Thursday, May 28, 2009

This Kiss

Oh no, you guys.

I am pretty sure I have developed an allergy to my MAC Lame Lipstick. And it's pronounced Luh-MAY, by the way. Let's not make jokes about the name at a time like this. This is serious.

So I think I am allergic. Because my lips are red and swollen and itchy and feel like they are on fire. Which is not really a bad look for me, except the itching and the feeling like they are on fire part. That pretty much sucks. But I have to be honest when I say I kind of like how the allergy has plumped them up and given them a little more depth to their natural pinkish color. Especially when I add the lipstick. Which is a pinkish/goldish/brownish and I just realized sounds completely hideous but is really awesome in person. Trust me.

And I know it is awesome because the guy behind the MAC counter at Nordstrom in Orange County, CA said so when he sold it to me. His name was kYle. Spelled just like that on his little MAC name badge. I don't think that was his real name. But his makeup was fabulous. kYle truly knew the secret to blending his shadow. He was an artiste. I am still in awe.

Anyhoots. I have been wearing this lipstick for nine years. NINE YEARS. And my lips just now decide they don't want to take it anymore? And do you know how difficult it is to find the perfect shade of neutral pinkish lipstick that does not make me look like an old lady on her way to her bowling league? I have dark hair, light eyes, fair skin and freckles people. The perfect shade of lipstick is so essential to a girl like me.

And this is the SECOND brand of lipsticks my body has rejected. Not to mention how certain perfumes smell like skunk and/or rotting beef as soon as they hit my skin. Or how Mango Mandarin lotion from Bath and Body makes me smell like an alcoholic on a three week bender.

What is going on with me? What is my body going to reject next? Egyptian cotton? Chocolate? Or (GASP) . . . Diet Coke with Vanilla???

Oh. My. God. If it gets to that, I do not want to go on. Someone please promise to put me out of my misery. I beg of you. Where, I ask you! Where is the quality in a life without Diet Coke with Vanilla??

I think I need a sedative. And also, medicated chapstick.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Listen Here, Goldilocks

I have issues.

And I think there is enough evidence in the archives to your right to prove this, if for some reason you are new to the party and sitting there saying to yourself "What? Issues? April, what are you talking about? You seem like a lovely girl with an amazing personality bordering on perfection!"

Yes I know. I do give a fab first impression. But clearly, I have issues. Here's how I know:

Someone at work adjusted my chair.

Somebody, some person, sat in my chair and made some adjustment to suit themselves, to suit their height and body and comfort level and did not even stop to think that A) this was not their chair to be messing with in the first place, and B) they were only temporarily occupying that chair and should not be concerned with their own comfort level for a TEMPORARY situation, and C) it is NOT their chair!! Geez, People!!!

And the worst part is, I can't adjust the chair back to where it was! No matter how many times I change the height, move the back support, adjust the slant of the seat, it just doesn't feel riiiiiiiiiiigghhht!!! And it's making me super grumpy.

I even briefly toyed with the idea that maybe it was not my chair. Maybe some inconsiderate dirtbag person switched my chair with my neighbor (accidentally) and didn't realize it. But alas. That is not the case. It is my chair because it has the little green dot sticker on the bottom. That I totally did not put there. I swear it was already there when I got the stupid chair. But I am totally stealing this idea for all items in the future. Some kind of identifying mark so I will know if someone has pilfered my stapler. Or some other office supply. Ahem.

But messing with another person's chair is crossing the line in an office environment! I don't like change. I don't even like it when Ubes drives my car and moves the seat back and messes with the height of my steering wheel. And he knows this! Yet he keeps doing it because he thinks it's funny to watch me wig out over it.

But it's so not funny. And I am not amused. And I want to find the person who sat in my chair and I want to beat them to a bloody pulp.

So yeah. I have issues. I'm aware. Anger management may be one of them...

Saturday, May 23, 2009

A Summertime Plea.

Okay Peeps, let's talk.

It's Memorial Day Weekend and somewhere along the way someone important decided this was the official start of the summer season. So you know what that means? Time to dust off the barbecue, slather on the SPF 50 and whip out the white pants and the flippy-floppies.

But there is one more essential item that some of us seem to be forgetting, and that is the very important issue I would like to discuss with you today. So please, let's make sure I have your full attention at this moment.

Are you ready?

I would like to talk to you about Deodorant.

Since when did it become acceptable to skip this part of our hygiene routine?? Because a lot of you are skipping it. Oh stop shaking your head and pointing to your neighbor. I am talking to you. Yes, you - bag boy at the grocery store. And you, lady in the yellow shorts in front of me at the dry cleaner. And you, man in hideous Hawaiian print shirt who sat next to me at the movies today. You stunk worse than Terminator Salvation. And that is saying a lot.

What is the deal here people? This is not Europe. Where people are laid back and cool and free to smoke anywhere they dang please. This is America. Where people are uptight and selfish and worried about their personal space. We believe in designated smoking areas, SUV's and undergarments. And most importantly, DEODORANT.

So please, I am really curious here. Tell me why? What is your aversion to wearing this wonderful product that keeps you from singeing the nose hairs of those around you? Is it the possibility of the aluminum leading to Alzheimer's? Because you can buy an aluminum free product. I've seen them in health food stores and stuff. Okay so who am I kidding? We all know I do not frequent these places. So maybe I haven't actually seen aluminum free deodorant in a health food store (or the inside of a health food store for that matter), but I have heard that places like this sell it. And I am pretty sure your local Walgreens does, too. Besides, I for one am willing to take the risk. Seriously. I would rather forget everyone I know than smell bad. I am that shallow.

And you should be too. Because you stink. And obviously I am the only person on the planet who cares enough about you to be honest and tell you the truth. But more people would care if there was not that barrier of stench around you. I promise.

So I beg of you, stop offending the noses of those around you. Please! For the love of all that is good and holy. Invest in a little Speed Stick!

That is all.

(However, next week we might discuss the matter of your breath. Just lettin' ya know. Be prepared. Thank you.)

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

What's the Haps?

It's the middle of the week and I am already exhausted. And I have to work Saturday so I get cheated out of a three day weekend. So not cool!

Here's how my week is going so far....

  • Satan got suspended. Good. The principal was very nice and supportive. And Ubes was on his best behavior considering he went in to talk to her ALONE. And I was all sweating and feeling sick that I wasn't there to keep him calm. And I was so afraid I was going to get a call to come bail him out of jail. But nope, he handled it like a pro. But to be honest, I am a little surprised we have not heard from Satan's parents. I am just saying that if the shoe was on the other foot and I was raising an angry, violent, demon child, I would certainly call the other parents and apologize. At least acknowledge that it happened and that I was doing what I could to keep it from happening again. My only hope is that they are just too embarrassed. I sleep better at night believing this is the reason.
  • Monday night I managed to obtain a second degree burn on my chin from . . . and I am so embarrassed to tell you this . . . but know that you are my closest and dearest friends and will not judge me . . . ahem . . . pizza cheese. I know, right? What a totally embarrassing injury for the fluffy girl. The only thing worse I guess could have been death by choking on a chicken wing. That is so not the way I want to go out. Can you just hear all the people clucking at the funeral? "I told her she needed to lose some weight and eventually it would damage her health and look what happened. Such a shame. And she had such a pretty face."
  • Tomorrow Ubes and I celebrate 15 years of total and legal chaos. If I had to do it all over again, I would still totally pick him instead of all those other guys who begged me.
  • Only 107 days until my cruise to Jamaica Mexico! (And I know there are people out there reading this going "Why does she think Jamaica is in Mexico?") I am totally thinking of adding a widget counting down the days. Because I know how much I love it when people keep reminding me of their upcoming awesome kid free vacations!

Peace out Peeps!

Monday, May 18, 2009


There was an incident involving Mac at school today. The principal was kind enough to leave me a message on my voice mail.

"Hi Mrs. Uberman, this is Dr. Principal. I had the opportunity to meet with Mac this afternoon and I wanted to take a moment to discuss this meeting with you. Mac is not in trouble, but I do wish to share a few things with you. Please feel free to give me a call . . . ."

She had the opportunity to meet with him? Is her degree in PR or what?

Apparently another kid, we'll call him Satan, picked a fight with my Mac because Mac's kick ball team was winning against his team during recess. He charged my son and began choking him. Mac wears a silver chain with a cross around his neck, and the chain broke as a result.

So Mama Bear is NOT happy. Don't you even think about messing with one of my cubs. I don't care if you are a nine year old punk. I will bring you down!

I am so upset. I am one step away from that scene in The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, where crazy nanny threatens a kid on the playground. "If you touch her again I will rip your (expletive) arm off and shove it down your throat." If I had the phone number for the parents, I would be calling them. I am not totally against egging their house either.

So now Ubes and I have to go to the school first thing in the morning and play good cop/bad cop with the principal. And guess which cop I get to be? Yes. Good cop. Which sucks because nobody likes being good cop. And it's so not fair. The only time Ubes ever wants to be good cop is when we are trying to get the kids to clean their rooms. So not cool.

Mean little kids suck. Is it wrong that I am not averse to hiring the school bully to steal this kid's lunch money and rough him up a little?? No?

Saturday, May 16, 2009


Okay peeps, it's been a rough week. Both of our boys had huge projects due at school this week, meaning we were up late three nights in a row completing them. Our daughter graduated preschool, meaning I spent that whole night crying and wondering where the years have gone. The Arcadia door in our upstairs office just shattered out of nowhere one afternoon due to the house settling, meaning our builder SUCKED at doing what they were supposed to do - which is BUILDING. And all kinds of crap is hitting the fan at my work, meaning I can't discuss it with you but so very badly want to because some people are just so fantastically diabolical you just have to wonder how many soap operas they watched as children.

Soooooo, I am taking the easy route and sticking with a meme for the day. I saw this on several blogs this week and it looked like fun. And you know how much I love giving out my opinion and talking about myself and all.

And here we go....

The perfect outfit: For me, anything that fits well and doesn't make my ass look so big. For work, I have this gray suit with cuffed pants and super cute swing style jacket that I wear with a purple camisole and these wicked awesome black high heeled shoe-boots with a super pointy toe. I heart myself in that outfit. And for casual, I love these long khaki shorts with a black or white blousey top and flip flops. So comfy and I can wear it anywhere. But my absolute favorite thing in the whole world is a pair of pajama bottoms and one of Ubes big t-shirts. I will be wearing that all day tomorrow because I am NOT leaving the house. Nope, not once. No siree.

The perfect meal: Uberman will grill you the best steak you have ever eaten in your life. Ever. I mean you will make all kinds of naughty noises while you eat it, I promise you. So I pick that with a baked potato and big heaping serving of my Aunt Nellie's Kick Ass Salad (hearts of romaine, crumbled bacon or prosciutto, toasted almonds, tomatoes, grated Swiss and fresh Parmesan all tossed in this delicious home made dressing. OMG. So good). Throw in a basket of my mom's home made rolls and a piece of cake (doesn't even matter what kind) and I am in Heaven.

The perfect hangover cure: Stopping after two, how 'bout that? If not, drink lots of water before you go to bed. This is really not my area of expertise.

The perfect road trip: My mom and I have driven to Utah with the kids a couple of times and I have always loved these trips. My kids travel really well and so there is never any "Are we there yet?" or complaining. They read, watch movies, listen to iPods, sleep, etc. And my mom and I talk and talk and talk for 14 hours about stuff we have never talked about (like my own mother was shocked that I have never even tried marijuana and even more shocked that I have never even been around it), or stuff we should have talked about or whatever. On these trips the two of us have gotten to know each other better as women, not just mother and daughter. I highly recommend it, take a road trip with your Mama.

The perfect facial feature: Eyes. It's all about the eyes.

The perfect drink: Diet coke with vanilla. Sweet heroin.

The perfect song: Phil Collins "Groovy Kind of Love."

The perfect sign of affection: Ubes is good at these. Sometimes he'll stop and get me a deliciously refreshing carbonated beverage on his way home from work. Or he'll reach over and rub my leg while we are watching a movie. Or he'll kiss my forehead when I am being unreasonable. Or he'll save the last of something for me, ie the last brownie, the last cookie, the last cold diet Pepsi in the fridge. Anything that shows me he was thinking of me works.

The perfect afternoon: Hanging out with my family, listening to my babies laugh, just being together.

The perfect vacation: Europe with DBK and Dee. The four of us getting lost and trying to communicate and exploring new cities is nothing but awesome. And it's not Europe but we are going on a cruise with them in September!! Holla!! I am so excited and I can hardly wait and I am sure me reminding you that I am going to Jamaica Mexico will not get old. Ever. And if you missed that story and are wondering what I am talking about, email me.

The perfect invention: Tivo. And chocolate with caramel.

The perfect type of wedding: One with good cake. Because really, isn't that the only reason we go?

The perfect album: I think I love almost every song on Maroon 5's Songs About Jane. Not very original, but at least I am being honest.

The perfect accent: British.

The perfect date: Dinner and a movie with my Ubes.

The perfect weather: Anything but too hot or too cold. I enjoy a rainy or overcast day just as much as sunny and breezy. 72 degrees is perfect.

The perfect party: Good food and good laughs with our peeps. June 6, be there or be square!

The perfect sport: Baseball.

The perfect thing to say: Ubes is good at these, too. "Jessica Alba is too skinny." "Your butt looks hot in those jeans." "Whatever movie you want to see, Babe." I'm a lucky girl.

The perfect day of the week: Sunday. I love Sundays. I rarely plan anything for these days so I spend them doing laundry, catching up on Tivo or watching movies with Ubes and the kids. All in the comforts of my pajama bottoms and huge t-shirts. Love Sundays.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Safety First

So last week our Corporate HQ jumped on the pig flu bandwagon and sent supplies to help us protect ourselves. Although, between you, me and the scale, I could use a good bout of vomiting and diarrhea.


Anyhoo, the package contained antibacterial spray and wipes, latex gloves, hand sanitizer, and . . . safety goggles.


In case someone spits in my eye? I am really not following their thought process with this one. Plus since I am not required to wear a lab coat or operate a table saw, the goggles so totally don't go with my outfits.

And the latex gloves? Well, I am not doing any body cavity searches (yet), so I think I'll pass on these, too.

I am however, thrilled to pieces over the kick ass hand sanitizer. I am pretty sure it's 85 percent acid, 10 percent alcohol and 5 percent artificial color and fragrance. The bad news is, if you use this product and have even the tiniest of paper cuts, it's gonna burn like a bitch. The good news? If you have a raging case of chlamydia, I am pretty sure I have your cure.

Give me a call.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Blessed Times Three

I love being a mom. Of course I have my complaints, I mean who doesn't?

Like the fact that they use 800 cups a day and so I can't tell you the last time my sink was TOTALLY empty. Or how I have not had a clean house for longer than a week since 1997. Or how I am constantly breaking up arguments over who got more popcorn or who picked the last movie or who forgot to flush the toilet (that one's my fave).

Or how I have driven 7,685,492 miles (give or take a few) to and from baseball practice, birthday parties, doctor's offices, karate, play dates, etc. Or how I have consumed 4,397,582,691 calories eating at McDonalds, Peter Piper Pizza, Burger King and every other God forsaken, cardboard serving, grease pit in the continental United States.


But when push comes to shove, I love being a mom.

I adore these smelly, messy, self absorbed, obnoxiously loud, crazy, psychotic monkeys. Even when they pick the lantanna flowers and present them to me, completely unaware that I am severely allergic. Even when they were little and held a graham cracker out for me to take a bite, only to discover it was wet and soggy and covered in drool. Even when the oldest told his preschool teacher I hit him in the head. With a baseball bat. Repeatedly. Or when the middle one colored all over himself with my new MAC lipstick. Along with the carpet, the walls and my Tommy Hilfiger bedspread. Or what about the time the youngest one yanked her blanket off of my shoulder as she nursed, exposing me to a waiter as he filled my glass of iced tea.

"And there's my boob," I said to him as my face turned red.
"Hmm," he replied. "I'm gay so it doesn't do a thing for me."

Yeah. Good times.

But where would I be without these ankle biters following me across the Target parking lot like little ducks? (Besides rich, thin and completely void of stretchmarks.)

My life is blessed. Messy. Chaotic. Unorganized. But beyond blessed.

I am thankful for my Junior, the one who made me a mommy. I love that he is the only one with my blue/green eyes. I love that he is a 50 year old man trapped in the body of an 11 year old. I love that he reads finance magazines and TiVos Mad Money. I love that he makes breakfast for his sister in the mornings and he unloads the dishwasher without being asked. I love that he's not afraid to talk to anyone and everyone and is never intimidated. I love that he is compassionate. I love that he loves baseball. And he still wants to give me a kiss goodnight.

I am blessed to have my little Mac, the one with the contagious laugh and stomach of steel. I love that he has a soft spot for animals. I love that no matter what I ask him to do, he will try to negotiate his way out of it. I love that he is quiet and needs time to himself and is not afraid to ask for it. I love that he asks for books for his birthday and it's important to him to look good when he leaves the house. I love his competitive spirit and his ability to make everyone laugh at any time. And I love that when I screw something up (like burn dinner or forget an appointment), he always says "It's okay mom, nobody's perfect."

I am over the moon that God gave me my baby girl Boo. I love that she is independent and strong willed. I love that she is curious and asks a million questions upon questions upon questions. I love that she is girly and likes things that sparkle. I love that she is already learning to read. I love that she sings and dances and does the air drums when she hears Phil Collins "In the Air Tonight." I love that no matter what she is doing, when she hears her daddy come in the door, she drops everything and runs to him with her arms outstretched. I love that her favorite movie is 13 Going on 30 and when she's a picture of Daniel Craig she says "Oooh Mommy, that's your boyfriend!"

I love these crazy little monkeys. And I love being their mom.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


Okay peeps, I am officially freaking out. It's Twitter. Twitter is freaking me out!!

I joined almost a year ago. (I totally had to look up when I joined because I have OCD and I didn't want to lie to you and it was July 11th) And I've been a sporadic user since then. Didn't really see what the big deal was. I thought it was okay, but I wasn't fully on board, you know?

So in the past few months everything has been all about Twitter. Have you noticed? Everyone is talking about Twitter. Twitter this and Twitter that. So I started using it more. Because it's important to me to be on the cutting edge, ya know?

But here's the truth. Other than my own tweets, I have no idea what the hell I am doing. I have no idea how to respond to other people's tweets. Or how to respond to other people responding to my tweets. Do people want me to respond to their tweets? Is it okay to twit back?? What are the rules here dude? And what if you are following someone kind of famous that you don't know in person? If you twit back to one of their tweets are you borderline stalking them? Can it be used as evidence in court? Anyone know??

And I have followers. People I don't even know. Mostly people who read this blog. But still. And now I am following a few people. And searching for other people to follow but not really sure I want to commit. It seems like a pretty big step. It's keeping me up at night, peeps. I'm so stressed out.

And why God why are so many people following Ryan Freaking Seacrest?? Is he really that interesting?? I certainly don't think so. So yeah. I said it. I am taking a stand right here and now with all of you as my witnesses. I will NOT be a follower of Ryan Seacrest! If I have to choose an employee of the E network with an undetermined sexuality, it's going to be Joel McHale, thankyouverymuch.

My girl Jessica tweeted (Twittered? Twitted? Tweetered?) last week "Wow, Twitter makes the world a little bit smaller."

True dat Jess. I for one am not sure I am ready for that.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

I Love...

... gray days, thunderstorms and the smell of rain.

... curling up on the couch with a good book, hot chocolate and a soft oversize blanket.

... a hot shower, Egyptian cotton sheets and the soothing hum of the ceiling fan while I sleep.

... the smell of coffee brewing, big breakfasts and the sound of laughter and clinking dishes.

... packing for a trip, walking through the airport and watching my passport get stamped.

... talking on the phone, text messages and emails just because.

... laughing with my girlfriends, venting to my mom, listening to my MIL tell a story, seeing the world through the eyes of my daughter. Being a girl.

... spending an afternoon watching movies with Uberman, sharing a beer out of the same bottle, the feel of his hand on my arm as I sleep.

... a sink void of dishes, a son who unloads the dishwasher (without being asked) and another who takes out the trash (without complaining more than once).

... daily phone calls from my FIL, the sound of my dad's laugh and knowing no matter what, both of them are always excited to hear from me.

... margaritas on the rocks with salt, diet coke with vanilla (duh), a pitcher of Pimms, and raspberry lemonade.

... salt and vinegar chips, cheese and crackers, green olives and chips with dip.

... warm cookies, cupcakes, and chocolate with caramel.

... British period films, Shirley Temple movies, Little House reruns and almost anything on BBC.

... a new lipstick, pink eye shadow and the smell of Burberry London perfume.

... hot dates with my husband, dinner with friends, a house full of people.

... the feeling of accomplishment, succeeding after stepping out of my comfort zone, the payoff as a result of persistence.

... my life. Good and bad, surprising or consistent, perfection or chaos. I am blessed.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

I Heart Sam

A few weeks ago Uberman dragged me to see Beer Wars, a movie about the difficulties of the brewing industry. I walked in kicking and screaming and fully expecting to be bored to tears. I left with a new appreciation for beer and a Norma Rae like motivation to spread the word about the evils of Anheuser Busch.

I also developed an enormous crush on this guy:

Isn't he dreamy? That, my friends, is Sam Calagione, founder of Dogfish Head. (DFH is responsible for the deliciously irresistible Punkin Ale that I fell in love with this fall.)

And guess where Uberman is right now at this very minute while I sit at home and referee his children and fold his laundry?? He's hanging out with Sam at a Bocce Ball tournament! I know, can you believe that crap?

And then he had the great big giant cajones to call me and brag about it!

Ubes: I just met Sam!

Me: Are you kidding me?? What did he say? What did you say? Did you tell him about me? Is he just as pretty up close?

Ubes: He said he liked my shirt!

Me: So what did he say about me?

Ubes: And he told me to go drink a beer.

Me: So you mean I could have gone with you and met him and convinced him to fall in love with me and then we could have run away together?

Ubes: Yeah. I told him I didn't bring you because you wanted to run away with him. He laughed.

Me: What??? You mean he has heard of me??? What did he say? Was he open to it?

Ubes: I gotta go, he's gonna sign my book.

Me: I can't believe this. I should have gone. I could have been Mrs. Dogfish head!

Ubes: Um, yeah. That's great, Babe.

Me: But I would have totally hooked you up, man.

Ubes: Gee. Thanks.

Me: Well it's the least I could do. You would have been the one to introduce us after all. Dang! I can't believe I am not there!

Ubes: Yeah. What a shame.

Some how I don't think he really thought it was a shame. Someday, Sam. Someday.