Hooters, children and me being the greatest parent that ever lived…

Yesterday was the last day of my children’s freedom, and incidentally the last day of my imprisonment.  As I counted down the dwindling hours of winter break, I was also counting down the hours till my head was going to stop throbbing and my voice would sound human again (oppose to a hissing, barking, and squealing-female version of a prison guard type of a voice).

So, I decided to reward my boys with a lunch at Red Robin (mainly because I had a coupon) to celebrate their last day of vacation!  Even though they didn’t seem to appreciate my goodwill and sarcasm about the whole thing, they still agreed to go.  What a tough life!  Poor little children being taken out to lunch after having endured two weeks of fancy shmancy activities, trips, restaurants and who could forget not one but eight nights of Hanukkah.  Next year, I already told them that they will be taking a little trip to Skid Row for the holidays; and later I will re-wrap their already played and forgotten toys for Hanukkah.

After being seated along with the many other Moms who had the same exact idea, I tried making conversation in between Atari’s Breakout and NimbleBit’s Tiny Tower; yes they are over Angry Birds and Plants vs. Zombies or whatever the hell their names are.  Let me tell you, it requires some serious mad skills to be able to carry on a conversation with your Mother while building a whole condominium at the same time, and don’t get me started on those pesty little people walking around needing something every ten minutes, the alarm on Tiny Tower is the most annoying thing I’ve ever heard in my life, right next to a child crying and whining at the table next to me while I’m trying to enjoy an ‘Adults Only’ dinner.  Why is it that its perfectly alright for the child to throw a fit in a public place, but it is NOT alright for me to come over to it and smack it on the head?  My theory is if the child’s parent isn’t going to do anything about it, that clearly means they want other adults to do something about their annoying child’s behavior.  You with me on this?  Good, moving on.  Oh wait, one more thing before moving on…  As my Father likes to say quite often, “When I was a little boy in Lithuania (FYI, we lived in Latvia, but that’s not the point) if a child ever talked or cried in public, any adult was allowed to come up and shut that bastard up!  End of story.”  Alright, so I added the last part from myself but you get the point here.

Somehow I managed to get my kids’ little eyes away from their iPods long enough to have a five-minute dialogue about our adventures in Florida back in the day.  Specifically, my oldest wanted to know why I took him to a ‘HOOTERS’ restaurant in Orlando one day.  His words: “Mom, I just don’t understand.  I was only like 7 or 8 at the time!  Why would you think it was appropriate for me to see girls in very short shorts and boobs everywhere serving me food?  If I wanted to see that, I’d stay at home and look at you.”  First of all let’s get something straight, I’ve never in my whole life worn short shorts or shorts of any kind.  My idea of shorts are pants that come up to my calf, I believe they are called ‘Mom shorts’ a.k.a. Capris.  Second of all, I have never until that day been to a Hooters restaurant, nor have I heard much about it.  Sure I’ve heard the name, but didn’t know what it was about.  Believe me, as soon as we walked in I realized it was not your typical place to eat.  Maybe we stayed because I was curious, and maybe it was because we were both starving and the other closest restaurant was not close by.  After explaining such to my twelve-year-old, he seemed pretty satisfied with the answer and immediately after went back to destroying aliens, or building a house for them, not quite sure which one.  After a minute, he looked up and added this interesting fact: “It’s OK Mom, I am not mad at you.  Turns out most of my friends have been to Hooters with their Dads anyway, so it wasn’t just me that was put through that torture.  And to tell the truth, I like girls now so its OK.  Let me know if you’d like to go there again.”  Oh thanks son, make me feel like the worst parent ever, then reward me with that little announcement…

My six-year-old caught wind of ‘boob talk’ and decided to chime in, specifically wanting to know where there’s such a place with girls in short shorts and boobs everywhere, and more importantly why I’ve never taken HIM there?  Oye, how can one brother be so different from the other?  One is all about the rules and structure, and the other only wants to have a good time.  Boy I sure hope the older one doesn’t find out about my new tattoos, there is a lecture I’d like to avoid.  Last time it only lasted a week, who knows how long this one will take…  I plan on keeping a shirt on whenever taking him to the pool, beach and anywhere else that requires a swimsuit.  Stay tuned for that conversation, I am planning on recording it…


Angelina Jolie’s tattoos

As I looked at pictures of Angelina Jolie’s tattoos, I couldn’t help but want to get some more of my own.  The longitude and latitude ink of her childrens’ bithplaces looks so neat on her arm.  But not wanting to be a copy cat, I thought of putting actual names of cities where my kids were born.  I started to write out Laguna Hills, California in a really neat font.  Somehow Orange County just doesn’t have the same ring to, oh let’s say Namibia, Africa or Cambodia, Vietnam.  Maybe if I make it ITALIC?  Nope, still looks stupid.  How about BOLD, ITALIC and in RUSSIAN?  Nope, can’t really spell out Laguna Hills in Russian.  And it still looks idiotic, almost as bad as a dolphin tattoo on a blond bimbo’s ankle.

Why oh why couldn’t I had my children in a foreign and dangerous place?  Why couldn’t I orchestrated and calculated such cool far-away places with neat sounding names, for some awesome looking tats later?  Darn it, I just wasn’t thinking.  Would it have killed me to get on a plane to Ethiopia a week before I was due, and have my baby in a jungle?  Sure it would, but think about how cool my tattoos would have been!  I could’ve picked up a couple orphans while I was at it too.  Sure I don’t have the millions that she does, but she swears she doesn’t have a Nanny or help of any kind for her fifteen children, just her and Brad!  Not only would I have gained a baby daughter, but again think of all the cool longitude and latitude I could put on my back!

In conclusion, adopting kids from far away lands makes for some awesome body art!

The Real Housewives of Orange County are back!

I am ecstatic to say that the Real Housewives of Orange County are back on television!  Of course when I say ecstatic, I mean that in every sarcastic way possible…  Can’t you just feel me rolling my eyes when I write this?  Not only are they back for a brand new season, but this time they did some house cleaning.  If you haven’t seen the first episode Sunday night, let me paraphrase the episode.

First of all they got rid of all the brunettes on the show, with the exception of one hot, Brazilian, lesbian trainer, but she doesn’t count.  All the so-called ‘housewives’ are now your standard issued California blondes, with breast implants bigger than most watermelons, Botox-contaminated foreheads, and yes they are still calling themselves ‘regular’ housewives.  How can they continue calling this show “the housewives” when all but one of the women are either divorced or single?  Shouldn’t it be “The Real Divorcée’s of Orange County”?  Or “The Real Pathetic Middle-Aged Single Divorcée’s of Orange County”.  That has a much better ring to it, don’t you think?

Second, when the show first started the women were fairly behaved.  In this case, fairly behaved means they only resorted to verbal abuse with each other, however this season is looking to be a much more bang for your buck.  If the first episode is any indication, we are in for some incredible cat fights, binge drinking, stripping, and of course lesbian shenanigans which I am pretty sure is the only reason my husband decided to tune in this year.
As much as we all love to watch a train wreck happen, this show is particularly worth watching.  If nothing else, one will learn the proper use of a Nanny, like when your three children are under the age of two you must use three Nannies at all times, but as they get older, two Nannies are sufficient.  Another great lesson is when one files for divorce, you have to wait at least a week before jumping in the sack with a new suitor.  Anything less will be viewed as trashy.
And my favorite lesson of all: whatever you do, do not get pink tattoo of your husband’s name, it is the hardest color to remove.  You are better off sticking to the traditional black or blue ink.  Also, don’t get matching tattoos with your spouse because it hurts like hell getting them removed.  You are much better off getting a tramp stamp of a flaming sun, or a beautiful dolphin on your ass.

This show makes me feel so much better about my life.  I hope this serves as a bit of a guide into a sensational franchise of idiotic television.  Happy watching people!