It’s a job I’d LOVE to go back to. Something I could see myself doing again after the kids start school full-time.

Well, I did want to go back..until I had this experience:

I was at work, back producing a shoot. Everyone was on set and I was sitting there with the hottest male model I have EVER seen in my entire life…and considering I was a model for twelve years and a producer for two I’ve seen a lot of hot male models. He was young. He was lithe. He was dark-haired with hazel eyes. He was muscular yet lean, firm yet soft, and masculine yet sensitive. Plus, he had an accent.

You know how us girls feel about accents, right?

I was trying my hardest to be professional, but he would have none of it.

He kept trying to seduce me. His come-ons were bold and fearless, and I could feel my resolve weakening with every passing breath.
After a while I just couldn’t find the strength to resist his advances any longer.
We had mad passionate sex in the make-up room.

It. Was. HOT!

After we were done we decided that we had to shower before everyone came back from the shot they were working on for fear that we’d be found out.

I mean, who doesn’t sense when the hanky panky has just been committed in the make up room?

We hopped into the tiny studio shower together and immediately got to lathering, trying to erase all vestiges of our misdeeds.

As we were towelling off the client walked in.

I managed to get myself dressed in lightning speed and then walked over to the photographer’s assistant (who just happened to be someone I’d had other similar dalliances with in the past) to see the shots. He gave me a strange look and then motioned towards our client who was fast approaching.
The client, rather harshly, announced that we were wrapped for the day…then she came over to me and said, “Thanks for your work today, Sue. We won’t be needing you anymore.”

Off to the side I heard the male model saying, in his distinct yet unplaceable accent, “Ah, but you will be needing ME tomorrow, yes? You can not live without me, can you? You know I am the most beautiful man and you can not make successful picture without me, yes?”

So, after the frustrating realization that I’d been fired over a guy who was a total arrogant douche, I woke up.

As in, I literally woke up.

In the meantime, you won’t find me perusing career builder anytime soon. But you may find me napping.

Today is the day you’re supposed to go through your pantry and make use of all the stuff in there before you fast for Lent.

In England (and some other countries) this meant that you had to use up all your flour, butter, milk and eggs, and the best way to use them up was to make up a big batch of fluffy pancakes.

I love England.

Anyway, you guys all know I’m not religious, but I grew up eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday and it’s become tradition that I’d sooner give up Bravo programming than go with out.

Since having the kids I make it a mission to go take them out for a pancake lunch, and today was no different.

Julian had his with strawberries and whipped cream, Zandi had hers with butter, maple syrup and chocolate chips, and I decided to go with the classic Crepes Suzette. We were lucky enough to be close to a new place we’d not patronized before and the food was DEEEEElish!

Before we went, I’d had to pick them up from school. Usually I get Zandi first and then we run to Julian’s class together. When we entered Julian’s class his teacher told me that his forehead was feeling a little bit warm. After I’d strapped them into their car seats and was adjusting my own seatbelt we had this exchange:

“Julian, why are you feeling so warm?”

“I don’t know, Mommy. Maybe because I need to shave my beard?”

You know what I love almost as much as England and pancakes on a certain Tuesday in March?

Non-sequiturs.

Take today’s gem for instance:

Undeniably believe that which you stated. Your favorite reason seemed to be on the web the simplest thing to be aware of. I say to you, I definitely get irked while people consider worries that they just do not know about. You managed to hit the nail upon the top and defined out the whole thing without having side effect , people could take a signal. Will probably be back to get more. Thanks

This was sent to me by someone at superiordonuts.com.

One thing’s for sure, they definitely have a firm grasp on some greasy balls of dough.

Today is a different kind of day, however, and I”m going to take a stab.

I’m annoyed at the GOP. You all know I’m a lefty, I mean, what else could I be with two European parents and a Canadian birth certificate? But, I’ve dated enough bankers and business people in my life to understand the fiscal arguments of the right (well, some of the fiscal arguments…ok, maybe only two).

Today I read this article posted by a friend on Facebook this morning and it got me thinking (never a good idea) about how the GOP seems to hate women and children. Maybe I’m beginning to drink that specific Koolaid because of their recent attempts to shut down Planned Parenthood and their bills in some states that could make having or providing an abortion punishable by death.

So, I think I have the answer to all of this. And, it is something that the GOPers could really get behind (and no, it isn’t that cute young bell hop in the next stall who’s tapping his foot).

I think we should have a law making it ILLEGAL for all MEN to engage in ANY heterosexual sex unless they agree that they will provide for the potential life their ejaculations may create.

I mean, it takes two, right?

If they are convicted they will either be sent to a privatized jail or they will have to perform community service for 30 hours a week AND have 50% of their regular FULL TIME income garnished to either pay for the child that was produced or pay for MILITARY spending if no child came of the encounter.

Women are the inarguable bearers of all thing reproductive related. Why not shake things up a bit and force men to take an active role in the decision to get down and dirty. I’m sick of the “Women don’t take enough responsibility for their own actions” argument. It’s bullshit and every politician who has ever stuck his penis in a woman out-of-wedlock should realize it’s bullshitedness too (I think that pretty much incorporates all of them, right?)

See, the GOP will be happy about the privatized jail bit because it won’t be funded by the tax payer, and they can invest in jails and turn a profit on these types of convicts. The GOP also loves all things military so any money going towards killing innocent people, oops, I meant defense is all good by them. And, finally they can all enjoy financial gains by investing in Trojan if this bill is passed.

Ok, rant over and issue solved.

Next problem?

“Mommy? Today, when we go to karate, can I take my shirt off?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because, if there are girls there I want to show them all my HUGE GINORMOUS muscles!”

Don’t worry, I’ll remember to bring the smelling salts for all the fainting girls.

It is possible to faint from laughter, right?

This latest one was literal however.

You see, I wanted to simplify my life a bit, but, if you know me then you’ll know that anytime I try to make my life easier I somehow do the exact opposite.

Like, how I’m trying to downsize our living situation so that we have one abode instead of two. That got me cursing at inanimate buddha’s and pleading to real estate god’s via Facebook friends. That is NOT simple.

In this current case, I decided that going to the gym would be much easier if I could just wash my hair there and walk out without having to style it…which takes forever….and requires products…and a hair dryer….hence shclepping…which I hate…but only because I don’t employ a sherpa and therefore would have to do it myself. Yuck.

So, anyway, I went to my hairperson with a request to give my hair enough of a wave that it would look pretty freshly showered, non-producted, and blow-dryer free. Well, hairperson reminded me that perms were OUT and straightening was IN. I tish-toshed and explained that I like my natural waves, but only wanted them amplified a bit and that if I wanted straight hair I could use a curling iron.

Hairperson begrudgingly complied to my request.

The problem?

The result made me look like a sheepdog who’d got it’s paw stuck in an electrical socket.

Not quite the look I was going for.

*sigh*

At the end of the day, I’m not one to freak out over hair. I mean, it grows, right? If you’re not happy with it, it’s not like you’re stuck with it forever or anything. And, anyways, I have a very full and long history with ruining my hair. There was that orange incident in High School around Hallowe’en, the purple incident when I was modeling (I think the clients are STILL trying to recover from that one), the mullet incident when I was trying to acclimate to my new southern locale, and the multi-coloured incident where people were forced to assume I was trying to be Punk without having to give up the comfort of my Bass Weejuns.

Yeah…so there’s that.

Back to the current incident; it wasn’t looking good for me.

When in doubt, hack, I always say…so hack I did.

It all started innocently enough. A few layers to ameliorate the fried ends…a few more to give it shape…a chop at the bottom to even things up.

The culmination of all these little “fixes”?

Um.

Well.

I-uh.

Oh lordy I hope my hairperson doesn’t kill me.

I am now sporting that cut of cuts…that style of styles…that anti-fashion institution known as SOCCER MOM HAIR.

*children run screaming in every direction*

*Blue haired old ladies faint from the shock*

*My dear husband’s blood runs cold*

Yup, I have only myself to blame. Me, the soccer-momdome’d woman who’s children have never set foot on an actual soccer field.

I wonder when little league try-outs start.

Oh, you want to see it?

Ok, but don’t go bringing this into your hairperson and say, “Whatever you do, do NOT give me this” ok? Promise?

Ok…here you go

Psych.

Here it is for realz:

Ok, I gotta go. I hear they’re having a special on Mini-Vans today.

It just doesn’t have a high efficacy rate.

Come back next time when I discuss the dangers of using a roto-rooter during a manicure.

The real estate market is not co-operating at the moment and it’s making me crazy.

Not like, ha-ha crazy, but really certifiably insane.

Last weekend we had a showing. My parents were in town to help me out after getting Lasik (this is purely a disclaimer to any wierd typos in this post – I still can’t see for shit) so the night before the showing I had an idea.

We were going to pray to Buddha. Not just any Buddha, but specifically the one who lives with us. Well, his head does, anyway, I’m not sure if he ever had a body. He’s three feet high, made of metal, and sits on the ground beside our stairs.

He’s gorgeous.

Anyway, I informed my mom of my plans and she gave me that look…the cock-browed look of a mother trying to figure out how she went wrong with her child. I keep telling her to stop giving me that look or her face will stick like that.

So, here was the plan; I would gather up the family, offer up some gifts to Buddha, force everyone to kowtow before him, require everyone to touch foreheads with him and kiss him on his sweet cold nose.

By the way, I’d had wine. Not that it would have made any difference…I’m pretty sure sobriety woulndn’t have changed the course of events much. Except maybe for the slurring, but whatev’s. Doesn’t everyone slur when praying?

Eventually, I cajoled everyone down to Buddha’s cozy little spot with his spectacular view out a big window to the twinkling lake in my backyard (it twinkles because of the Nuclear Power Plant…not because of the sun). I brought the gifts and placed them before him: a bowl of uncooked brown rice (for his health and hunger), a Thomas the Train flashlight (in case he ever got scared in the dark), a couple of quarters (so he’d be able to play some pachinko), a pencil (so he could take notes about his life here and share with his shrink), and a box of soon to be out of date instant Thai noodles (do I really need to explain that one?).

With the entire family on their knees (or standing up…and trying to quietly escape) I asked that we all start with an Om in unison.

This is when I start wishing I’d taking audio.

Anyway, so, with the cacaphony of five different pitched Oms in the background, I led the prayer…which went something like this:

“OmmmDearBuddhaWhoLivesInOurHouseAndWhoWeBoughtInAFurnitureStoreIn

GodOnlyKnowsWhereFor75%OffOmmmm.

OmmmmPleaseAcceptTheseGiftsWeLayBeforeYouOmmmmmmmmmm.

OmmmmTheMoneyWillHelpYouPayYourBillsAsLongAsThey

Aren’tTooHighOmmmmmmmmm.

OmmmmTheRiceNeedsToBeCookedBeforeYouEatItOr

You’llGetABellyAcheOmmmmmmm.

OmmmmmThePencilNeedsToBeSharpenedTooButIDidn’tHaveA

SharpenerHandySorryAboutThatOmmmmmm.

OmmmmmTheFlashlightDoesn’tWorkAtAllButLookHowDamnCuteItIs

AndIShouldWarnYouThatItIsKindaStickyOmmm.

OmmmmIHopeYouLikeInstantNoodlesOmmmmmmm.

OmmmmmmPleaseDearBuddhaAccpetTheseGiftsAllWeAskInReturnIs

ThatYouHelpSellThisGoddamnedHouseOmmm.

OmmmWhenThePeopleComeToSeeItTomorrowPleaseWorkYour

VoodooMagicOnThemOmmmm.

OmmmmThankYouOmmmmI’mGoingToKissYourNoseNow

OmmmmMwuahOmmmmm.”

Then, everyone kissed his nose and bid him goodnight.

After that, everyone decided to keep their distance from me for a while.

The next morning I awoke early to get the house all show-ready. I kissed Buddha again on the nose and asked how his night had been and if he’d like an Alka-Seltzer. I think he intimated in the negative, so I cleared the gifts from in front of him and got on with the day.

The house is still on the market.

That fucker didn’t even try to help out.

My mom pointed out that maybe he actually likes it here….and I can accept that.

We have another showing today. I just asked all of my Facebook friends to pray to the Real Estate Gods for me.

I wonder if Real Estate Gods like instant Thai noodles?

You see, we kind of chintzed on the kids’ Christmas presents because, uh, well, because they’re young and really don’t know the difference. However, I was starting to feel guilty giving Julian an art project from the $1 bin at Michael’s and Zandi some Hello Kitty socks from the same priced bin at Target. I decided it would be a wonderful experience and great present if I took the kids to Build-A-Bear and got them each their own personalized teddy bears.

I should know from my “inspired” ideas.

Anyway, we got there and the kids absolutely loved picking out their animals from the vast array of selections. Zandi chose a cute pink bear and Julian chose an adorable Abominable Snowman bear and then they took the empty shells over to the bear maker chick for a good stuffing. They both really got into the part where they had to breathe “life” into the hearts that get sewn into each bear and couldn’t believe they were able to choose their own sound chips as well. Zandi settled on a cute laughing voice while Julian couldn’t resist the one that played the theme from Star Wars.

So, the bear maker chick (BMC for those in the know) went through the whole process with each kid, helping them bond with their new stuffed friends, and making the entire experience precious and sweet. She really deserves way more than minimum wage. Anyway, they were almost done, having sewn up the bears and done the whole bear-bath thing (gotta love a good gimmick), when she asked them what their bears were going to be called so she could prepare their birth certificates (I couldn’t help but remember the days of Cabbage Patch kids when she mentioned that). Zandi excitedly piped up that her bear would be called Pink Waffles after Julian’s favourite teddy, Waffles. Julian took his time with the name. In fact, he first went over to the clothes and picked out the outfit for his Yeti bear: an Ewok costume.

So, just to re-iterate. Julian picked a bear that looked like a Yeti, stuffed him with the Star Wars theme sound chip, and then dressed him in Ewok clothes.

You should be able to guess what this bear’s name was to become.

Right?

Did you get it yet?

Remember; Yeti bear, Star Wars theme sound chip, and Ewok clothes.

Any ideas?

Well, OBVIOUSLY, he named his bear Princess Leia.

So, Julian is the proud and loving owner of the first transgendered Yeti Ewok in the history of Star Wars..or the world for that matter.

Mark my words, one day my kid will be giving speeches to very important people. Very Important People….like Bear Maker Chicks about the importance of having an open mind and a closed bear.

“Mommy, I’m so glad you let Daddy put his penis in your vagina so that I could have Christmas this year!”

In the mean time, all I want for Christmas is two Advil and that memory eraser thingamajiggy that Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones had in the Men In Black movies.

The Advil’s for me.