashamed of.

I know that I'm a nerd. I've always been a nerd. My whole life I've been a nerd in a cool girl's body.

I have this fear that I'll die suddenly and all my friends will be cleaning out my stuff (you know, because Chris will be so grief stricken he'll only be capable of building me a shrine) and then they'll stumble upon the ridiculous things I own. And together they'll try not to laugh because it will feel so inappropriate, but they'll exchange glances and later they'll think to themselves "What a raging geek!".

I'm tired of my fear of exposure keeping me up at night. I'd rather just take it all off here on the internet and get it over with.

Things Which I Own and I Am Not Apologizing For:

Gold Target shoes

I think the word you're looking for is "wow".

Michael Bolton Tee

I wish I could say this was a joke. We were at his concert and all I can say is that there was a lot of drinking and a lot of middle-aged women were screaming and I just got all caught up in the Forever Isn't Long Enough-ing and the When A Man Loves A Woman-ing and it just felt so right.

Ever since, Chris and I have enjoyed playing a regular game of "Where's Bolton?". Sometimes he's waiting for Chris in the morning laid across the toilet, coyly smiling. Some nights I pull back the comforter on my side of the bed and there he is, beckoning me with his eyes. Like he knows.

Metallica Backstage Passes

I was once maybe sort of a groupie. Maybe.

Both Prodigy's Smack My Bitch Up and Backstreet Boys' Millenium.

The fact that these two CD's coexist within the same collection defies some law of nature.

Corn Nuts. Copious amounts.

I existed solely on Corn Nuts when I was single. I can't seem to shake it. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands.

Celine Dion autobiography with keepsakes.

This speaks for itself, don't you think?

"Swingers"

Um, I watch this at least once a month. The nerd part comes into play because I really think by watching it, I'm staying cool. Despite the fact that Vince has since turned into a puffy pastry.

Fancy pearly opalescent pumps.

I wore these once. To a luncheon. And my best friend said I looked like I was going on an easter egg hunt. I've never worn them again. But, for some reason cannot throw them away. Perhaps I'm awaiting my role as First Lady?

Super Nintendo

It's not the fact that I own this that makes me a nerd. It's the fact that I refuse to own anything else. Not the Nintendo Wii. Just old skool Super Nintendo and Super Mario Bros thankyouverymuch.

And lastly...

My dirty dirty little secret: I LOVE The People's Court.

I HEART Marilyn Milian. Even the music (da-duh-DUN) makes me salivate like a cat hearing a can opener. The litigants are kind of throwaways as far as I'm concerned. I just want to sit on the bench next to Judge Milian and play with her hair and bask in her quick-wittedness. I could be like her Paul Shaffer. ("You wouldn't believe her if her tongue came notarized? Hahaha! Good one Marilyn! Can I call you Mary?"). Don't you think there's a place for me there?

**Pictures missing despite tremendous effort to find them:

- My "I Heart Dr. Phil" keychain.

- My autographed picture of Antonio Sabato Jr.

It's official. I am now psychologically bare. These closets are ready for someone else's crappy skeletons.

Mexi Ho 2007 - Part Done

Wouldn't it be funny if I spent hundreds of dollars on clothes and highlights and waxing and then when I got to Mexico my face broke out into boils because I am a freakish vampire like person who is allergic to the sun?

And wouldn't it be even funnier if this prevented me from getting off the ship and actually doing anything in Mexico because I was too busy icing my face in the cabin room?

And would it not be the funniest if I spent two whole days racing from shade to shade, which you know, there's a lot of on a SHIP in the middle of the OCEAN?

Kill me.

I'd like to say that this wasn't a big deal, but it really took a chunk out of our trip. The active chunk - the chunk that contained kayaking and hiking and such touristy things. I tried to be a good sport about it. I'd cry in the tiny bathroom and then come out bravely announcing to Chris "I think it's getting better!" before heading to the pool to hide under some stairs.

My lame ass skin not withstanding, we did have a great time. Especially when, in an effort to soothe me before leaving our room, Chris said "Babe, you look hot. And I'm including your face."

Thank you for clarifying, Chris.

As far as the live-blogging I promised, hahahahaha. The internet cafe they offered was so expensive and so painfully slow, that it felt like giving blood. Except without the cookie at the end. It took me an hour just to post the picture in the last entry. Which, by the way was actually before the barfing began. (My skin's intolerance is only outmatched by my liver's.)

I know you all came for the pics, so here's a few from the Flickr album.

Day 1:




I am hot when very far far away. And blurry.

Day 2:
A little football game was on.


Day 3:
Poolside

There's a second pool in my belly button. Neat!

Does this pic above remind anyone else of the cowardly lion?



Day 4:
Cabo San Lucas





This would have been less weird if we'd, um, smiled.

Day 5:
Mazatlan

Curse the sun. I spit upon it!


We're in lurve.

Day 6:
More Pool

Aren't I so pretty?



Day 7:


Seasick, rashy, hungover. Time to go home!

Mexi Ho 2007 - Part I

Drunkathon: CompleteBarfathon: In Progress

Diagnose Me

Ask me how surprised I was that Savannah woke up yesterday morning with a raspy voice and a cough. Go ahead, ask. NOT AT ALL. Why wouldn't she wake up with a cough, is the better question. After all, I take her to my mom's today and we leave in 24 hours.

So, I did what any good mother would do. I took her to school and then got my hair done.

lalala I'm not even going to take your temperature lalala I'm giving you a Flintstones vitamin and that will fix you right up lalala I am going to be on a beach with a big ass drink with a damn umbrella in it in 36 hours and nothing is going to stop me lalala.

Honestly, she didn't have a fever and she was in good spirits, so it was a decent parenting call. I swear. Let's just all cross our fingers for a mucus free embarkation, PLEASE.

Moving on. Let's play a game!

One look at my bedroom may lead one to believe that perhaps I have, um, issues. Can you guess what they are?

Guilt complex? Because I'm leaving my daughter for a week? Guilt? What guilt? I have no idea what you're talking about. None. At all. Shut up.

Then I made sure I had a few things to do on vacation.


Control freak? ADD? Can't stand the thought of being bored, even for a second? Iamnotbeingentertainedphobia? What. Ever.

Fear of not having enough cute things to wear? Buttuglyphobia?

Then I took Savannah to get a pedicure this morning.

Because I am guilty and anxious? in need of a foot rub and she's been begging for one for months and if I die on this trip (maybe shuffleboard goes tragically wrong or something) I want her to know her mama loved her enough to make her toes pretty before she sent her off to Grandma's so she could get drunk and naked with daddy in another country because she's selfish and refused to book the Disney cruise.

*cries*

Why does leaving her not get any easier?

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Okay, I'm off! Talk amongst yourselves. I'll be liveblogging Mexi Ho 2007, so come back tomorrow for pictures!