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 according to David Arquette… all Latina women are nuts:

Fox’s morning co-anchor Steve Doocy asked David for his opinion about Judge Sonia Sotomayor, President Obama’s nominee for the Supreme Court. David replied: “I think Latina women are, I mean, it depends on the woman, but I think they are very, they have great judgment, but there are some that are just nuts. I’m just saying.”

Hmm… and then he was chased by a raving funnel cloud of Latina’s with knives, wire clothes hangers and “palitos” taken from their gardens. While whipping their weapons loudly in the air you could hear them chanting “Vamos a matar la idiota Arquetta!”… David Arquette was then beaten to death with a single blow to the head by a zapato, most likely a red heeled one, from the foot of one hot saucy Latina wearing a tight red mermaid styled dress.

Her name was Maria.
She wore a flower in her hair.

I kid.
I wish we could all beat him senselessly, just to show him how nuts we can be. And we wouldn’t be wearing no mermaid styled dresses, either.
Try dickies, man beaters, and Doc Martens.
Fucker.

He supposedly apologized for his asshat of a response:

“I would like to issue an apology for the comments I made on Fox and Friends. My intent was to be humorous and not offensive,” said Arquette, who has been in New York City this week raising awareness about U.S. hunger.

“I have nothing but love and respect for Latina women and women in general of all cultural backgrounds. What saddens me most is that it took away from the issue of Hunger in America, for which I was on the show to begin with,” he continued. “I work in a pantry in Venice California with a Hispanic women named Delpia (who has been feeding people at St. Joseph’s Center for 29 years) and she is my personal hero. Having been raised in Los Angeles I have grown up with a deep and profound love for the Latino culture.”

All Latina’s still think David Arquette is a douche.

We apologize for nothing.

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.

Tis Summer Season.
Season of sun.
Season of heat.
Season of {insert dramatic sound effects here} SUMMER VACATION FOR MY KIDS.
Season of…
NO SCHOOL.

No more free time for me and the 4 year old.
No more lazy, relaxing, chill time.
No more.

Now my house is covered in insanity from the moment I awake until these tiny heathens go to sleep at night.

I have to remind myself, summer used to be one of my favorite seasons.
Fire flies.
Crickets.
Warm breezes.
Beaches.
Picnics.
Sunshine on my face.

So I will survive. I will.

Right?

My friend Madeline and I were giggling a few weeks back over this video. I can’t figure out if the actual video makes me laugh like a maniac, or the fact that the owner of this video felt so compelled to add porn-like music to a video of his cat rolling around on a rooftop.
All sorts of wrong. But it makes us laugh and it’s a must see.

I am a huge Oscars freak. Ever since I was a tiny gal growing up in the slums of Mumbai… I would hold a shampoo bottle in my delapitated bathroom mirror and pretend I was winning an Oscar while wearing my mother’s torn bed sheets and say an acceptance speech. Well it ain’t a shampoo bottle anymore, is it?

Ok, ok. You caught me. I took parts of Slumdog Millionaire’s synopsis and part of Kate Winslet’s acceptance speech and made them part of my own. But seriously, I have loved the Oscars since I was a tiny brat. I would watch it every year with my mom or dad and I would wear my mom’s satin red bedsheets, and a pair of her high heeled shoes. I would carry around a hair brush and interview my stuffed animals or my parents. The year that E.T. lost and Ghandi won,  was severely earth shattering for me. My dad told me that “diapers are in, aliens are out” for that particular year.

I love every part of the awards show. From the beginning, to even the horrible awful long drawn out acceptance speeches from some short film documentarian, to the outlandishly insane musical numbers, to the wonderful parts of the end- the best part- best actress, actor, and best picture.

I watch annually. It’s my super bowl. So my husband knew if he didn’t stop playing his Xbox on our flat screen that I would whine and throw a baby fit from our bedroom the entire night. So he was kind enough to put it on for me and even watched some of it with me! Thanks baby! What a nice husband you are.  It was also our 12th anniversary of meeting, so I think he was just being extra nice to me

Anyhow, from the red carpet “OMG what is she WEARING! EW!” to the ending night of best picture, I watched it in it’s entirity, this year. Here are my post Oscar 2009 raves, faves, utter disappointments, funny moments, WTF moments & so on.

Red Carpet, Gowns, Men’s Fashion:

Many of the gowns of the night consisted of strange origami-type folds. Me no likey. No likey at all. The dresses would have been fine and elegant with just one or two little folds here or there, but it looked like some of them had a hard time WALKING IE: Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood.  Amy Adam’s dress was a beautiful red, but those strange black lines at the bodice did not appeal to me.

If the gowns did not contain folds from space, they contained too much rufflage. Penelope Cruz for example. Or Miley Cyrus anyone? (WHY WAS SHE EVEN THERE???? The fact that my ten year old daughter adores her is enough for me to wince at, but she was at THE OSCARS. Ugh…) Too much ruffle, or even- too much sequins, lame or just plain fug. All in one in Sarah Jessica Parker’s dress. Sarah, please don’t bring Matthew with you anymore. The man looked like he was miserable and rather be bathing in acid. Yeesh.

Makeup? Oh god. Alot of it, was either too washed out, or too much. Reese Witherspoon looked like a skeleton. Gaunt, and in need of a porkchop. Someone told her she looked hawt, but she was nawt. Someone also paired her navy blue colored dress with her eyeshadow. No highlighted brow or anything. Just ALL NAVY BLUE. Again- she looked skeletal, in need of a hearty meal.

Did I like anything? Of course! I actually loved the elegance and dapperness (is that a word?) of THE GOLDEN COUPLE: Brangelina. He looked sophisticated. She looked elegant. All in black both of them, but with their own touches of color. Angelina had gorgeous emerald earring droplets that added great color against the black. Her hair was simple, wavy, flowing, beautiful. I also loved Josh Brolin and Diane Lane. Again, simple, elegant.
Oh and let us not forget Mr. Mickey Rourke. A lot of people said he looked like a pimp gone mad. I thought he brought his own style (an example was his locketed picture of his beloved Loki, his doggie that died this week) and how refreshing was it that he wore WHITE? I liked it. So sue me.

The Awards Show Itself in bullets

• Huge crystal droplet curtain things. Gorgeous. Me liked.
• Five of the past winning Best Actors, Actresses etc. coming out and paying the current nominees respect and words of praise. Me liked.
• Basically the entire stage settings with glamorous sparkles that reminded me of extravagant shows of yesteryear paired with cool visual effects on back dropped screens. Me liked a lot.
• Hugh Jackman. Me liked. Did a decent job hosting.
• Hugh Jackman singing a huge overdone musical number with Beyonce. ME LOATHED. WHY WAS SHE THERE? I wish she would stop trying to sing “At Last” as if it was HER own song and not Etta’s song. She reallllllly needs to stop that before Etta delivers a beat down on her.
• Heath Ledger winning Best Supporting Actor. Me cried. His family accepted the award for him. His sister saying “for his Matilda” made me tear up. You could tell there was not a single dry eye in the audience.
• Eddie Murphy looked high.
• LOVED the Pineapple Express bit. Oh how I love Seth Rogen’s comedic self and James Franco. The part where they are laughing at a clip of Kate Winslet while she was crying was hilarious!
• Sophia Loren was hot with her cleavage.
• Goldie Hawn needs to accept she is not 30 anymore and wear something age appropriate, do something with her hair and stop getting plastic surgery before her face splits in half.
• God, I do not like Nicole Kidman. Does she wear the same thing every year? She looks so BLONDE. And washed out. And PALE.
• Slumdog Millionare won so many times I lost count. But it seemingly deserved the award- marking that one on my “to see” list.  Those kids were adorable. I wanted to adopt them.
• Sean Penn won for Milk. Me liked. But I wanted Mickey to win. Sean’s a decent actor, but he forgot to thank his wife Robin. Who has dealt with a lot of his midlife crisis bullshit this past year. Come on Sean! WTF?
• Loved Alicia Keys dress and makeup. She presented with Zac Efron. I don’t like his hair and make up- he he.
• Kate Winslet won best actress and said some cute things about a shampoo bottle and being little pretending she had won. Her dad whistled. How adorable.
• Slumdog Millionare won best picture. Ok good. I can deal with that.

All in all it was a decent show this year. Despite some of the scary clothes, makeup and bad musical numbers.

Below are my faves and not so faves of the red carpet:

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!

Did you hear about Paris Hilton’s cell getting hacked into over this weekend?

Not that you would care, neither did I. But, my husband was reading one of his Sports boards and they had a link to the site that had the numbers and email addresses. Interesting. I was giggling.

Eminem? Giggle! Vin Diesle? Giggle snort! Ashlee and Jessica Simpson? Giggle snort guffaw!!

Many more actors and actresses, Benny Medina, Mr. Iovene. Some interesting people. I wish I coulda jotted those down. Because today when I came back on they were gone. DAMNIT! DAAAAYAAAM!

Not that I would call Eminem. What would I say to him? You are washed up? I heard your peter was small from some chick in the Enquirer? Or what about Jessica Simpson? “YOU SUCK ASS HAIR!”? What would you say to these people? And then there is the fact that you are invading someone’s privacy.

I mean, they are people, too. That must have sucked. I heard they all got about 300 to 400 calls in one day. Eminem and Vin changed their numbers. And one unamed actress screamed “Why would she put my phone number in her cell phone!?? I mean come ON!??” I dunno, unnamed actress. All I know is, if anyone meets Paris “spoiled brat” Hilton, don’t give her your phone number. Or email address. She is careless.

I wonder… in there, there was a code name for someone.
Who the fuck is Eggplant Dike?
I guess we will never know.

I have vowed to stop cussing so much.

My friend had her kids over today, and all I could do to stop saying FUCK and MOTHER FUCKER and all that goodness, was really hard. I even slipped. I think she wanted to smack me.

My mouth is dirty. Like John Mayer says in his song Comfortable.

” She says the bible is all that she reads and prefers that I not use profanity…. your mouth was, so dirty.”

Even though, my first intitial thought was she had a dirty mouth because she gave good head, or because she needed to brush more often.
I soon realized he meant she was like ME!
She cussed like a FUCKING SAILOR.

So, yea. I need to not cuss so much.
Because I have three little kids.
Like my friend.
She cusses, but she cusses when it’s us, and we are having fun while having a drink, or when we are acting like FUCKING lunatics driving around in the snow trying not to go back home.
Where we SHOULDN’T CUSS.

Example: her youngest son, runs into my middle son, and we laugh. Because it’s so cute as they collide and are falling to the ground and are in pain. Just kidding. No pain. Anyway we call her youngest the baby rhino, ’cause he is so cute and rough when he hugs people, and my middle son is just taking these hugs and falling to the ground and wincing and laughing in half pain, half hilarity.
So, I,  I go “OMG HOW FUCKING HILARIOUS!”
I caught myself like SEVENTEEN HUNDRED TIMES today.
I am turning into TRASH, PEOPLE.
I dunno if she caught me, but if I did.  SHE did.
And I feel bad.

I need to say words like fecking, farking, freaking and effing, or darnit and shitzui. And stuff.
Or GOD- not even that stuff.

I am a horrible mother, people.

I need to stop cussing.
And also, because, I caught my three year old son, calling his Doctor Octopus action figure an asshole the other day.

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 need to give you a real quick explanation of my relationship with my Grandmother from Puerto Rico, before I go on any further.

It’s non-existent.

She decided to “kill me off” in her mind back in 1999. For whatever reason, she had never really explained. She is half cracked in the head. Never was completely there. And from what my mother tells me, there is a HUGE history of depression and “cracked nuttiness” on my maternal side of the family.
THAT explains a whole fucking lot.
Thanks for telling me this AFTER I HAD CHILDREN, MOM!

Just kidding.

Anyway, when she came to Ohio back in 2003, I decided to call her up at my uncle’s house where she was staying. To try to make amends of our “situation” and to FIND OUT WHY she had decided I wasn’t worthy of her.

Know what she said to me?
In Spanish and really mean?
“You are dead (MUERRRTA) to me. You are no more to me.” and she hung up on me.

She had never seen The Boy, and knew I almost lost him during a very scary pregnancy. That he only had a 50/50 chance of survival in my womb. That I was on bedrest for a majority of that pregnancy (in 2001).

But yet, didn’t give two shits that she was now IN THE SAME STATE as we were and that we were living TEN MINUTES away from where she was staying. Didn’t wanna see him or The Girl (Munson wasn’t born yet, remember this was ‘03).

She just told me I was dead.
Muerrrta.

So, I went through a sort of grieving process where it was like she died.
And I cried, and I remembered her when I was little and how much she meant to me.
And then, then I let her go.
I had closure.
I let her go.

Me and mom talk about her and my grandfather- (oh yea, he called me like five minutes after she hung up on me and said “this is probably the last time we will talk in our lifetimes, I love you, goodbye.”)we talk about them in past tense. It’s kinda sad. But, hey. Shit happens.

On to what I was gonna say about today and why I am talking about them, in particular- her evil ass.

My aunt had stopped by today, to drop off some job openings and numbers for my mother (because my mother is sinking into a deep depression I can tell. I need to help her. No matter what.)… And when she was leaving, I gave her some little wallet photos of the kids.
My aunt goes ” I will have to hide these from your uncle. Your grandparents have been asking him to sneak them a picture of your kids so they can see them”.

WHAA?

I started laughing. I said, “please hide those, he will send them and I don’t want evil eyes laid upon my babies heads”.
She said she would put them in her cubicle until my uncle’s obsession about sneaking pictures subsides.

Then, she said- “that woman wouldn’t appreciate them anyway. She bitched to him back in 1999 about how you sent her CHEAP AND HORRIBLE pictures of The Girl for Christmas that year. She said something about how you are so cheap you took the baby to K-Mart for Christmas photos….”

I about gasped.
Double Whaaaa????

THAT IS WHAT SHE IS HOLDING A GRUDGE AGAINST ME FOR?
FOR FUCKING PICTURES I SENT TO HER OF HER ONLY GREAT GRANDCHILD AT THE TIME?
REALLY?
BECAUSE I was “too poor” to go to a fucking PROFESSIONAL photographer and have them take her pic?
HOW FUCKING SICK IS THAT?

So then I told her… “Know what! Tell Uncle Vinny I am gonna SEND HER SOME SPECIAL PICTURES OF THE KIDS.” She gave me this look and grinned.

“Mari… no, you are not going to, are you?”

I smiled and said “for the old grandbitch, I am going to dress them in clothing too small, with dirty faces and barefoot in the mud, and then send her a fucking 8X10 and tell her I had them professionally taken just for her. I mean after all, wouldn’t you want to see pictures of your hillbilly assed great grandkids before you died?”

I know if I was an evil old grandbitch, I would want to.

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.

I went to bed last night instead of staying up. I was exhausted and I figured… if I went to bed early, I could arise early with the Munson munchkin (the baby) and we could play on the computer early in the wee hours before the savages awoke.

Well, me and Munson munchkin (the baby), awoke this morning. Early. And we came out here to watch some news and drink milkies. And for mommy to have a cup of coffee. And for mommy to change diaper and to change her own diaper because she is bleeding like a fucking stuck pig ( is it because I got my tubes tied? WHAT THE FUCK?). And then, mommy cleaned the turtle tank. And then mommy cleaned some more shit. And then by the time mommy decided to sit down and play her new games that daddy bought her (SimsCity 3000, SimsGolf, SimsAmusementpark and SimsRollerCoaster) …then…

THEN- THE OTHERS WOKE.

Why?
Why do they crowd me?
Besides the fact that it is winter and they have cabin fever.
and are small.
and the fact they need a mother.

WHY COULDN’T THEY JUST STAY ASLEEP ONE FUCKING HOUR MORE?

I can never play on the internet or have an actual FUN diversion anymore because I have three kids.
Because I loved sex so much that I thought it was sexy to have three kids.

I want The Girl to go back to school. NOW. I don’t care about walking in ten feet of snow to get her there, I JUST WANT HER TO GO BACK.

I also want The Boy to go TO school. He needs stimulation in the form of something other than television. He is way too whiney and I often wonder if he needs either medication or just to go to school. He may need both, I don’t care, I just want him to stop WHINING.

I don’t care about taking care of The baby. The baby is easy. He coos and smiles and poops and pees and drinks milk. So what. I can deal with him.

I have come to the conclusion recently, that I love babies. I looove looove loooooooove babies. It’s when they grow up and can talk and bicker and whine and be loud and be bored and stuff… that I don’t like them.

Can I trade my kids in?
No, seriously.
What about that pony I talked about in earlier entries?

To tell you guys about my special Christmas present. I remebered while reading Love Spells about my own special gift.

For Christmas, after everyone opened up their presents, I went to the bathroom… and I got my period.

MERRRYYY RED BLOODY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.