The Queen Mum Lives

It happens…blogger burnout coupled with a new venture that turns out to be pretty successful.  How many times have a swore that I would keep posting here, only to once again drop off the face of the Earth?  By my count, at least 5 times in the last year.

But things change and I find myself with a need to unwind.  You see, I’ve built up a persona on my other site.  It’s not a fake one…it’s just “nice Mindi”…..and “evil Mindi” and “not-so-nice Mindi” are itching to get out.  I can do it on Facebook and Twitter a bit, but at the risk of alienating some of my loyal readers on Moms Need To Know (AKA:  the people who are paying many bills in my house these days).  I realize how horrible that sounds, but the truth is…I finally created something that I enjoy and that makes money.  But there aren’t many frugal bloggers who can get away with saying “Fucking Superfresh ad fucking sucks again this week”.  I don’t think I want to be the one to test those waters!

And so I’m back with an “I don’t know how often I’ll be posting” schedule…..where I can talk about that thing that I let Brad do to me one night when we I was hammered on cheap box wine, how I’m not sure what I believe any longer, bitchy neighbors (yes – JeepBitch and BMWBitch are back), honest product reviews (including which razor is best for shaving your crotch) and whatever thoughts pop in to my head.

My other site is a filtered version of me.  Facebook is a tamer version of me (if you can believe that).  This site is me. 

I miss me.

I’m getting me back.

Not too long ago, I was a member (and president) of a moms club.  For 3 years I ate, drank and breathed that club.  I became friends with most of the members, our children played together.  I organized playdates and I was having a ball.  It was just like a sorority.

But there was one problem…it was just like a sorority.

Then I started blogging on the old site and I had a ball.  I was able to talk to the Internets in a way that I couldn’t talk to real people.  I could write about the things that pissed me off and not have to worry about appearances or hurt feelings.  I was just one of many women on the Interwebs who were fed up with the falseness that seems to always accompany Suburbia….like the moms who you KNOW have a secret stash of Reeses Whipps (don’t we all?), but in public will only admit to having a single Green & Black’s Organic chocolate bar…that they have slowly been eating for a month.

And so I continued to write, until that one fateful evening when another member of “the club” took me aside and told me that she found my blog and wasn’t happy about it and that I should watch out or I could piss off the people in the club.

I was dutifully cowed…and pretty much gave up blogging for the last 6 months.  I switched all my energies to my other site.  After a few weeks, I convinced myself that I didn’t miss the “mommy blog scene” at all…I was now a “Frugal Blogger”.  I was hanging out with the nice people…not the ”bad” people who will call a spade a spade and admit to feeding their kids Cookie Crisp for dinner.

Except that I do sometimes feed my kids Cookie Crisp for dinner.  With a glass of chocolate milk.  And a brownie for dessert.

And I’m tired of hiding it.  I miss my mommy blogger friends (even if they don’t want to be called a mommy blogger).  I miss being able to get shit off my chest.

I miss typing the word “fuck”.

My old blog has been made private, although the contents have been transferred here.  It is my hope that it makes me a little less “findable”.  But the truth is?  I no longer care.  I have all but dropped out of my moms club.  I am not pretending to be friends with people whose company I don’t truly enjoy.  Life is just too damn short.  The people from that club who I am still friends with (and there are many) are not people that I will be bitching about anyway.

I’m done hiding.  I’m done caring about what people think.

And if they find me here and don’t like what they read?

Fuck ‘em!

We live in a semi-civilized society. At least, I’d like to think that we do. 

As a mom of 3 children under the age of eight, I would like to think that I have learned a few life lesssons.  Certainly a few lessons in etiquette.  You don’t change a diaper on the table at Applebee’s.  If your toddler has a meltdown in the supermarket, you grab the milk and the bananas, pay for them and get the hell out of there (apologizing to every employee on the way out for the cart full of groceries that you are leaving)

And I learned some new lessons last night….

You don’t go to a restaurant on New Years Eve with 13 adults and 15 children (even if said restaurant is considered a “family restaurant”).

One would think that such a simple statement would be enough, wouldn’t one?

One would be wrong.

So let’s get a few things straight, in case you are already planning your soiree for next year:

1.   You don’t go out to a restaurant with 13 adults and 15 children (oh?  Did I say that already?)

2.  If you are dumb enough to do so, then when you get to the restaurant and see that they put the 15 children in the main dining room and the 13 adults in their own separate room, you speak up and say to the hostess “Hey!  This might not be the best idea!  The other 50 customers in the restaurant may not appreciate being so close to 15 semi-supervised children under the age of 11!” (and you certainly don’t smirk and say “Better them than me!”)

3.  If the hostess/owner assigns one lonely server to your party of 28, you cut him a break.  Perhaps you even say something to the owner/hostess about needing another server assigned to your group?

4.  When the overworked server still hasn’t brought the drinks to the children’s table, yet has already started bringing out appetizers to the adults and is approaching your table with a tray full of glasses and a pitcher of water, it is acceptable to suggest that the server give the water to the children instead.  It is NOT acceptable to scream “Where’s our water?” less than 2 minutes later.

5.  If you are told that, due to the separate checks issue, each partys food may come out at separate times, don’t just start grabbing entrees off the tray and passing them out to anyone who happened to be seated at the time.  I am still shocked that the waiters didn’t deck us at that point!

That was my New Years Eve.

And while I had a wonderful time being with my friends (we have spent New Years Eve with the same 3 other couples and their guests for the past 12 years), the evening was just an etiquette nightmare.  I’m not saying that I consider myself Emily Post, but I spent a good portion of the evening apologizing both to our server and the other people in the restaurant.

I’ve already sugested a Progressive Dinner for next year.

Or perhaps I “turn them” gay….who knows?

(no – I don’t believe that it’s a choice.  I think that they are born that way.  I never made a decision to be straight…but that’s not even the point and I’m not going to get in to that discussion…onward….)

If you are someone who skips class reunions (I only showed up for the 20th and then proceeded to get hammered, so I may as well have skipped it),  people from high school have probably been frozen in time for you.  The prettiest and most popular girl still looks perfect in your mind.  The gorgeous, aloof, yet sensitive guy is still the same.  Your high school boyfriend is still as perfect (or imperfect) as the last time you saw him.

Do you know what the problem is with FaceBook?  All of those people are on there.  Some of them have improved with age and some others?  Not so much.  And then you find out that most of those guys who you spent many a night just wishing would proclaim their undying love for you….are now gay.

At least I have an explanation for the guys I made a fool of myself chasing after like a dog in heat and wouldn’t give me the time of day who were the targets of my totally non-obvious crush.  It wasn’t me – I just had the wrong equipment and they either didn’t know or couldn’t say (hey – this was the mid-80s.  “coming out” in high school was.not.done).

FYI: I reacted like any neurotic normal person would.  I started seeking out all the guys that I dated in high school or had a crush on.  Married?  Their profile picture is a Monument to Testosterone?  FRIEND ‘EM!   It’s sort of like that episode of Friends where Phoebe called every friend she had to make sure they were alive. 

But after my initial immature reaction, I started to think about it and it made perfect sense.  The reason that I liked these guys so much was because they represented the best of both worlds.  Looking back on it, I can smack my head and say “How did I not see it then?” (probably because they didn’t see it either), but they were gorgeous guys who liked Madonna, were good dancers, dressed great, were quiet and shy and never seemed to have a girlfriend.  They were me, with dicks.

They were the stereotype, without the limp wrist and fey accent.

And then I started thinking of the objects of my adult lusts….

Rupert Everett?  Yep – Gay

Neil Patrick Harris?  Gay

B.D. Wong?  Anderson Cooper?  BARRY MANILOW? (ok – that last one may not have been that big a shock)

So there you have it….I may be a grown woman of 39 with a husband who oozes testosterone with his DeWalt tools (although he DOES know the difference between chartreuse and lime green)….

But I am nothing but a fag hag!  And I can’t wait to hang out with them again!

Again….

Ahh – the shit I do for my own sanity!