because I complain a lot! 11 things I’m grateful for

The other day I found myself complaining about how tired I was of having to carry the groceries up the stairs in my building. Then, I complained about all the toys that were blocking my way in. Then I complained about how long it took for the water to get warm while my daughter stood freezing next to me. After that, I complained about how foggy the mirror was and I couldn’t see myself clearly (No, I did not complain about that because I keep all my  mirrors spotless so I can always look at my beautiful face). And then it hit me: I complain about everything! I complain about this and I complain about that, without even realizing that I have everything I need. I have money to buy food, stairs that take me up to my heated home, water that magically appears with just the turn of the knob.

All this complaining is making me grumpier than what I usually am. So I decided then and there that every time I complain about something (because who am I kidding, I’ll probably never stop), I’m going to think about at least one thing to be grateful for, like dry shampoo for example, because no one really has time to wash their hair that often.

I ran to tell my husband all about it, but I had to run back to the bathroom and wrap my daughter up in a towel so she wouldn’t freeze. So then I ran back, but then ran back to the bathroom to turn off the running water, seriously people, let’s not waste it. I ran back one more time, but then ran back to the bathroom because my daughter kept screaming that I had wrapped her too tight, fallen on the floor and was wiggling like a worm.

When I finally got to him (sweating and out of breath because clearly I don’t work out at all) and shared with him this life changing epiphany, he looks up and says, “REALLY???” Sarcasm. He owns it.

So I have made myself this list of things to be grateful for that I will be putting up on my refrigerator door to look at every time I lose my sh*t. I was going to wait until November to post this, because you know, Thanksgiving and stuff, but why wait? I’ll just beat everyone to the punch and post this in October.

11 Things I’m Grateful For

My daughters – Not only they’re the sweetest, smartest, best smelling little girls I know (yes, I smell them and they smell like marshmallows and puffy clouds mixed together. No you may not smell them), but they are the source of my never-ending mood swings. I appreciate that because every time they make me angry, they also make me infinitely happy. They make me yell, but they also make me laugh uncontrollably.  They make me question my intelligence every time they ask a question like, “what is a mammal and what’s the difference between them and reptiles?” To what I answer “welllll…..mammals have hairs….I think….oh look, your show is on!” But they also make me smarter because I’ve never googled so much crap as I’ve done in the past 7 years.

My husband – Because I am a moody bitch that never uses the corresponding face with the corresponding emotion and some how he still loves me.

Coffee – The reason I am not currently serving time for murder.  Ok, so maybe I won’t kill you if you talk to me before the caffeine takes over my body, but I will probably attack you.  Thank you coffee for keeping alive all the people I love.

Friends –   Because my husband will never give me an honest answer when I ask him what he thinks about an outfit, or if I still look pretty with these few extra pounds. I don’t know if he’s being sweet or just plain scared. Either way, he’s no good. So that’s when your friends step in. To tell you that outfit looks hideous and that you’re better off just burning it instead of not wearing it.

Chocolate – No need to explain myself. Chocolate.

24 hour healthcare – You know that if your child is going to get sick, it’s going to be in the middle of the night. No way for them to start throwing up a storm, say, I don’t know, 10 a.m.? 2 p.m.?  Any time between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. would be great kids. Please and thank you.  Nobody wants to leave the house at 2 in the morning when it’s 25 degrees outside (oh yes, it has happened), especially your Caribbean born parents. So thank you, 24 hour urgent care places. We’re all too familiar with you and we hope not to visit you again this winter.

Ancient Persian Riders – Who are they you might ask? They are the geniuses behind high heel shoes, or so says Wikipedia, and of course I trust the Wiki people because they are highly reliable. Having an impressive height of 5-ft tall, you can usually see me wearing high heels, wedges and anything that can lift me off the floor at least one inch, because I am damn tired of having to climb over anything (and that includes people) in order to reach the adult cereal boxes at the store.

Carbs –   Even though there’s an evil hidden in all of them, they are my faithful companion during the long, cold winter days; during my grumpy days; and pretty much during any other day of the year.  Forget ice cream pints or shots of tequila. Nothing makes me feel better than a bowl of white rice (yes, I said white, calm down) or any bread, potato, or anything starchy for that matter. One time a guy broke up with me (the nerve!) and instead of drowning my sorrows in a bottle of vodka, I ate a whole pot of rice.

Razors – No one wants a grizzly bear walking around, and shaving my legs with my husband’s internationally acclaimed, super expensive, extra shiny, professional chef’s knife is a big no-no, and also gross.

‘N Sync – Greatest boy band ever. Do not discuss with me, in my mind they’re still together. Remember that time that guy broke up with me and I cried over a pot of white rice? I was listening to Bye Bye Bye because I don’t wanna be a fool for you, just another player in your game for two…

And finally, let us join our hands together and be grateful for David Beckham’s existence.

 

image via etsy.com

image via etsy.com

What are you grateful for?  If you say sour gummy worms I will love you forever.

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what I really wanted to say was…

If you’re on the have a baby, they said blog bandwagon, you’re awesome and also hopefully read my last post on the eternal road trip I had to endure to get to my brother’s wedding in Indiana.  If you’re not on said bandwagon, I’m not going to judge you, but seriously, get on it. And if you’d rather read the newspaper, a book, or the back of a cereal box for that matter than to read my endless, pointless rants, well then you my friend, are one smart cookie.

Anyway, my brother and his wife decided to celebrate their elopement by throwing a pretty amazing party at her parent’s house, which by the way, it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen and Scarlett O’Hara would be totally jealous.

When I got a call from him a couple of months ago telling me about the celebration, my big mouth asked him if he wanted me to say something at the party. He was VERY excited. I would do that for him any day of the week, don’t get me wrong, but the fact that I don’t get drunk anymore (because I’m lame) and would have to do it sober in front of 150 people was giving me panic attacks.

How could I get out of it? I couldn’t, he’s my brother and I had promised him, and then he would not teach my daughter how to swim like I was planning.  Damn it. The sacrifices you make for your children.

Of course, two months pass by and I didn’t write a word because procrastination runs my life. Actually, scratch that, I did write down a few ideas of what I wanted to talk about, but never really got around to putting together a coherent paragraph, not even a sentence. In my mind though, I had the perfect speech, people would fall off their seats laughing and the bride’s parents would fall in love with me, adopt me and offer me a room in their Gone with the Wind house.

I planned on writing it when I got to the hotel the night before, but after an 11 ½ hour road trip, 8 of which were spent watching 2 of my kid’s movies on repeat, I was beat, I couldn’t feel my legs and my brain was fried. So the morning after was my last chance, but then I realized I had left both my daughter’s sweaters at home and hello target! 2 hours later I was back at the hotel getting ready to write and procrastination happened…again.

Fast forward to that night and the bride’s dad gave the best speech ever. In Spanish! I don’t even think he speaks Spanish, he even had his own personal translator (my brother).  People laughed, people cried, how could I ever top that? At least I looked pretty (I hope).

Time for my speech, I was handed the microphone in what seemed to be slow motion, I take it and say:

“I’m not drunk enough to do this.”

Those were the words I chose to introduce myself to my brother’s new family. Not good evening, not Hello, my name is Linda and I’m the groom’s not alcoholic sister. Nothing.

I start to ramble, of course, and then both my daughters decide to stand by me while I disgraced my family join me and mid speech literally grab the microphone from me and start to display their multiple talents, which completely threw me off my train of thought, not that I had one to begin with. I don’t remember much of what I said after that, but it must have been amazing because ONE person laughed.

When it was finally over (again, I would do it over and over. I know you’re reading. I love you.), I sat down and realized I didn’t say what I really wanted to say. I really just wanted to give them both some marriage advice, because being married 9 years obviously makes me an expert.

I wanted to tell her that as soon as they say I DO, men develop a serious case of Selective Hearing. Even when they say they heard you, they didn’t. Whatever it is you want or need, you better get it in writing.

I wanted to tell him that no matter how many times we say nothing is wrong, something is wrong. And you better figure it out and fix it. Fast.

I wanted to tell her that you should praise him every time he completes a chore, like doing laundry or cooking (yes, for some of us, cooking becomes a tedious chore). Give him a kiss or a high-five, whatever you choose. Kinda like giving a puppy a snack when you’re training them.  Get what I’m trying to say here?

I wanted to tell him that he better think twice before asking her if she really needs another pair of shoes.  We ALWAYS need another pair of shoes, as well as boots, jeans or any other item of clothing. Just don’t ever go there.

I wanted to tell her to run as fast as she can every time he gets sick. Because a sick man is like having 6 sick toddlers and 8 teething babies together at the same time. Hire a nurse or call his mother, just run. I’m just kidding, please take care of my brother.

I wanted to tell them both to choose their battles carefully.  Sometimes the dumbest things can start a massive outrage. Remember what happened when The War of the Worlds was narrated on the radio way back when? Same thing can happen if you leave the toilet seat up or you forget to put the leftovers in the fridge (I forget all the time, no worries).

And finally, I wanted to tell you both that you are now part of an equal relationship, neither of you should wear the pants in your marriage. Seriously, no one should wear pants, its way more fun that way, until you have kids of course, then it would just be weird. Put some pants on!

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!

 

#becausefútbol

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I feel like everyone and their mother has something to say about soccer fútbol these days, so of course, I’m not going to be the only one not saying anything!

I’ve never  been a soccer fan, I don’t know the rules or the names of most of the players, all I know is that the team that scores the most goals wins, so obviously I’m not confident enough to carry on a conversation with anyone that knows more than me, basically I can only talk about it with my daughters, and most of the time I’m just making stuff up because they have no idea either and believe everything I say.  But when my country (GO COLOMBIA!!!) is rocking  the World Cup after 16 years of not qualifying, emotions are bound to take over my body and I turn into their #1 fan, that, and I suddenly start developing a serious case of Tourette’s. I don’t think I’ve ever cursed so much and so loud since the last time I went on a roller coaster and my shoulder got dislocated. While my mom  is (decently) calming her nerves by praying to every single saint out there, with every single rosary she owns and every single cross she has (and of course she has to cross ALL her fingers because if not we will lose), I on the other hand am cursing like a sailor in front of my kids and don’t even care.  Do you know what HIJUEPUTA means? It means SON OF A B…and I’ve been screaming it at the top of my lungs for the past 40 minutes because why the hell haven’t we scored yet? Not my proudest moment as a parent. My 6 year old covers her ears because “oh my gosh you’re so loud and you’re not making any sense!”, at least I don’t think she understands what my perfectly pronounced spanish curse words mean and as long as she doesn’t repeat them in front of my husband I should be fine. As much as I try to control my emotions, I just can’t control my language. I don’t know where these words are coming from! I swear my parents raised me right. It’s like the spirit of profanity possesses me or something. And after the games are over I look at my innocent daughters and think oh lord what have I done? They’re going to grow up to be trucker princesses.

She watched the whole game like this. Also, please notice how she's wearing a rosary on her wrist AND around her neck.

She watched the whole game like this. Lets all appreciate how she’s wearing a rosary on her wrist AND around her neck. Cuteness overload.

I don’t know how my heart has managed so much stress lately too. It works over time on every game, I think it’s getting all the cardio its been missing for the past  months, add to that sweaty palms, panic attacks, pulling my hair, nervous tics, anxiety…all of it. Apparently I growl too. Also, my kids have been taking care of themselves, making their own lunches and snacks, I almost let my oldest one drive her sister to the park the other day. She’s 6. No time to be a responsible parent, Colombia needs all of my attention and good vibes.

Pray I don’t have a heart attack or completly neglect my daughters on our next game, which by the way is on the 4th of July, so I will be either celebrating Colombia’s victory and our Independence Day or I will be crying and celebrating our Independence Day because hello USA rocks too!

Let’s hope my mom doesn’t forget to cross ALL her fingers.

can-stock-photo_csp10769064

Can someone please make this flag for me?

 

 

 

I hate/I love

My husband and I recently celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary. I forgot, he forgot, we all forgot, so it wasn’t much of a celebration anyway, but I did do a little happy dance the morning after when I actually remembered, because we have made it 9 plus years (if you count 200 years of dating) through a lot of ups and downs, mostly up….4 flights of stairs in our elevator-less building. There are a lot of things he does that I hate and love, yes, I know hate is a strong word, but if you seriously tell me that there is nothing your husband or wife does that you don’t hate then you’re straight up lying. And I know I drive him crazy too but we’re not talking about me…

I hate that you “accidentally” gave away 2!!!! of my favorite boots because you thought they were for donation just because they were sitting in my trunk for 4 months. I WAS going to get them resoled eventually.

I love that thanks to you, hopefully a very well deserved woman (or two) is walking around with a very stylish pair of boots.

I hate that you threw my favorite black bra in the washer and it came out in 2 pieces. That mesh bag is not ON TOP of the washer for decoration purposes…just an FYI.

I love that you actually did laundry without even having to ask you. Bonus: I love that you now have to see me in my other favorite bra…no, not the pretty lace ones, the nude colored one. Not that sexy huh??

I hate that you left your VERY WELL paid, AMAZING hours as an office manager to go to culinary school.

I love that you dared to follow your dreams and that I now have a professional chef cook for me…for free ;)

I hate that you leave at 4:30 am and I don’t get to see you in the mornings anymore.

I love that you don’t care that its 4:30 am, because you’re ecstatic to go cook for the next 14 hours. Bonus: I love that since you don’t see me dressed for work, I can sneak in new clothes without you knowing I went shopping ;)

I hate that even though you leave before the roosters even wake up you still come home past 8 pm.

I love that you rush home every night just to try to catch your daughters awake.

I hate that sometimes you come home past 8 pm and the girls are already sleeping.

I love that sometimes you come home past 8 pm and the girls are already sleeping….and we get at least 20 minutes of silence, just the two of us…before I obviously pass out.

I hate that you’re not at all afraid of my death stare when I’m mad at you.

I love that you’re not at all afraid of my death stare when I’m mad at you.

I hate that you turn yourself into a 6 year old boy when you’re playing with the girls and jump on the bed with them while I panic and try to catch them every time they fall. Also when you wrestle. They are NOT made of rubber!

I love that you play with them as if they were boys, because not everything can be princesses and glitter, especially when I keep finding it up their noses. Bonus: I love that you know all the names of their My Little Ponies and that you make girly voices when you’re playing barbies.

I hate that you’re not honest when I ask you if the 5 extra pounds I have gained make me look ugly.

I love that you pretend not to notice my weight gain. Probably because you know it will make me cry, laugh and scream all at the same time. And I already know you avoid me like the plague every time I get my period and cry, laugh and scream for no apparent reason.

Sorry I forgot our anniversary, that’s why I’m writing you this post. I’m sure you’re sorry you forgot too and that’s why you’re taking me shopping.

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preach

 

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.