They are a-changin’.

Something tells me all the change I have been recently craving and wishing for… is coming. Whether I am ready or not.

So for two weeks now my husband has been watching constant Michael Jackson videos a la Youtube.
Ok… I have, too.

We can’t help it. No we aren’t strange, and stop lying because you know you have taken a second or two to watch a video from his hey days.
It’s natural to want to remember from back in the day when things were so much more, no pun intended, full of innocence. Wonder. When times were much simpler.

Back when MJ was popular I was between the ages of 5-10 years old. I remember my uncle giving me the Off the Wall album. Michael with his naturally good looks and his afro standing there against a brick wall. I jammed to “Rock With You” over and over again on my Fisher Price record player.

Then came the Thriller album… I remember seeing him dance and wow the crowd at the 25th Motown Anniversary show on TV. I was planted in front of our huge (what seemed to be huge back then) console floor model TV. He did the moonwalk. Then we all tried to moonwalk at school, on the playground, in our yards, on our bedroom floors.

He wore that sequined glove. We all wanted a glittery glove.
My friend Amy in elementary school had an “ACTUAL” LEATHER BEAT IT JACKET. *GASP*.
She would let us all take turns walking around in it at recess time. When it was my turn, I tried to moonwalk, yet I failed.

When I was 10 years old and I had my appendix operation and was hospitalized for 2 weeks my mom decked my entire room out in MJ posters, his Thriller doll, curtains, bedsheets, you name it. She and my Abuelita had taken days to decorate my room and they even bought me a Thriller ensemble to come home in complete with MJ post earrings and a necklace.
I still remember My Abuelita standing in the doorway of my bedroom smiling and saying “Mira! Mira, mamita! El Meeko EJacksons!” (Look, Look! Sweetheart, Michael Jackson!”) completely butchering his name in Spanglish yet feeling triumphant that they had made my homecoming so special.

Alas, there was one problem I had with MJ. The Thriller video. I am not a lover of zombies. Some of you know this. That video to this day makes my insides scream, my chonies twist, and I cry as if I were just 10 years old. I don’t like dead peoples dancing.
But, I got over it enough to watch it with my husband last weekend.
Even though I was twisted inside. We watched Beat it and a lot of his earlier stuff and remembered how our memories were so similar from our separate childhoods because of his songs.

As the years went on NKOTB became my thing, and MJ turned weird and reclusive and started to dye his skin, shave off his nose and try to have chiseled features, my love for him disappeared. As did most of the people who grew up with his music.
If you didn’t, then you were one of his many hardcore fans or you may live in some distant foreign country and still jam to his songs as if it’s 1983. Hey- that’s ok too. Not knocking ya.

Let’s face the truth here, the man wasn’t loved by many for the last 15 years of his life. And not only did those strange self mutilation surgeries he continued to have make us fall far from the MJ train, but let’s face it- the child molestation accusations were a HUGE elephant in any room he happened to be in.

This past week I watched the Memorial. To the dismay of my kids who wanted the Cartoon Network turned on.
“Why are they making such a big deal about him, mom? I mean, if one of us died would they be all singing and clapping and making a huge concert out of it?” asked my oldest. I knew she was right. And I was torn. I wanted to remember the MJ that made me dance and sing and be a happy kid growing up in the 80s. But he was gone long before June 25th, 2009.

I realized a few things, also, I didn’t see Lionel Ritchie, Brooke Shields, Mariah Carey, Al Sharpton, John Mayer, or anyone else that was singing or jamming or giving speeches EVER- and I mean EVER- defend MJ when he was accused of that freaking ugly assed elephant in the room. Nope. I didn’t. In fact I remember his family with him during the SECOND allegations, but I don’t remember seeing or hearing ANY of these people who were up there paying homage to the “KING OF POP” during those times.
I am sorry but that Al Sharpton speech and his “Wasn’t nothing strange about yo daddy… what was strange was what he had to put up with….” pissed me off. Because MJ was strange. He was reclusive. He was self loathing.

So where does this bring me?
Feeling confused and strange.
As probably many of you feel that grew up with his music. Or danced to Thriller. Or had a Beat It jacket, glittery glove or a pair glittery socks.

We feel strange because there was… WAS a normalcy about MJ when he performed and was a pop star that made the music that most likely is on the soundtrack of your life. His music played when you were at your first dance or played in the backyard with the Boombox blaring.

And because of that, we mourned. We mourned because those songs and that man were part of our memories. What we don’t mourn, is the strange man he became. The strange shit that surrounded him. The man that made us all wonder and will make us all wonder for years to come, did he really do those horrible things?
And it’s hard to say- that there was nothing strange ’bout that, Daddy.

I’m cooking dinner and fighting some sort of infection- maybe bladder or kidney. Not sure what, but according to my husband I have to go to urgent care. Meh. I hate urgent care.

I decided I was gonna eat a good steak and provolone cheese sub sandwhich before I went anywhere. So while I cook it, I had to post my favorite Jerky Boys prank call of all time. I found it on youtube and have been sitting here laughing over and over as I keep rewinding it.

It’s “Rosine Like’s Balloons” Or as my brother and I call it “Rosine likes Balloonce & Lobstahs too”.

During random spurts through any certain day, you can hear my brother and I bursting out into this imitation. Driving in the car, out in the pool, or even just as we’re eating a meal. No we’re not children- he’s 24 and I am 35. But sometimes, you have to laugh.

I bring you my fave prank EVER:
Rosine Likes Blue Brown Balloonce & Lobstahs too….

Here’s the words… you can’t help but laugh:
Reciever 1: ***** Markets
Caller (Rosine): Do you guys..do you have balloons?
R:YeNo (kinda of inbetween yes and no)
C: Y..Y..You don’t have balloons?
R: You what?
C: You guys don’t make balloons?
R: Yeah
C: So can i order balloons from you?
R: No, you have to come in.
C: Do you have any lobsters?
R: Hold on one second… (Puts him on hold)
Reciever 2: Hello?
C: Hello?
R2: Yeah can I help ya?
C: Yes, I’m looking for ballons.
R2: Ok. What kind?
C: I like the balloons, the blue big brown balloons.
R2: Sure!
C: I like to blow them up and than let the air out..
R2: Oh, come on in and you can do that.
C: How many could I touch and lick?
R2: As many as you want. You can touch and lick em’ all.
C: I like those balloons those ballons are nice too.
R2: Whatever you wanna do man.
C: I likeded that shit we drink that shit.
R2: Whatever you wanna do bro.
C: I like to eat lobster too.
R2: Ok, you can eat lobster.
C: I used to eat… I used to order lobsters n’ shit.(R2: Yeah) And I wouldn’t eat that shit, I’d lick that shit. (R2: You’d lick it huh.) And then I slap-ded that shit right off my table. (long pause) That shit was good.
R2: Yeah.
C: I slap-ded that shit.. (R2: alright man see ya later.) Right. (Hangs up)
(Jerky Boys crew chuckles)

For those of you that follow me on twitter, you will remember my neighbor that I swear is a vampire.
For those of you that don’t these are her details:

• Suburban mom, late 30’s- early 40’s.
• Mom jeans.  (I swear she’s the one in the middle but uglier)
  

• Floral button down shirts that show NO curving whatsoever, leaving her body type to look boxy. Not even sure she has breasts.
• Short mom hair. Almost feathered in a Lady Diana type ‘do from the late 90s.
• Has dogs. Her main dog, is a miniature yorkie named Clementine.

Reason I believe she is a vampire: I catch her walking her dogs at all hours of the night. Roaming the hood no matter whether rain, sleet, snow, wind, lightning, hail, tornadoes or blizzards- she is out there with Clementine, walking her at various times through out the day- but mostly NIGHT TIME.

One night I got up to get a drink of water and to raid the fridge to see if some of that good stuff was leftover from dessert. I just wanted a bite- or two.
Anyhow, As I took a third bite of the goodness I look out the kitchen window and I see a dark figure standing in the shadows of the huge tree near my garage.  I gasped and then realized it was Clementine & her owner. We shall name her “Roberta”.
I see Roberta looking into the trees, talking to herself, and even Clementine. And then I swear, as soon as I saw her there- SHE VANISHED. The next morning I told my husband and he too had a Roberta sighting. AT 1 in the morning! On a completely different night!
I came to the conclusion that Roberta must be some kind of mystical creature from the netherworlds.

Now… on to why I believe she watches me.
This past Monday I sat in my yard with the kids as they swam and I read a book. Out of nowhere, is Roberta near my yard with a pamphlet in her hand. “Hi. I just wanted to tell you, my church has a weekly VBS going on. I would love to take your kids! It would give them something to do! My husband and I can swing by in the morning and bring them home at night! Think about it! Here is a brochure! It’s free!”

I sat there dumbfounded. First off, because what was VBS? Second- what makes this freak think I would let my precious babies leave with her and her creepy little husband who resembles Jerry Lewis, go with them anywhere alone?

Then I looked at the pamphlet- Vacation Bible School. What was she doing? Did she really just so happen to be waltzing down the street with her dog and a free brochure in her hand to give to anyone?

NO.

I know, I JUST know she saw me from her house, and what was she doing? Waiting to see me with a brochure held tightly in her fists. Panting and waiting to see me burst from my home and sit upon my lawn furniture, so she could throw the leash on Clementine and run down the street to hand me a brochure and try to get me to turn into a Jesus freak! Or is she even a Jesus freak? Was that all a cover for her to try to get my kids into her mom van and try to lure them to some secret gathering of mini vampires and turn them into one of them? Think about it… camping, trees, pine trees, vampires. Apparently sparkling vampires who climb pine trees are all the rage lately, so I am laying bets- that Roberta was trying to make my kids one of her kind!
Maybe Vacation Bible School is code for Vampire Beginner’s School!

Not this time, Roberta- not this time

Should I tell her next time I see her, that I am currently interested in practicing Wicca again like I used to? Or should I just tell her that I have garlic growing in the garden and to GTFO of my yard?

Thoughts?
Eyebrows?
Camel Toe?

Well… it’s me. That’s WHAT.
Not like anyone is reading. But I finally FINALLY am going to do this. I have things to write about. Life, Makeup, and Stuff!
I have videos to post, reviews to write, pictures and things to share!

So..

Get ready… get reaaaady!

I got a bouquet for Valentine’s Day.

A nice viral bouquet.

What’s a viral bouquet, you say?

Here is what you need to make a viral bouquet:

1 baby with a cough and head full of mucous.

1 six year old girl with a stomach virus.

1 three year old boy with a fever of unknown causes.

2 parents with sore throats and mucous filled noses.

Directions
Put together the parents. Make sure they feel horrible.
The six year old girl must poop in her bed and run to the bathroom while vomiting. Then you take the parents and make them clean up the poop and the vomit.
Add the baby with a cough and boogies and make him real cranky.
Throw in the three year old with a strange fever, that goes on and off for about three days. The fever must be of unknown causes, because he doesn’t have any other symptoms.

And there you have a viral bouquet for Valentine’s Day!

I don’t know where on God’s green earth we caught all this shit, but it’s quite lovely. The smells are just gorgeous.

Actually, I have my ideas on where everyone got sick. All I have to say is:

“IF YOU ARE SICK, AND PEOPLE SAY THEY ARE COMING OVER WITH THREE KIDS TO VISIT YOU, PLEASE TELL THEM IF YOU HAVE THE PLAGUE GOING ON IN YOUR HOUSE!”

How hard is that???? Ugh. Why did we have to go visiting people last week??

I want to hide my children in a bubble for the rest of the winter.

A nice sanitized crystal bubble.

I am going on very small amounts of sleep right now.

Lots of coffee and very little sleep.

You would think the reason for this lack of sleep would be my three month old.
But it isn’t.
It’s because of my Three YEAR old.

He has been going through some intense and strange changes.
I began thinking it was because of the baby.
But I am starting to think it’s more than that.

Like, he has ADHD more than that.
Or something else.

I can’t deal.

We don’t let him nap, and play with him, and cut his sugar intake and everything we can think of.
But come bedtime, we are fighting with him for over two hours to get him to stay down.
To lay down.
To go to fucking sleep.
And he won’t.

He is up every night, except for a choice few nights where we tried new things, but he soon got tired of those new things and is now up until midnight or beyond.

How?
How can a small child, run on such energy?
WHY?

How can he?
I don’t get it.
He gets up at 6-7 a.m. every morning with us.
He doesn’t nap AT ALL.

Granted, he wants to sleep after dinner time, but we keep him up. The one night I let him go to bed at 7:30 he woke up at 10 oclock wanting to play.

I CAN’T HANDLE THIS, PEOPLE. I AM AT WITS END.

A friend of mine suggested an herbal tincture in his juice, another friend told me to try letting him down for a nap in the early morning, and my MIL who had 4 kids of her own just says “I went through this with your husband. Him and his brother. I don’t know what to tell you.”
WHADDYA MEAN YOU DONT KNOW WHAT TO TELL ME!??
GODAMNIT! YOU WENT THROUGH THIS! HOW COULD YOU NOT THROW ME A FUCKING BONE!????
A CRUMB?

I am snapping.
At him.
At the cat.
At the carpet.
At everything.

The Baby on the other hand, slept from 9 oclock to 5 this morning.

I must have been really fucked up in another life. ‘Cause my ass is paying three fold and then some right now.

Goodnight.
I mean… well, Good day.

I have to literally leave in like 4 minutes to get my daughter.
To slide across a field of sleet and snow and fetch my youngen from school. Wee. I am so excited.

Anyhow, I must tell you that I do not recommend looking at victims of the tsunami. Please do not be as FUCKING RETARDED AS I AM, and become curious and click on that ever forbidden link posted on Flickr. Because when you do, you will see how fucking insanely wicked Mother Nature can be.

And you will have nightmares.

Bad mother fucking nightmares. Of bloated zombies. At the foot of your bed. Looking at you. No words spoken. Just looking.

Scary, huh?

Yea, I know. I am SO FUCKING STUPID.

Also, when a disaster of HUMUNGOUS PROPORTIONS happens and you are 3 months post partum, I recommend not READING ABOUT IT. Because it will trigger depression deeper than you can imagine.

Ok… more on my retardedness when I come back and IF I get a chance to go online, because my children eat my time up until I collapse.

Did you see Oprah today?
Did you?
I did.
I watched it while talking to my BFF Sissy.

I wanna be Bernadette from Starbucks. Know why?
’cause Bernadette from Starbucks, who has nine kids (3 being her brother’s kids, because he is on heroin and dead or something similar) and lives in the shit projects of Chicago, just got her kids a shopping spree of $15 K at Toys R Us. And oh yea, and also, Oprah got her that cute guy who does all of Oprah’s redecorating, she got him too. Well, not him, but for him to redo ALL of her shitty half broken furniture. Well, not to REDO it, but to REPLACE IT. And then, Oprah also got her, a NEW HOUSE TO PUT ALL THE NEW STUFF IN.

I told Sissy… I was gonna go and hang up the phone, because I was now going to go gimp myself all up, and then write Oprah a letter, and show her how I gimped myself up real real bad, and how all my kids walk barefoot in the snow to and from school while they get pelted with stones by people and squirrels and how they have pelting wounds from it. Also because we eat food out of donut store dumpsters, because we need to eat. And how we need our very own new house, with new appliances that people didn’t donate to me second handedly.

Well, all of that except the last part is false. I don’t own a house yet, Oprah, but I would like to. And throw one of them cars you were giving away like fucking CANDY, too. Please Opie? I will suck your left tit. Well, not really, but I will brush it with the back of my hand if you want me to.

I saw a live Bee Gee. And he was at Walmart!

I went with my BFF as she helped me escape all that is insane and hellacious in my household. She wisked me away for some shoppin’ at the Walfart.

We were walking up to the entrance we saw the back of someone’s head. In silence, we questioned to ourselves “is that a man? is that a woman? is that a human?” It was all mullet-like, yet very teased and swept around in a forward motion. Very stiff. Very 80’s. The mulletness was not so mullet like, though. We could not, for the life of us, put into words what we had before our eyes. I didn’t even have to look at Sissy, she said it for the both of us. “Whah– what the fuck is that?”

I giggled. She turned her head sideways, and we both followed it as it walked into the customer service area while holding a toddler.

I, could not take my eyes off of it, until I found closure. I kept walking, passed the happy cart lady and the people around me, oblivious I was even in the store. I was not going to stop looking. In fact, I could NOT stop looking, it had me in a trance. “Is it man? Is it woman? I am not sure!” I gasped.

Then we saw the side of it’s face, and it had facial hair. It was… it was a Bee Gee. We were not aware of this until later on.

We went on our merry little Walmart way. I bought shoes for Miss Attitude aka my six year old’s Xmas show. I bought a new bottle for Munson baby, and we stared at things that we thought were only available at malls. We then realized that Walmart was indeed the antichrist of stores.

After she treated me at Starbucks, another soon to be antichrist of things that were once good and wholesome, we were on our way home.

Our bellies full of coffee and marble loaf and seven layered pretty Opera cakes later, we discussed the Hairy Manthing:
“I can’t believe we saw that strange hair thing…” I said.
“Yea what the fuck was that!” said Sissy.
“It was like a strange puffed mullet thing…” I said.
“Yea, like a Bee Gee! it was a BeeGullet!” she laughed.

See here… Scary bee gee.

I am now going to go to sleep and have nightmares. Good night.

Oh yea, and I was the one that got the marble loaf. Call me Granny why dontcha?

Munson Baby is no longer that sick. Notice I said “that sick”, he has a little raspy voice, kinda like he is hoarse, and a tiny small cough. But nothing that bad :::knocks on wood:::.

Can I tell you that my son pee’s on me more than any child known to man? Yes, he does. I changed his diaper earlier today, I swear to you he cooed and he smiled as big as the ocean is wide, and he then pissed on me. He does this at least once a day. My older son, never did it like this. He pissed on me like 2 times as an infant.
Ryan will either be into peeing on people, or design fountains for a living. Or just be a really silly person. I swear he thinks it’s funny.

And with that… I share with you cute Munson photos….

“Hey baby… lemme give you some Munson lovin’”

how cute is this face?

I think his eyes might be blue, which means for once in my life, my genes let something other than shit brown take over my offspring’s eyecolor… keep your fingers crossed they stay this way, it’s like a trophy to me that my hispanicness was shoved aside enough to let a gringo take over the eyeball genes.

This face is so elfen I could eat it!

“My mom is irritating me with this camera bullshit.”

“Ok mom, that’s enough. PLEASE”

Here is me looking all pale and whatnot.
My friend Sissy said I looked “exotic” or some horseshit like that… ok, yea, whatever Sissy.
Try pale. If you look to the right of me you can see the angel of death in the background!
Just kidding.
But I guess, for almost dying of blood loss and having pneumonia and whatnot, I don’t look so bad.
I have “homemade shitty hair kit” cranberry streaks in my hair. Do not adjust your TV sets.

By golly gee, kids, I would say, that I am almost back to my old whorish self! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!