Alright St. Nick, let’s try this again.

Dear Santa (part 2),

I’m not sure what happened last year seeing that I didn’t get ANY of the things I asked you for. I remember waking up at the crack of 10 am and running out to see what you had left me under the tree, only to find that the only ones who got gifts were my daughters. I was so puzzled, I knew I had been a good girl because I asked my husband and he told me that I’d definitely NOT been naughty…

Anyway, what’s the deal, Santa? I know you’re a man of a certain age, but I would assume that one of your elf helpers would’ve reminded you about your responsibilities as the grantor of Christmas wishes. If you still need a reminder click here, that’s the letter I sent you last year, I even sent it before Thanksgiving to make sure you received it with plenty of time. Maybe I should’ve sent it right in the middle of summer. I specifically remember asking you to give me the ability to cook; yet, it’s a miracle I haven’t poisoned my own kids.

But you know what? Water under the bridge. I’m not one to hold grudges. So how about we make amends and start from scratch? Yes? Perfect! Here’s my list for this year. I promise it’s not as ambitious as last year’s.

1- An invisibility cloak.

I don’t know about you, Santa, but sometimes I just feel like disappearing. But you know, I have two young daughters so that would be bad if I actually did disappear. So I thought that an invisibility cloak would be perfect for me. I would still be able to see them, but they wouldn’t see me, which means that for once, they would ask their father for help instead of me, the little one would at least make an effort to wipe her own butt (she can do it herself, I’ve seen her, she just conveniently “forgets” how to do it when I’m around), my husband would be forced to look for the white t-shirt that’s RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM and my name wouldn’t be called out one thousand six hundred seventy three times in an hour.

2- Tickets to the Ellen DeGeneres show.

I loooooooooooooove Ellen and I really, really, really, really want to go to her show. Going to the Ellen show would probably feel like Christmas morning for grownups, but better. Oh no, did I offend you? I really didn’t mean to, it’s just that Ellen is amazing and funny and amazing and she voices Dori so she’s even more amazing! Would you like to come with me? I’m sure you guys would get along great. You can be my plus one.

3- Thousands of Starbuck’s red cups.

Please deliver them to all of those who have nothing better to do with their time than to complain about a stupid red cup that “does not symbolize Christmas.” What more do you want, people?!? They literally have a Christmas Blend coffee bag. CHRISTMAS blend!! And their stores are covered in Christmas decorations! It’s like Santa threw up in there!

4- Dirt/smell/stain repellent clothes.

Because you know how much I love to do laundry… How wonderful would it be not to panic every time someone spilled chocolate milk, or pasta sauce, or wine, or anything else for that matter.  All that time I’m going to save not doing laundry could be quality time spent completely alone in my room binge watching anything.

5- Infinite patience 

Because, “Mami, where are my shoes?”, “Mami, I want some water.”, “Mami, I spilled the water.”, “Mami, I don’t feel like going to school today.”, ” Mami, I don’t like that food.”, “Mami, I’m not hungry.”, “Mami, I’m staaaarving!!!”, “Mami, I farted HAHAHAHA.”, “Mami, she hit me.”, “Mami, I punched her back!”, “Mami, what are you doing??”, “Mami, why are you screaming into a pillow?”

6- Awesome dance moves.

I want to be able to break out in song and dance WHEREVER and WHENEVER I feel like it. I don’t care who I embarrass as long as I don’t embarrass myself. My issue is that I only know how to do the MC Hammer and The Robot. I tried doing The Sprinkler and I ended up at the chiropractor’s. So maybe swoosh your little magic wand or super Santa powers and give me some super impressive dance moves. Or better yet, send Beyoncé to my house for a weekend so that she can bestow her awesomeness upon me. Yes! Yes! Send Beyoncé….and Ellen DeGeneres while you’re at it.

P.S.

If you’re feeling generous, please magically replace my back. I have a feeling I might throw mine out after Beyoncé is done with me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

sad-santa-600x330

 

 

A post about nothing. Seinfeld would be so proud.

'I'm not a neurologist, but according to this X-ray, you have no brain.'So I just realized my brain has turned into spaghetti and I haven’t been able to form a single coherent sentence since the holidays. Hence, my absence from the blogging world and I’m sure your lives. Rrriiight…

Let me start by apologizing for this post before you even read it because I have no idea what it’s going to be about, I’m going to wing it, just like I’m winging my children’s upbringing. I’m keeping my fingers crossed and hope they grow up to be descent human beings.

As I was saying, my mind is completely blank and it’s been that way since the holidays. January has been like one big massive hangover, and not precisely from drinking too much, those days were left in the past, along with a face that doesn’t have permanent puffy eyes.

I think I lost my brain sometime between getting over the initial shock of reading my daughters’ Christmas list, making one VERY realistic list of my own, Christmas shopping, and trying to figure out how to make a Christmas expense excel spreadsheet.

I thought about making a spreadsheet so I could find a way to organize my holiday shopping budget and not go haywire like I did last year. Dear husband, this is where you need to stop reading.  Actually, I’m not going to say how much I spent, because if I know my husband well, he is still reading even though I just asked him not to. But why should he start listening to me now?

Anyway, excel spreadsheets are hard. And I went over my budget. Again.

So this post will not be about my adventures in computer land.

Back to where I was telling you about my non functioning brain.

Right in the middle of that mess, I figured I should at least start laying out ideas on what to write next. So I started looking everywhere for all these random notes I’m usually jotting down on any writable surface. I checked my phone OHMYGODCANDYCRUSHISGONE!!!  I checked the palm of my hand Buy toilet paper and tampons. I checked the bathroom stalls Get a new writing pad. I checked my purse and surprisingly, all I found was an overdue speeding ticket and thanks to my zombie brain* I now have to pay double the amount.

Since it was still December, I figured I would write about how excruciatingly exhausting it is to keep lying to my kids about Santa. Not only does it drill a hole in my pocket every single year because my kids think Christmas is a toy free for all, but I always have to take it up a notch and start making up all these stupid “magical” stories about how all the reindeer send them letters every night without thinking first that I was going to be the one doing all the writing and printing, which in itself wasn’t hard work because who am  I kidding, I got the pre-written letters from the all mighty Pinterest. The real hard work was waiting for my daughters to fall asleep and not forgetting to roll up the letters and stick them in their stockings. That was too much of a commitment.

Do not even get me started on the as*hole that invented the elf on the shelf. This person clearly had too much time on her hands. Also, who designed this toy? What is the same person? And does she know that this creepy elf is just waiting for you to go to sleep so he can murder you in your sleep?

My daughters got theirs as a gift from someone who hates** me and we decided our elf, Nancy, was NOT going to be reporting back to Santa. They couldn’t stand the pressure of another set of eyes watching them, Santa’s eyes are enough.

So Christmas Eve rolled by and after partying until 1 am (and by partying I mean eating like a pig), mama here went to bed at 3:30 IN THE MORNING putting together a desk because my 7-year-old “absolutely needs an office”, and making sure “Santa” laid all the toys in a perfect semi-circle by the Christmas Tree. Naturally, two of my last working brain cells died that night. I swear to God when these kids find out the truth about Santa I better be getting a trip to the jewelry store as a thank you.

So this post will not be about the magic of Christmas.

Let me tell you about our crazy New Year’s Eve partaaaay!!!

We got all sorts of ready for NYE. I got party poppers, party hats, we had sparkling cider for the girls, soda for us (we’re boring, deal with it), ordered pizza and wait for it…. my husband fell asleep at 8:04 on the couch wearing a glitter party hat.  I have the picture to prove it but I can’t show it because he threatened to post a picture of when I thought I looked cute in a pixie cut, sooo…yeah…whatever…I rang the new year at 9:45 pm with my daughters and my mom while watching Disney reruns. Whoop Whoop!

So this post will not be about our New Year’s Eve fiesta.

On new years day, I sat down in front of my laptop (not hangover and totally refreshed from a good night sleep) and decided that for the first time ever, I was going to make some new year’s resolutions and all I could come up with was this:

1- Stop eating chocolate bars as a midday snack.

Because “joining the gym” would be just setting myself up for failure. And guess what? Chocolate is still my best friend forever.

So this post will not be about my New Year’s resolutions.

Also, this post will not be about how much weight I gained during the holidays. I don’t want to talk about it OK?!?!?

This post will NOT be me complaining about the weather. It’s January and it’s freezing cold and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks.

So what should this post be about?

 

*I don’t think Zombies have brains.

**I’m kidding S, I know you love me!

 

Dear Santa…

Dear Santa,

First of all, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. Not only do you survive this crazy holiday every year, but you hand deliver every single toy to all the believers out there. I know it must be hard to keep up with the demand and all these new complicated video games and tablets. It must have taken you forever to learn how to assemble all these games with the chips and the 3-D and the gigas and the bytes. Whatever happened to the good old wooden rocking horse? I know. I feel the same way. I must say, you’ve adapted wonderfully and all while rocking the same red suit. Kudos to you!

Anyway, you must be confused as to why a grown ass (OMG! I’m soooo sorry for cursing) woman is sending you a letter. Well, the truth is, I have lost all hope and was hoping you could restore it for me. You see, the other day I asked my husband what he wanted for Christmas and he said he didn’t want anything (bless his heart). However, I think he was expecting the same answer from me. That didn’t happen of course, because I want lots of things. Now, don’t think I’m being selfish or anything; I’m actually the complete opposite of that. I always put everyone’s needs before mine and only expect to get rewarded at the end of the year. Never mind, that does sound really selfish. Let me rephrase that. I think I deserve to get everything on my list because I take care of my family without asking for anything back except hugs, kisses and the occasional compliment here and there.  So when I showed my husband the list, he laughed uncontrollably and walked away. And this is when all my hope went down the drain.

So this is where you come in, Santa. I’m sending you this list in hopes I wake up on Christmas morning and find that not only my daughters’ wishes came true, but also mine.

santa

It’s not that long Santa, just wait until you see my daughters’.

1 – Endless supply of toilet paper – Santa, do you know that I am buying a 24-pack of toilet paper on a weekly basis? I mean, I know there are more girls than boys in the house and that we have more…err…”stuff” to keep clean, but come on!! I’m starting to believe my daughters are trading toilet paper rolls for candy. It’s no coincidence that I keep finding more candy and less toilet paper around the house. So if you give me an endless supply of TP it would mean fewer trips to the store, which means I would have to drive less, which means less pollution to the environment. So really, it’s a win-win situation.

Actually, while you’re at it, can you add a couple of nanny cams? I’m going to catch the little suckers!

2 – 30 hour days – Not to get more done. No. I need 30 hour days in order to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep. Don’t you just feel like punching people that only need 4 or 5 hours of sleep and yet they still wake up radiant and full of energy? Probably not, ’cause you’re Santa and you’re perfect and fluffy. But I do! Sorry about all the aggressiveness, it’s the lack of sleep. If I get more hours of sleep, I’ll probably wake up singing “It’s a beautiful morning” and make pancakes for the whole building. Again, a win-win situation.

3 – The ability to cook – I’ll just get straight to the point. I have tried to learn and have failed miserably. So this is why I need you.  I need to be able to make a grilled cheese sandwich without this happening:

IMG_9300

Who feeds their children plastic? Me.

 

 

 

 

 

Or cook a simple pasta dish without burning it like this:

IMG_9301

I seriously give up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is pathetic and I need you to fix it please.

4 – The power to transform into Martha Stewart or at least suck all the talent out of her: I for once would like to be able to sew my daughter’s Girl Scout badges on her vest and not run like a little girl to my mom asking her for help. Anything that requires sewing, I will staple. Anything that asks for frosting, I will buy pre-made. Anything that involves paint will end up on the carpet and up my nose. All I want is to be skillful enough to redecorate my living room by only using a wooden crate, paint and tape. I’m sure Martha can do it.

5 – 24 hour concierge service: I know some buildings do have it, but I’m neither rich nor live in NYC.  So what if sometimes I crave ice-cream at 2 in the morning? Or forget to buy more juice boxes for my daughter’s lunch box. I don’t want to leave the house at 6 pm. That’s so late for this old body. I need someone to go fetch me stuff at a moments notice and my husband has already said no.

6 – Healthy junk food – Santa please, I beg of you!! Not everything healthy has to be boring. I need junk food in my life but I need it to be healthy because I hate the gym and I can’t stop eating cheeseburgers from the mall and my waist is paying for it. Also candy and carbs. No matter how much I eat them, I need you to make all this stuff super extra healthy because I have no plans of stopping.

That’s it Santa, I only want these 6 things. After all, my parents taught me not to be greedy.

Sincerely,

Me :)

 

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my daughter pinocchio

I’ve realized that my 4-year-old daughter will either be the greatest story-teller ever or the next Pinocchio, because this child of mine sure can lie.

The other day I walked into their room and couldn’t even get pass the mountain of toys that was blocking my way. There was so much stuff lying around, I needed a GPS just to get to their closet. So I asked them to clean it up. After about 20 minutes of nagging and trying to convince me that they had better things to do like staple papers together, my patience was running its limit, so I did the next best thing and offered them money.

My favorite one that day oldest one, being the smart cookie that she is, took the money and started cleaning up.  The youngest one, well, she had a very reasonable explanation about why she shouldn’t clean up.

“I shouldn’t be the one cleaning the room because I didn’t make that mess!”

“You didn’t make the mess? Really? So if it wasn’t you, who did it?”

“Ok, I’ll tell you, this is what happened, for real. You see, last night when the whole house was sleeping a black tornado came in the house and picked up all the toys and just THREW THEM ALL OVER THE PLACE! It made such a mess mami, but that’s why the room is so messy.” 

“A tornado came in the house and only messed up your room?”

“Yeah, I don’t think tornadoes like toys.”

” Tornadoes are very loud, how come I didn’t wake up?”

“It was a black tornado for real. FOR. REAL!!! You see, I tried to wake you and papi and Antonella up, but everyone was sleeping really hard, sooooo I went outside and took the broom and pushed the tornado out the window!”

Let me just add that her face was dead serious. Not one smile.

“Did you really do that? You must be very strong because tornadoes are very powerful.”

“I am strong because I eat ALL my veggies.”

No she doesn’t. Not even one.

“So who’s going to help your sister clean the toys?”

“I don’t know…” She turns and walks away, stops, turns around, hand on hip and says, “…AND YOU ARE WELCOME!”

***

One day, I saw that her shirt had a big cut on the front. I knew it had been her because I’d already caught her trying to cut her hair. So I asked what happened to her shirt and this was her incredibly, believable explanation:

“It was Hello Kitty, she cut my shirt.”

“Hello Kitty? As in the doll?

“Oh no mami, don’t be silly! Dolls can’t move! My FRIEND Hello Kitty! Duh!”  Insert eye roll.

“You have a friend named Hello Kitty? Really?”

She does not. Obviously. What kind of parents would name their kid Hello Kitty?

“Yeah. FOR. REAL!!! You’ve never seen her before, but she’s not my imaginary friend. You’ve just never seen her. And she totally cut my shirt.”

As she walks away with the scissors still in her hand.

***

 At dinner:

“Itala, please eat all your food.” 

“I really can’t mami.”

“Why can’t you eat your fish?”

“Because it didn’t qualify.”

“It didn’t qualify? Qualify for what?”

“It didn’t qualify to be eaten today, so I really can’t.”

 

I can’t make this stuff up.

Pinocchio-Girl--31433

ay ay ay

 

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that one time I had dinner with 35 foodies

I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again: I am a disaster when it comes to anything that involves making food. I love to eat, don’t get me wrong, maybe a little too much actually, the problem is I can’t cook, I get annoyed reading food labels, I don’t know if 500 calories for a bagel is ridiculous or not, I can’t tell the difference between parsley and cilantro and I’m not entirely sure what a Rutabaga is, and I had to Google the correct spelling for it. I’m not proud of this trust me, I’m still working on it.  The fact that I married a chef is a huge deal for me, because I went from eating Ramen Noodles to eating fresh homemade pasta. Score.

After 10 years of being married to this guy, I’ve learned a thing or two in the kitchen, that doesn’t mean I like it now, it just means that I won’t starve to death when he’s not around. So when my husband told me that we were invited to one of his friend’s house for dinner, along with around 35 other chefs and foodies my heart immediately stopped.  Putting aside the fact that I didn’t know ANYONE at this dinner, I knew the only topic of conversation was going to be about food, something I know nothing about, except how to eat it.

I tried binge watching the Food Network Channel a few days before to see if maybe I could learn some of the lingo and not look like a complete idiot, but I couldn’t do it. I got so anxious watching these people trying to make a gourmet entrée using only a tub of peanut butter, an orange peel and a potato.  I also tried reading some of my husband’s books, I fell asleep. I tried getting him to give me a quick crash course, but it wasn’t quick, it involved charts and homework, so I told him I had to do the neighbor’s laundry and ran away.

My only hope was that maybe another lost wife was going to be there too,  maybe we would bond over our culinary ignorance, maybe we would talk about kids, maybe we would talk about shoes, maybe we would become bff’s. I was getting excited about meeting my new imaginary best friend and so was my husband, he had noticed me having all these pretend adult conversations with myself and frankly, I was starting to look like a mental person.

We got there and were received by 30 something people. I knew no one. I clenched my husband’s hand, but of course, he soon exchanged it for a glass of wine.  I looked around and did not see another lost wife like me, everyone knew each other.

After what seemed hours of following my husband around like a lost puppy mingling, we sat down and waited for the first course, in the meantime, everyone was talking about food, and ingredients, and techniques, and foam, and liquid nitrogen*(apparently, the super cool use it to cook) and that chef that was the underdog and now is super famous. All gibberish to me.

I had nothing to say.

First course came out, everyone whipped out their cameras and started snapping pictures, I followed. I don’t even know why, but everyone was doing it. One hour later we were on our fourth course. I kept thinking about my daughters, hoping  the little one would start crying so much that my father in-law would have no other option but to call me. No calls. 5th course…no calls.

Me: “So dessert is next? This is our 5th plate of food, I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

Husband: “It’s fifteen courses, desserts (as in more than one) come after.”

Fifteen courses. FIFTEEN.

I wasn’t sure I was going to make it all the way to the last course, but everything was so good I just kept eating and eating. With so much food around me and my non-stop eating, there was no time to join in the conversation even if I tried. They will ever know how much I don’t know.

I hear ya!

I hear ya!

We made it to the 9th course before my father in-law really called in a panic. The baby had woken up and wouldn’t stop crying. We had to leave early and I asked my husband if it was too tacky to ask for take out. He rolled his eyes and we left.

Next time I’ll be sure to be well prepared, I’ll study the charts and do the homework, learn the lingo and even practice some recipes of my own. I promise.

P.S.  Thank you to all the chefs and cooks out there (specially my hubby and his friends), who dedicate their days cooking AMAZING dishes. Thank you for sharing your passion and art.

* I had actually written dry ice but my husband had a mini heart attack and quickly corrected me.

my 7 year to-do list

listWho doesn’t love a to-do list? In my less than organized life (because I don’t like to say chaotic) these lists are the only thing that keep me somewhat sane. I make lists for everything, I make so many that someone actually told me I should make a how-about-I-get-a-hobby list. Instead, I made a reasons-to-mind-your-own-business list and slipped it under their door.  Seriously, leave my love for lists alone.

So naturally, being so fond of them, the minute I found out I was pregnant  I started making a list of things I needed to learn because I really knew nothing….about anything. I still don’t.

My daughter is about to turn 7, so that’s how old this list is. I’m hoping to cross everything out sometime before she has her own daughter.

My 7 year to-do list:

  • Learn how to eat like a grown up

Obviously, if my baby is going to be occupying the premises for the next 9 months I might as well start eating right so that she can grow healthy. That means no more coffee for breakfast, crappy chinese for lunch and leftovers for dinner.

  • Learn how to speed read

Because I need to read this pile of pregnancy books, along with the other pile of how to care for a newborn, how to sleep train them, how to make them the happiest baby and toddler around the neighborhood or block or something like that. Add to that my own lists of magazines books.

  • Learn how to cook

Because I’m going to have to eventually leave the hospital and feed this kid all by myself.  And yes, pureeing fruits and veggies can be a challenge for the culinary incompetents like me.

  • Learn how to sing

I read somewhere that nothing soothes a crying baby like a mother’s voice, maybe I made that one up I’m not sure, but I’m determined to calm my baby by singing sweet lullabies to her. That means I have to start by remembering the lyrics and learning a couple of new ones because Baby Got Back and Can’t Touch This are not going to cut it.

  •  Learn how to ignore unsolicited advice

A good friend of mine warned me about this. I was going to get tons of unsolicited advice, from my own mother down to the nosy stranger at the mall. Someone once told me that the baby should sleep with the lights on, that way it would force her to close her eyes and she’d eventually go to sleep. That doesn’t work, I know because I actually tried it. Don’t judge me. I knew nothing. I still don’t. My kids still sleep with me.

  •  Learn how to properly do laundry

Nothing says motherhood like being thrown up on, spitted on, pooped on and wiped on. There aren’t enough yoga pants and stretchy t-shirts in my closet to keep up with this mess.  And then there are the baby’s clothes. How can they be so dirty when everything is already on my clothes? You’d think that doing laundry is just separating the whites from the colors. I thought the same thing, turns out there’s a whole science to it. First of all, there are different water temperatures for I guess different types of fabric. I don’t even know which ones get cold/cold or which ones get hot/cold water.  In my house water is water and that’s all you need to wash your clothes. So I don’t really touch that button. It’s been on the same setting (warm/cold, I compromised) for the past 7 years. Second of all, don’t even think about not turning printed t-shirts inside out before washing them, if the print peels off, you WILL ruin your kids life. I’ve already ruined her life twice.

  •  Learn how to knit

Isn’t it a rule for every mom to know how to knit cute scarfs and hats for their kids? Or is that grandmas? Either way, I thought it would be cool to learn how to make my kids scarfs and hats so they could proudly brag to their friends that “my mom made this super awesome fancy scarf for me”. Unfortunately the plain, uneven, full of knots scarf that I made my daughter has yet to be seen in public. I think she hid it inside a shoe.

  •  Learn how to ride a bicycle without killing myself

My dad taught me how to ride a bike, his dad taught him and I’m sure his dad taught him, so I’m for sure not going to be the one to end this centuries old family tradition. I’m a great bike rider, as long as I’m going in a straight line. Don’t ask me to turn a corner or even slightly move to the right in order not to run over the speed walker that’s in front of me, sorry lady, if you don’t step aside I will have to run you over, that, or I will fall and scrape my ego…along with my knees, elbows and probably face.

  • Learn how to open a bottle of wine. 

Because I have a feeling I’m going to need some.

 

This is what I’ve accomplished so far:

1-Learn how to eat like a grownup: Only during my pregnancy, after that, back to coffee, crappy chinese and left overs.

2- Learn how to speed read: HAHAHAHAHAHA no I didn’t.

3- Learn how to cook: I learned how to make a mean pea puree, until my baby started gagging on the little peels so I quit.

4- Learn how to sing: Lullabies are seriously boring, so don’t judge my daughters when you hear them singing “I like big butts and I cannot lie”. I take full responsibility.

5- Learn how to ignore unsolicited advise: As my future husband Robert Downey Jr. said: “Listen, smile, agree and then do whatever the fu&k you were gonna do anyway”.

6- Learn how to properly do laundry: Nope. I’m still ruining my daughter’s life, one shirt at a time.

7-Learn how to knit: Who in their right mind has time to knit? I’m trying to fix my kid’s life here!

8-Learn how to ride a bicycle without killing myself: My 6 year old rides better than me. Let’s leave it at that.

9-Learn how to open a bottle of wine: Mastered it!

 

35 going on senile

I was talking to my 6-year-old daughter about which medical schools she would like to apply to when she’s older, omg not really we were talking about sidewalk chalk but a mom can dream, when she suddenly paused and asked: “What are all those stripes on your forehead?” I swear that 35 years of not moisturizing and smothering my face with SPF just bitched slapped me, because those stripes she was talking about are the wrinkles that are adorning my forehead. Nicole Kidman would SO not approve.

"You're right. I would SO not approve."

Stop judging me Nicole Kidman!

Up until now, my daughters had only noticed the “beautiful freckles” on my face, and by freckles I mean sun spots.

My freckled face as seen by my super talented daughter.

My freckled face as seen by my super talented daughter.

Never in my life have I worried about the obvious fact that I am getting older; not when I turned 18 – OMG like I’m totally old; or when I turned 25 – what’s a quarter of a century anyway?; or when I turned 30 – 30’s is the new 20’s that’s my motto. But 36 is creeping up on me and I’m NOT all too happy about it. The only comfort I get is that the people I hang out with are 3 and 6 years old (seriously, I need grown up friends), and really, the age perception of kids is a beautiful thing, specially when they think I’m 25 and trust me, I’m NOT about to correct them.

I am convinced that I’m aging at supersonic speed, all within 6 months, last time I checked I was not celebrating my 35th birthday, now in a few months I’ll be 36 which rounded to the nearest tenth is 40 which practically makes me a middle-aged woman, and no, I’m not ready to start antiquing. My gray hairs are growing like weeds, not only do I see a new one every day, but they have completely invaded my head and I can’t keep up with the tweezing. And because of the constant tweezing I now think I have carpal tunnel and in need of urgent surgery.  I had 3 slices of pizza the other day and my stomach got so swollen the thought that I was pregnant and probably about to give birth in the bathtub even crossed my mind. “You need to stop eating like a college student” says my husband, of course he does, because he cooks like the Culinary Gods and I cook like a 5-year-old and if it were up to me I would live on Ramen Noodles. So basically, eating my daughter’s leftovers and complementing them with Oreos isn’t going to cut it anymore because my old, old digestive system can’t handle it. I also sometimes have this for lunch:

vending machine

Skittles count as fruit right?

Besides the fact that my body is probably a geriatric one, the other day I was trying to open my front door with the car keys, I even pressed the panic button to see if the door would just swing opened. It didn’t. I call my daughter 18 different names before she says “you know my name is Antonella, YOU named me.” Alzheimer is it you knocking?? CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE DIAGNOSE ME?? Oh, and I have TMJ. I saw my symptoms online so it must be true.

So if you’re looking for me this summer, you can either find me at the dermatologist getting a chemical peel or frantically rubbing my face with lemons, getting liposuction because God knows I’m too lazy to hit the gym, at CVS stocking up on boxes of hair color and at the geriatric psychiatrist for weekly evaluations and if all else fails just come knocking on my door at the retirement home.

Bingo anyone?

I'm the one wearing the pantyhose.

See that empty chair? They’re already saving me a spot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*After carefully reviewing the costs of all these procedures, I have forcefully decided to age gracefully.