Test: Snub Girl B. Fail.

Oh, she's good.

Girl B called and invited Savannah over today. And Savannah wanted to go. So, I said yes.

I feel dirty.

I'll write more later. Plus, maybe I should give you the dirty detailed back story this time. But, I can't right now because my mom is on her way and she just called and I totally lied and said I just got out of the shower when really I haven't even brushed my teeth and now I just washed my face with what I thought was a sample of face wash, but was actually eye cream.


Your Father and I Talked About It and You Can Read This Post

Oh my God. Did I say I wasn't going to talk about money? Because I'm totally about to talk about money.

Chris would kill me if I advertised what I have in my bank account, so I won't. But let's just say it rhymes with smeventeen dollars.

I know. I'm too old to have smeveteen dollars in my checking account!

But, we're trying so hard to pay off these credit cards. A little too hard it turns out because 'hi overdraft! I see you! ' (He loves a good game of peek-a-boo. When you least expect him, there he is, that little rascal!)

And yesterday? I paid $156 so Savannah could sign up for the vaguely named "Keyboarding " class. One hundred and fifty-six dollars for 6 one hour lessons with a frillion other kids learning how to play the keyboard. Which seemed like a good idea until Yvonne pointed out that couldn't I buy a keyboard at Target for like fifty bucks? And what is keyboarding anyway? I'm pretty sure all the little rich girls around here have private piano lessons, not keyboarding at the Y. (To which Yvonne responded, as only she could, "Eff pianos! Keyboards never go out of tune, so up theirs!".)

What's even more hilarious is when I told Savannah the GOOD NEWS in the car, I took it very serious (I turned off the radio and everything) and I actually said these words "Your father and I talked about it and you can take keyboarding".


It wasn't until I was relaying this to Yvonne that I realized how ridiculous it is to confer with your husband about freaking keyboarding. But, these are the times, my friends. Me and the U.S. Treasury. We're not so good with the budgets.

So, Yvonne and I both got a little hysterical until Yvonne joked (but I think she was mostly serious because...smeventeen dollars!) that maybe I should look into giving keyboarding lessons. You know, once I figure out what it is.

So, if you see a link go up on my blog that says "Ask Me About Keyboarding!" "I'm a Keyboard Specialist! You Can Too!", you should just click on it. But fortheloveofgod be sure to talk to your husband first.

In other non-news, I have absolutely nothing of interest to report about last night's Back To School Night. Girl C was not there (gosh, I hope it wasn't amoebic dysentery!), but her friend Girl D was and she was more than happy to do Girl C's bidding for her with a complete snub. And even a husband to husband snub. (Bonus points!) Because everyone knows that a good husband should snub his wife's friend's ex-friend's husband.


Exactly. Ridiculous.

I know I shouldn't care about people who hate me (especially because according to Lena's mom "they're just jealous" because, you know, I'm "so pretty". This might hold more weight if she hadn't started using this in the 7th grade. Those bangs tell a different story, mmm?)

And it's not even like I'm interested in them liking me. I'm just curious about what "hating me" looks like. What does it wear? Where does it go to lunch? Does it fall if I trip it? You know, the usual questions. And then I'll see the Mean Moms enjoying each other's company, appearing completely innocent and I'll think hmm, so that's what hating me looks like. Flip flops and an Old Navy tee. Good. To. Know.

I assume I pay attention because I'm hoping to catch them eating babies under a bridge so I can go "Well! No wonder you hate me! You're obviously a lunatic!" instead of the seemingly harmless plaid shorts, pony tail, and easy laughter which have me all confused. Plaid shorts normally LOVE me!

I don't get it.

Anyway, the highlight of last night was that I overdressed, sweat like a pig in the humid classroom, and then broke my shoe on the slide (don't ask). All in all I consider it a success. Plus my daughter made the cutest paper owl to end all paper owls. Oh, and I learned that everyone loves her and she has lots of friends.

I just hope those keyboarding lessons don't go straight to her head.


Let's Call This Post "Thoughts After Three Coke Zeroes"

I really hate confrontation.

But, not in the same way normal people don't like confrontation. I don't like it because I'm afraid I won't win. It's not that I'm afraid that I'll hurt someone's feelings or burn a bridge or say things I can't take back. I'm afraid they might not walk away haggard going "damn, she's good". (Being married to me doesn't only empty your bank account! It also comes with the added benefit of my furrowed brow in your face saying things like "Nice try, buddy. Why don't you save that one for your next wife.")

Anyway. My stomach is in knots right now because I mailed our 30 day notice last Friday and I am just waiting for that phone to ring. The owners are not going to be pleased. Even though we have every right to leave, I'm afraid they'll threaten to sue us for breaking our lease.

I really don't like being in this position. Renting someone else's house. Taking care of their plants, their plumbing, their floors and windows and walls.

It's like very, very expensive house-sitting.

This is the perfect time to interject a story. (A story within a story! Like Russian nesting dolls!) So, my 10 year old nephew - who lives in the Bay Area and, bless his heart, has parents who made wise investments which have allowed them to have a house and also a vacation home - was visiting when we first sold our house and rented this one. I'm pretty sure this was his first exposure to a renter. At least in it's natural habitat.

My nephew was sitting in the kitchen where my mom and I fixed him breakfast and when I left the room he eyed the cereal I had served him and whispered to my mom "Do they own these spoons?".

Don't you just want to spread him on toast and eat him?

Anywho. The renting after owning thing is a little pride-swallowing. Especially because we're in an area where I think renters walk around with big question marks over their heads. Everyone wants to know their "story". "What happened?" the neighbors ask cringing, "Was it a short sale? Foreclosure? Did you get one of those fancy adjustable loans?".

The truth is, what happened to us last year was a precursor to what was about to happen to the entire country. And I'm still very proud of us that we went about it the way we did. We didn't walk away. We didn't give up. We fought tooth and nail to get our house sold and get the banks every dime we could.

But, we've already discussed that now haven't we?

I also feel the need to explain that we are in a much better position now financially. We're slowly recovering, but seeing as Chris and I are both still in real estate, I think coupon clipping is our new normal. And I admit I am still having some trouble wrapping my brain around that.

Although, I have discovered THE secret to cutting your grocery bill by 70%, people. If you're serious email me and I will share the website but I'm not going to just hand out this gold, ok? And if you shop where I shop then I'm a little worried about telling you because IsweartoGod if we both go for the last 4 boxes of Cheerios I will rip that Buy 4 Get 1 Free coupon from your hand so fast, you have no idea. Nothing personal. Coupons have become somewhat of my dirty little secret around here.

And I do mean dirty since Chris keeps asking me when I'm going to be "1/2 off".

Anyway, about the house. So. Remember how much I loved this house when we moved in? Well, it was really the view I loved. The house itself, it quickly became evident, is in major disrepair. In 12 months, guess how many floods we've had? Five! In one year! And guess who cares even less than you probably do? Oddly enough, the owners!

Five major leaks have forced me to call the owners, who promptly show up, slap some glue on the pipes and head back to their million dollar home with a smile. And the language barrier is so not helping (they're Chinese). Every time I greet them it's with clenched teeth and an unhappy face.

"Another leak" I'll say all piss and vinegar.

They grin back.

"A-noth-er leak" I'll repeat slowly a tad less pissy now.

And by the time I repeat myself five times so that they finally start nodding and saying "Oh, yes! Another leak! Yes!" I find myself grinning and my own head bobbing enthusiastically along with them. As if to say yes, yes! This leak is the best one yet! Do you have more, you think?

So, they may be surprised to get our 30 day notice and find that flood water doesn't, ahem, float my boat after all. I'm sure there will be some not so nice words. I just really am hoping they're not in my language.

The upside is we did find a new house - smaller, cheaper, cuter, drier - and I'm hoping for YET ANOTHER new beginning there. I'll have 2 jobs instead of 3 (slacker!) and my own office to write (am going to be super blogger updater!). Plus, the floors are hardwood that awakens a special place in my heart. A place where brown tile and crappy linoleum have been hanging out and eating all the snacks.

So, yes, yet another move is on the horizon, but this one feels so right. A fresh start. And who isn't in the mood for some more moving boxes jokes? Those never get old.

Speaking of old. And moving. I'm going to see The Mean Moms tomorrow night at Back To School Night. (That's right, I said it.)

Or what I'm sure will be referred to as "Back To Hell Night". Or "How We Manage To Ignore Lena Even Though She's Sitting In a Tiny Classroom With Us Night". Or "How Loud Can We Laugh With the Teacher While Glancing at Lena To Make Sure She Notices Night". I'm maybe considering bringing my camera to take some not so flattering pictures.

It should provide excellent blog fodder at best. And a restraining order at worst. But, what else is new?


Here's a Hint: I'm Girl A

What better way to kick off my return to the internet than with a word problem? Guess what age

…oh my God, I just had to interrupt this entry to run outside and yell to the garbage man “you’ve been paid!” so he would stop and take my cans. And I shouted across the neighborhood like this “No! No! No! You’ve been paid! Come take my cans!” as I waggled my finger at him in Target pajama pants and no bra. And then as he was backing up I did the “hand phone” thing with my thumb to my ear and my pinky to my mouth. I was trying to tell him to call the office to confirm my payment, but he gave me this weird look and I think he thought I wanted him to call me?

Anyway. Back to my word problem. Guess what age group we’re talking about here:

Girl A meets Girl B. Girl A likes Girl B. Girl B likes Girl A.

Girl A meets Girl C. Girl A likes Girl C. Girl C wants Girl A to die in a fire.

Girls A, B & C try to be friends, but not really since Girl C says things to Girl A like “You should get into acting. They don’t only want pretty people.”

Girl C doesn’t want Girl B to be friends with Girl A anymore. So, Girl C makes it her mission in life to exclude Girl A and sabotage the friendship Girl A has formed with Girl B. For an entire school year.

Girl C spreads rumors about Girl A and begs Girl B to dump Girl A. Eventually, Girl A has enough of it and demands Girl B stand up for her. Girl B claims to be “afraid” of Girl C and cuts off friendship with Girl A.

Girl A is hurt and angry.

Girl C is thrilled.

Go ahead, guess. Who acts like this. Five year olds? Six? Seven?

No, try 42.

Forty year old women act like this! Women 20 years out of high school! Mothers with daughters who have NO PROBLEMS with each other.

Did you know this was going on at school? Why did no one warn me? Behind those Gucci glasses and underneath that Garnet Hill cashmere wrap is a nasty little wanna-be prom queen ready to write on the bathroom wall of your psyche.

Savannah is thriving in school and yet I feel like someone is taking a cheese grater to my face every time I have to interact with these bitches. Chris says to just kill them with kindness, but I just can’t seem to get past the killing them part. Is that wrong?

Oh, well. What Girl C doesn’t know is that Girl A has a blog. And a camera. And Girl C has a big photographable ass. So. There. Stay tuned for that display of maturity.

In other news, I’m 31. I know, I know. Where does the time go? I’m getting so big so fast. (Seriously, I am. It’s amazing how much weight you gain when you’re not putting pictures of yourself on the internet anymore.)

Turning 31 was actually a breeze. I have no idea why. I guess because so much aging happened overnight when I turned 30, that by the time I turned 31, I was just relieved to see that while the pencil does stay nicely tucked under my sagging ass, a magic marker has nothing on me. Victory!

So, I’m happy to be back in the blog saddle. I have missed you guys terribly and it feels fantabulous to be writing again. Projecting on my friends with long winded and witty emails has been getting tiring for them I’d imagine. I leave you with this.

Upcoming Posts and Their Working Titles:

I Have Hair Where?

Are You There Bankruptcy Attorney? It’s Me, Lena.

I Kicked a Girl and I Liked It

When Good Beach Playdates Go Bad

Why My Knees Make Me Cry

It’s Always Fun Until Someone Finds Mold and Breaks Their Lease

What I Know For Sure…About Oreo Pies

101 Rumors To Spread About Another Mom (I’m taking suggestions on this one. For research, people.)

As you were.


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