I think I like not working, even if I'm so sick I can't hold down food.

After experiencing LA, it makes me really wish I was just rich and didn't have to work. Most people think they would get sick of it, but I can say with extreme certainty that I could stand lounging by the pool and having a tv extra/actor named Jonathan as my server, bring me pitchers of mimosas while I survey over the pool and entertain those lucky enough to be close to hear our charades.

I would just live in a cabana at the W everyday.
They do have Truffle Mac and cheese with fried chicken, which, we may be the only girls in La who order such a fattening dish when surrounded by hungry anorexics.

Also staying at the Wilshire Hotel, they have a rooftop pool, smaller than the size of my old pool in GA, but barely larger than the bathtub in the room.

There are a million skinny girls here, but most of them look drugged. I can comissurate as I haven't been able to keep food down since arriving. I actually lost weight even with the booze I consumed. I think it's the real LA diet and understand why Kristen Stewart looks so bored. She cannot eat.

Yet the cast of characters are amazing and fun to people watch like maybe no other place.
I never imagined myself to be a west coast girl, but I "love the Bay just like I love LA."

So I went to Los Angeles...

And had everything gone smashingly and people would have spent less time running interference for my vagina, there would be some pretty badass pictures and videos to share with you.

But alas, the only one smart enough to make videos of herself drunk, in the bathroom of the club was my cousin Sam, whose ramblings about a "date rape douchebag" who she was sure was feeding us GHB were hilarious.

We arrived in LA late Friday evening and had an hour for four women to get ready. Our room looked like Hiroshima after that and never truly recovered. I brought along a dress I had ordered and long since it arrived, I decided I would not be wearing it, as my vagine was longer. But a funny thing happened on the way, and after I tried on all the options, the crotch baring dress was selected for me by my trusted comrades. At that very moment, I thought we were all just going to agree that we would not try and fight the valiant fight to keep my dress down, since it moved up to belly-button level each time I moved. I just put on some spanx and pretty panties and was ready to "rock out with my cock (ahem, vagine) out.

For the rest of the night, everyone who walked past me pulled my dress down...even total strangers. I still find it funny but slightly disappointing that no one wants to see my crotch anymore. I was apparently hell-bent on it happening, so I am told (I really was GHB'd, bc I have no memory of the end of the night), and I somehow managed to drop my non-26-34-36 inch frame like its hot AND PICK IT BACK UP, multiple times while making out with a tree. This was in between singing for a "music producer" and then sealing the deal with a good ole booby flash, all whilst trying to find Ryan Phillipe and Channing Tatum, who were there.

My grand finale for Friday was when I couldn't get my spanx back on after using the restroom, and so I carried them out, sat on the bench at the entrance to the bar, and tried to resume putting them back on IN PUBLIC.

I swear I only had like 3 drinks that night, but when I woke up Saturday, with one eye rolling lazily open, and down...I realized I was wearing a red dress and pj pants, which was not the dress I had been wearing the night before. I silently crossed myself, turned over, and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I was in bed alone. Sam woke up to a text from a dude named "Sef" who it took multiple attempts for me to grasp she was saying "SEF" and not the urban slang pronunciation of "Seth". It was actually SEF.

Maybe the best part of Friday night was how I fell about 200 times.

Look, I'm not small. I'm not all rolly-fat, but baby got back, and side and thighs that could strangle a man. So if I wear heels when I'm drinking, at some point or multiple points in the night, this ass will end up on the floor. Or so, as it happens, laying out the table, a la Chris Farley style, in a van down by the river.

With my vagina out.

I will tell you about the rest of the weekend later this week. And at the end of the telling, I will include a photo collage and maybe SAMs "date rape douchbag" video. Look forward to it like fireworks to end the evening at Dianey World.

No, I didn't die. I went to Canada instead.

So I've been a bad girl.

It's been about a month since I blogged last, mostly because I've been insanely busy at work, ninja-fighting allergies, sickness and general lethargy, and then I had to go to Canada for a week for work.

My boss gets Australia...co-worker gets Uruguay...Keri gets Canada.

And not even somewhere unfamiliar...I got Toronto, which I've already been to a million times. It was f-ing cold. And now, I am sick again.

It's also been a month in which everyone I know seems to be going through a crappy patch, and it stresses me out. When I get stressed, I lose my sense of humor and tend to space out.

Emotional Turmoil ADD, I like to call it.
I also don't like to be touched when I am super-stressed. It feels like knives and is very unwelcome.

However, I have had good news in my life. I got a nice bonus (or will get), I can successfully fit into SOME of the dresses that I bought for my trip to LA (which is a huge achievement since they were made for 12 year old, androgenous bodies, and I would say "my body is banging". Yes, I have a little extra meat, but I'm looking pretty good. And therefore, feeling good.

It's also a year that I've been in California.

Shocking. It's been the fastest year of my life. But I absolutely love living here. The only thing I would change would be my commute...but maybe I will be able to find a place closer to work at some point, especially after my kids are done from high school.

I am so excited about my trip. I lost it for a few days after returning from Canada and feeling like I was going to die. I also unpacked my suitcase the day I got home, which for me, is a sure sign of illness, as my suitcase usually remains full for at least a month after I return from any trip...items randomly picked out as needed. But I know I am going to have to start packing for LA, NJ and PA-my 3 places, 3 purposes in 1 week extravaganza!!!

LA is just a fun girls trip. I cannot freaken wait, and totally hope I see some celebs. Because things like that matter to me. However, with my luck, I would only see someone like Taylor Swift or Kristen Stewart...two celebs I want to bitch-smack.

NJ is a retreat between chaos to one of my BFF's (who I call Waif) abode...a venture into "Lil Italy", where the hoagies are delish and her cooking is amazing. Visiting Waif is as comforting as going to grandma's, as she is very nuturing and helps me figure out my life's issues. I think of it as "a soft place to fall".
I will probably gain 20 lbs while I am there, which I lost mostly for LA.

Then off to PA I go...on a train, offically using all modes of transportation. To my family. And two pregnant sisters in various stages of pregnancy. My first plan is to get a "sister picture" with me in the middle, because it's probably the only time I will ever be thinner than either one of them, let alone at the same time. It's like stacking the deck. lol.

So, that's my month in review and the fun that lies ahead.

I'm ready to break it down.

-K

Total Transformation of your child is BS

I keep hearing these dumb commercials about ordering "The Total Transformation" for your unruly teen.

I call BULLSHIT.

When I was in 6th grade, and decided I was done doing homework, my parents bought a program with videos called, "Where there's a Will, there's a Way".

The problem was, there was no will. What 6th grader really gives a crap??? So I looked at it, thought, "This is gay" and told my parents good luck, I hope they would learn something.

I have a nagging feeling that were I to present this "Total Transformation" to my children, they would pretty much give me the same reaction. And I would almost be disappointed if they didn't.

Teenagers are a pain in the ass. They are built that way...a steaming ball of hormones and hostility. It's just the way it is. If you have kids and think that you will have any more control over them than your parents had over you, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it ain't gonna happen.

Maybe it's because I am not far away from my kids in age, and I have fresh memories of being a teenager, because somewhere in my head, I think I still am.

But you put your head down, and you get through it.

Andy and I actually find it very funny when they act like total jerks, especially when they start crying because they are mad we said no. If you're going to cry about it, then you are absolutely not mature enough to do what it is you want. And we told our youngest that next time he throws a two-year old tantrum, we are going to video it and slap it on YouTube, and then tag him on Facebook, so that all of his friends can see what a baby he is.

Alternative parenting 101, Step 1: Peer Embarrassment Works

I don't play games. You do wrong, you do chores. I believe in using their bad behavior to create less housework for myself or Andy. If I have to listen to whining, then at least I will have freshly mopped floors.

It's how the universe rights itself.

Bedazzle your vagizzle...

So, I get my eyelashes done, albeit not regularly..due to my laziness during time off.

I was looking them up online to get their phone number, and found the actual website to the company. So as I was browsing their lines of eye services, I noticed that "bedazzling" was one of the options.

Which spawned the following conversation between Andy and I...

Me: "I wonder what all they bedazzle? Just eyes?"

Andy: "What else WOULD they bedazzle?"

Me: "I don't know, maybe they vagazzle too."

Andy: "What the hell is vag-azzle?"

Me: "Some people get their FUPA's vagazzled. Mostly, porn stars or strippers, I would assume. People aren't going to put rhinestones on places that aren't frequently viewed."

Andy: "I didn't even know there was such a thing. Do men get it done?"

Me: "I can't imagine a large male clientele that would dazzle their crotch...maybe the gays, or a nudist colony for a fancy event, but what would they get? A butterfly wouldn't be appropo for a man, even if he was gay."

Andy: "Maybe a snake? Can they do balls?"

Me: "I don't know if rhinestones can stick to ball skin. It's like chicken skin with the feather holes freshly plucked. Maybe a crown above their little king? I could see men believing their penis deserved crowning."

Andy: "Well, if they COULD do balls, maybe they would just coat the whole thing in rhinestones."

Me: "Well that would just look like a double disco ball. And I am NOT shining a flashlight on it to glisten up the room."

Yes, this is an example of why he is my best friend, and why we try to work through the rough times, because who else can you have discussions like this with?

The Sweet Life...

I've had a very tiring past few months. I keep wondering when things will slow down.

Have you ever noticed that nothing in life seems to match up perfectly?

You meet someone and like them, but they are in a relationship. Or vice versa.

You have money to travel, but no time.

You get all your work done, and then there is a major crisis that someone else has.

Sometimes, it feels like all work and no play. Or sometimes, you are too tired for play, and just want to lay around on a soft bed and watch mindless tv.


I watched Skyfall last weekend. I am not a huge fan of Daniel Craig playing 007. I prefer Pierce Brosnan. I know that I am in the minority, as Roger Moore and Sean Connery are usually top choices for the role. Don't get me wrong, I love Sean Connery, but I like older Sean Connery. When he was younger, his ears looked really big.


I am planning a trip to LA for a weekend in April. I just want to get away somewhere. And since I am down 25 lbs, and starting to fit back in to my clothes, I found some very hot dresses for the occasion. I asked my cousins to go. I've had it on my bucket list since they were like 10 and I was 20, that when they were old enough to drink, we'd go somewhere fun. I am very close to them. Now they're old enough, and I realized, I am soon going to be 34. I don't want to go out with them when I'm 40 and cougar-ish. Better take advantage of my semi-youth before it floats away like my 20s did.

What do I do?

For the most part, I feel as though I am living life. Because I am not emotionally entangled with my husband. I love him. As a brother.

Ah...that poses a problem when you're married.

See, my heart is coated in more tombs than Napoleon. Sure, I've had my heart broken before. But it was different. This time, it knocked me unconcious for a year. That's a year I can't get and don't want back. I find myself terrified by the thought of ever becoming in love with anyone ever again.

I've lived by myself. Or, rather, by myself with kids. And I was fine. Except the normal desires, but not able to do anything about it, because I was married. SO I coped.

I was happy being alone.

I am not afraid of it.

I am much more terrified of being married. I don't want to share everything. I don't want to give away those inner emotions.

I can be a great BFF. I can make someone laugh. But I can't have sex with my husband.

I could probably have sex with someone that doesn't matter to me. Which, again, poses a problem when you're married.

I want to stay married to my husband for everything except the sex part, and that means I am not open to being in love.

WHat's worse, is I don't want to fix anything. I want to just do my own thing and ignore it.

But its not working.

Because at the end of the day, it's not fair to either one of us. But he refuses to see that. He just wants me. It's the first time in my life I just don't want to be loved by a man. I just want to be friends. Because its far too painful, and I feel like I've given up so much of myself for him, to save him, that there is just no energy or motivation left for us.

I don't really want to talk about it in marital counseling. But I said I would. To a point. The point where I need to stop because I am feeling that lack of control over my emotions.

There is no answering the question I just asked.

There is no "what do I do?"

No one can answer it except for the two of us.

We are "strange allies with warring hearts" as Dave Matthews so poetically wrote in "The Space Between". I just wish I could leave him waiting for me for when I am ready again. But emotional purgatory is worse than hell, yet we've both suffered through it for almost two years.

I guess I will ignore it for another day.