2011 - Bring it on!

I love the start of a new year because it’s so full of potential.

When you’ve had a really shit year like my friend, Nancy, the new year is a fresh start and there is no way it can be anything but superior to the previous year. I can’t wait to see the good stuff that 2011 is going to bring the Knight sisters.

And when you’ve had a great year like my friend Segars, who got engaged to a super hot and brilliant man, it doesn’t seem like anything can trump 2010, except for maybe her wedding in Puerto Rico in February 2011 and the long awaiting production of her soon to be husband’s sure to be mind blowing film. Keep on rocking it, Segs, no one deserves these good times more than you.

For me, 2010 was fine. There were great days and there were crap days. It wasn’t my best year, but it’s not even in contention for my worst. Compared to some of my years, 2010 was definitely good.

Still, I want 2011 to be even better. Not because I plan on being thinner or more successful or wealthier – although I will gladly take any and all of those things if they come my way – but because I just want to be happier more regularly.

You see, I consider myself to be a happy person in general. For the most part, I love my life. My husband is gorgeous and hilarious and a great father. My boys are not exactly angels but their wild ways give me a lot of laughs and their adorable faces force me to cut them more slack then they probably deserve. If you saw them, you wouldn’t blame me. Their cuteness is a weapon of mass destruction. I have great friends – and lots of them, many who I don’t see nearly enough but when I need them I know they’ll be here and that gives me a lot of comfort. I have the “luxury” of being home with my kids and because of the online classes that some days I feel might kill me, I have a plan for what I’ll do when they’re both in school and a plan has always been something that’s very important to me. Like Hannibal on The A Team, I love it when a plan comes together and I must admit, most of mine do.

But despite all these blessings, I find myself happy only maybe 75 to 80% of a year and frankly, I just don’t think that’s enough. So in 2011, I’m going for 90 to 95% happiness. I’d go for 100% but I just think that’s unrealistic because in 365 days there has to be at least a couple where you feel fat or someone lets you down or you lose someone or watch someone you care about lose someone and those days are going to suck. There is nothing we can do about that.

However, I think I can strive to up my happiness by letting go of some of the bullshit I’ve been hanging on to. I have some real unhealthy habits that it’s time to say goodbye to. And there are some good things in my life that I need to make more of a priority. So here, are the changes I’ll be making in 2011.

• I will no longer watch sad movies on purpose. Do you hear that Nicole Kidman and The Rabbit Hole? I will not be seeing you. Ever.

• I will see the friends I don’t see enough. And I will see them for fun, not because someone died. When you get to be 40 and you have two kids and no time, sometimes it seems that the only reunions you have time for in life involve a wake. That is not how it should be. And in 2011 it is not how it’s going to be. Not for me anyhow, so watch out pals I never see. You’re going to be sick of my ass by 2012.

• I will let go of hard feelings. I try to do this every year but, damn, it is hard. In 2011, though, I think I’m going to be like Lauren Conrad…forgive everyone, and then forget them. At least the bad parts, because I’m someone who can remember the good parts of even the people I can’t fully forgive. And I feel lucky for that because there were great parts to a lot of people who aren’t in my life anymore and I will always cherish those. And the bad parts, I’m not someone who can forget them enough to wipe the slate clean, but I think I can forget them enough to think fondly about those people again. At least I’m going to try.

• I’ll win a contest. I really want to win something so if anyone has a challenge, bring it. I’m in. As long as it doesn’t involve winking or whistling cause I can’t do those things.

• I’ll send people surprise gifts or cards. I do this already, but I’m going to do it more cause today I got a surprise gift in the mail from a friend and it was awesome. Mail rocks. Knowing someone is thinking of you rocks. The little things in life rock. And I’m gonna do more of them.

• I will stop denying what I like because someone else doesn’t agree. I adore the movie Love Actually and someone I was close to once told me that my love for this movie made me seem dumber. Seriously? Cause I actually love this movie. And the only thing that has ever made me seem dumb is my boobs which I’ve had reduced so cut me a break, okay? And by the way, how can anyone put down a movie that’s main objective is to show us that if you really look for it, love is all around? A closeted guy who feels guilty about being in a long term monogamous relationship with a woman, that’s who. Damn it, I already fucked up that letting go of grudges thing! I’m taking this one as a mulligan and will restart the no grudges thing on Jan 1, okay?

• I’ll say no to my kids less. I’m sure the idea of that is scary to people who know that I live in a zoo run by two rugrats but those two rugrats aren’t going to be little forever and I don’t want their childhood memories of me to involve someone who constantly said no. I worry about that a lot and I have the stress eczema to prove it. Yes, in case you’re wondering, it’s eczema on my neck - I haven’t been attacked by dogs.

• Speaking of animals, I’ll continue to hate cats and I won’t be sorry for it because, sorry, cats suck.

• I’ll get involved in politics again. My family made fun of me for wanting to save the whales as a small child and it made me want to back off of causes, which I admit, was pretty weak of me. And then I worked at a company for almost 10 years with a bunch of super vocal liberals who did everything short of leaving a horse head in your bed if they thought you disagreed with their politics so I’ve kind of shied away from talking about mine. But in 2011, that’s over. Because I have some things to say that I’ve been holding in since about 1984 and it’s high time they came out. Oh yeah, and if you didn't know it, I'm a Republican and a Catholic. Deal with it.
  
• I’ll keep trying to contact my brothers because one day they’ll remember we’re family. Or at least if they don’t, I won’t have to feel bad about giving up on them cause giving up is not something I do. Not in 2011 or ever.
  
  I don’t know if all of this is going to change 2011. And I’m not even sure if someone who was happy 80% of 2010 should even be complaining. I mean, 80% is pretty good, right? But why can’t I have 95? Why can’t we all? Watch out 2011 because I’m about to James Franco your ass.
  
  Happy New Year!

Guess what you're getting for Christmas

With Christmas a few days away, I know most people are hustling around town to buy gifts and get ready for the big day.

I am not one of those people.

I decided on and purchased all the gifts I’ll be giving weeks ago. I don’t believe in doing things last minute. I like to enjoy Christmas week and I can’t enjoy it if I’m stressed out. With this in mind, I take care of everything in an annoyingly efficient and early time frame and then I sit back and have time to just take it all in.

So, now, with the very rare luxury of time on my hands, I can think about what I would buy people who aren’t on my list if I had the chance. Here’s what I’ve decided:

To the University of Maryland Athletic Department, I would give a good old fashioned spanking to teach them a little something about respect because the way they treated Ralph Friedgen this past weekend is nothing less than disgusting to me. I get it, you want new blood, but the man was just named ACC Coach of the Year and you disrespect him like that? Do you think anyone is going to want to play for a program who treats its own in such a despicable manner? Fear the Turtle? Yeah, fear that he knows nothing about loyalty and is gonna stab you in the back. Shame on you, Testudo.

To Kate Middleton, I would give a plane ticket and an escape plan. You’re smart and beautiful and interesting – why do you want to give up your independence to be a princess? Fairytales are so dark, you know? Nobody lived to regret putting on that tiara more than your fiance’s poor mother. And while William seems like a much nicer guy than his father, his looks are really going to the wayside (isn’t the first word in the fairytale title for prince supposed to be Handsome?) and he comes with a tanker full of baggage. I know most every little girl wants to grow up to be a princess, but you’re a big girl now, Kate, and you can do better.

To Ken Jeong, I would give the word “No”. I love you, Ken, but you’re heading quickly towards the kind of overexposure that makes people not think you’re funny anymore. The pepto-bismol commercial, while I’m sure it paid well, was not your best career move. Slow down. Take some time off. Enjoy being on Community and in the Hangover sequel and stop letting Hollywood shove you down our throats because when you become old news those executives who are pimping you out will drop you like your hot – which is ironic because at that moment you will be so not hot.

To the people who spell Christmas as X-Mas, I would give a firm kick in the ass because while it is your choice whether or not you believe in Jesus, we should all respect one another’s religious beliefs and that means that the most important part of the word is Christ. You cannot simply replace Him with an X. And if you’re Christian and do it, then shame on you – two kicks in the ass!

To Miley Cyrus, I would give foster parents because her real parents have not done her any favors letting her morph from Hannah Montana to Slutty McGee just in time to be old enough to be tried as an adult for future moronic and illegal behavior. Billy Ray if you can’t control her, find someone who can because your achy breaky heart is going to be hurting more than ever when your little girl ends up like that other ex-Disney darling, Lindsay Lohan.

To MTV and US Weekly I would give, I conscious because it’s obvious that neither has one. Between MTV airing Teen Moms and US Weekly putting the “stars” of the show on their cover at least once a month, we now have a bunch of incredibly immature and ignorant young girls purposely getting themselves pregnant so they can audition to be on MTV’s latest hit. Being a parent is so hard. And so is being a teenager. Why – even for 15 minutes of really lame fame – would anyone chose to be both?

To the ‘80’s I would give a huge round of applause because between Hot Tub Time Machine, Glory Daze and the upcoming Take Me Home Tonight, you are having quite a comeback my friend and me and my crimper could not be happier about seeing you.

And to you, my friends who indulge me by reading this blog and letting me use it to continue to claim I’m a freelance writer even though we all know I am a full time butt wiper, I would give a new year where I actually find the time to see each and every one of you in person and tell you how much you mean to me while we get really drunk.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Bad Santa

Neal: “Honey, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine”
Susan Page: “Hello Mr. Griffith”
Del: “Hello Mrs. Page”

Those are the last lines uttered in one of my very favorite holiday movies, the 1987 classic written and directed by John Hughes, Planes, Trains and Automobiles. I’m a huge sucker for this kind of film because while some may think the ending is cheesy or cliché; I think it’s perfect. During the holidays, and really all of our days, this is what life is supposed to be like.

Annoying, frustrating, difficult.

But despite all of that, we’re supposed to be able to find a way to see the good in the people around us, even the ones who test us the most. And if we’re lucky enough to have the chance to bring those people into our lives and help lift theirs up then we’re supposed to do it. That’s what I believe the holidays are about. Forgiveness, empathy, compassion….and usually a lot of drinking because, really who can be that good and not need a way to take the edge off a little?

Planes, Trains and Automobiles gets the holidays exactly right. And leaves you wanting to snuggle the people close to you or call the ones who have strayed far. It certainly paints a much warmer picture of the way this time of year is supposed to make us feel than another old holiday classic. That’s right, I’m talking about the 1964 Television Special known and loved by all, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

We watched it for the first time this season yesterday because Mac wanted to see if Charlie would be scared of the Abominable Snow Monster and I had the same reaction I do every year…damn, that Santa is a dick.

He’s mean to Rudolph, he’s rude to Mrs. Claus and he’s just nasty to the elves. I know he redeems himself by bringing the toys and all but I’m having a hard time getting behind this guy the way Rankin and Bass portrayed him.

I get that Rudolph has to face adversity but the minute the poor reindeer is born his parents take one look at him and spout out familiar phrases like “He has a shiny nose!” or “You might even say it glows” as if the kid has three heads or something. His nose is red, is that really such a big deal? He can talk moments after being born and at the reindeer games he flies better than anyone else – the kid is some sort of prodigy, but all anyone in Christmas town can talk about is his red nose? What a bunch of shallow assholes we have living at the North Pole. The coach of the reindeer games actually says to the other young deers “all right now, we’re not going to let Rudolph play in any more of our reindeer games”. That’s a real nice example of adult maturity and acceptance. No wonder poor Rudolph has to skip town.

And let’s not forget the way his BFF, Hermie the Elf, is treated. Is it really so bad that the guy wants to be a dentist? I mean, for crying out loud, with all the candy canes and junk those elves are eating they NEED a dentist. They should be psyched someone is showing an interest in saving their little teeth. But instead they treat poor Hermie like he’s some kind of freak. Real nice place that North Pole. Remind me never to go there.

So Rudolph and Hermie set out alone to find a more tolerant place to live and where do they end up? The Island of the Misfit Toys. These poor toys just want a kid to love them and no one will. Are you telling me there isn’t a kid out there who wouldn’t want a Charlie in the Box? Are kids that obsessed with the name of the guy jumping out of the box? I don’t think so. I just think that the staff at the North Pole, starting with Claus himself, have such bad attitudes that they don’t bother looking for a home for toys that may be a little different from the norm. I call that lazy. And unfair. The Island of the Misfit Toys always makes me cry.

So as we all know, Rudolph, Hermie and their pal, Yukon Cornelius end up saving the reindeer from the Abominable Snow Man, Hermie pulls out all his teeth and Yukon reforms him so that he can get a job as a goofy toothless hairball who puts stars and angels on the top of the Christmas trees. Everyone realizes how they misjudged the red nosed reindeer and the dentist, but no one really apologizes. They just sort of begrudgingly admit that maybe they were a little hard on them. A little hard on them? You ran them out of town and those guys still came back and saved Christmas, what with the Snow Monster reforming and the sleigh guiding and everything. Couldn’t they have gotten a little more of an apology? And shouldn’t Santa have apologized to everyone for setting such a bad example of holiday good will? Every time I watch this movie I am sad when it’s over. And it’s the bad kind of sad. The kind where I feel like, why are people such assholes?

As opposed to the tears I shed at the end of each viewing of Plains, Trains and Automobiles, which are the tears of someone happy to know there are people like Neal and Dell in the world. And yes, I know they’re imaginary, but John Hughes had to have based them on someone. At some point in his life, he had to have been touched by the goodness in people and he put that in to his characters and they in turn lived on to touch all of us.

So this year, at Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the people who lead by example and show me that there is always a little bit of good in the real world, you just have to look for it. I’m sure you have people like that in your life, too. People whose gestures – great or small - have made the biggest differences to you. Be thankful for the Page family and all those families who have taken a lost soul in, instead of chasing one out because it’s those real people, not Santa Claus, who make the holidays happy.

Hurray for Hollywood

California and I are not friends.

We met face to face for the first time in 1999 when I went to a work conference in San Francisco. I know Tony Bennett left his heart there. I also know he has herpes so it kind of ruins that whole sentiment for me. But I was psyched to see San Francisco for myself regardless of Bennett and his social disease.

The conference was at the end of June and the temperatures in San Francisco, particularly at night, were similar to what one would expect in Alaska. The people I was with from Canada kept saying “We left Canada for this?” because back home they were having a very enjoyable heat wave and they had come to California expecting some of the same.

There were also a lot of birds. I mean, a lot. And me and birds don’t mix. And when our cab pulled up to a fancy restaurant for dinner a rat ran right in front of us. In daylight. On a crowded street. I really didn’t like that. Especially because I was brutally hung over.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time in San Francisco because I was with Holly on the first of many Holly and Molly business conference/crazy hijinks excursions but I knew straight away that California was not for me. I’m Biggie. California is Tupac. Enough said.

In 2002, I went back to California for another work conference, this time in LA. I could not have been more excited about going. Regardless of where I stand in the rap star death war, I love movies. I love celebrities. I love sunshine. So, of course, I was going to love Los Angeles. I was wrong. We stayed in the banking district, which after dark becomes the hookers and pimps district. That was mistake number one.

Our friend April made mistake number two which was going to a strip club with a guy named Favio where her purse was stolen. She was sharing a room with Holly and couldn’t get in because Holly was out partying with a fat guy she picked up (note: the fatness of this guy is debatable since our manorexic friend Mills labeled him that and we were all pretty drunk and just ran with it….for years. In truth he was probably 5 or 10pounds overweight but I will always remember him as morbidly obese).

Holly met the questionable overweight guy at a party we went to in Venice Beach. It was a party sponsored by our conference and hosted by a vendor so we expected to be treated well. We were wrong. Apparently someone had tattooed “East Coast” on our foreheads and no one wanted to talk to us. Mills and I met a girl who asked what we did for a living and when we said we worked for The Discovery Channel she actually laughed in our faces and said “Good one. That’s hilarious”, like we had made up it up and it was the lamest job ever. This from a girl we learned sold jewelry on the pier in Santa Monica. It must have been opposite day because I think we all know who the loser was in that scenario and it sure as hell wasn’t me or Mills. By the end of the week, I was sitting in The Ivy with my boss moaning “I have got to get back to Maryland”. I hated LA.

But in 2003, we had another conference so I had to go back. That time I did it right. We stayed in West Hollywood, and I planned our internal meetings at the House of Blues which was awesome because while we were having a conference call with Asia, Cold Play was playing a free concert for some radio station downstairs and we could hear them through the floor. Chaka Khan was staying in our hotel. We saw celebrities everywhere we went. I spoke at the big conference as the host of a panel that gave out beer. Holly and I got drunk in a van with some randoms and our pregnant friend drove us home while we belted out “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys. It was a rocking trip. And LA did me a lot more justice than it had before. But staying in a smooth hotel with your friends and writing off your every drink for a week is going to be fun anywhere. Living there and having to pay for your dinner at Ryan Seacrest’s restaurant is a different story, right?

That same summer, I also went back to San Francisco for my friend Elisa’s wedding. Her wedding was actually in Carmel which is beautiful but we flew into San Francisco for a night because Bobby had never been there. Again, it was freezing (this time in July!) and full of crazy aggressive birds.

We drove from San Francisco to Carmel for the wedding which is a beautiful drive but it does make you wonder why there are so many garlic farms out there. Could it be because of the vampires and not the Rob Patterson kind. The Lost Boys kind. Remember when Jason Patric’s grandfather said “That’s the one thing I never liked about Santa Carla – all the damn vampires.” The line seems suspiciously true after you’ve driven from San Francisco to Carmel.

The day after the wedding, which was beautiful, we then drove to Oakland to fly home. We had to spend a night there. No offense to MC Hammer, but Oaktown sucks. It’s dirty, it’s scary, and it’s full of pigeons. No thanks!

In 2004, Mills and I went back to LA with another colleague to interview a snake guy for some promos. The snake guy was ridiculous, but I have a feeling he would have been like that in any city so I can’t blame that on LA. I can blame LA for getting me hijacked by some insane cab driver who stole my cell phone and crank called all my friends. And I can blame LA for The Dan Band show we went to where Mills got puked on by Boston Rob from Survivor. Yes, I can blame LA for those things and I do.

I haven’t been back to California since 2004, but it looks like I’m going to have to make the trip again because California did the unthinkable today and stole my best friend. Yep, the Holly of Holly and Molly headed West with her husband this morning. And after my experiences out there, you’d think I’d be worried about her. No, I’m not worried about Holly. I’m worried about California. They have no idea what’s about to hit them. If anyone can charm LA into submission it’s Holly. I anticipate when I visit next spring she’ll have sung some sort of Disney Princess song and tamed every bird in the state. All those wannabe actors and models who have cool jobs like selling jewelry on the pier will try to shun her, but her constant smiling and upbeat nature will beat them down and they’ll have to befriend her. It will go against everything they stand for, but they won’t be able to stop themselves. A Los Angeles with Holly in it is maybe a Los Angeles I can get behind. Well, not behind technically because you know out there if you “get behind something” Richard Gere reaches down to stick a gerbil in your butt, but you know what I mean. It’s finally Hollywood. And if Holly would, then so would I.

Sympathy for the Bully

Talk of bullying is everywhere lately. And that’s a good thing because anyone who has ever been bullied knows that it sucks. Sure, overcoming a little adversity here and there makes us stronger but being truly bullied stays with you long after you think you’ve moved past it.

Recently, one of my close friends came to me for advice on how to help her eight year old daughter deal with a situation where some girls were bullying her on the school bus. Nothing really horrible, just your typical mean girl stuff where they were putting her down within ear shot just to get a rise out of her. So my friend sent me an email asking for help and in the note to me while describing the bullying she said “I bet that never happened to you because I remember everyone always liked you!” which made me sort of chuckle because trust me, I am not someone who everyone always likes. I wish I was. Damn, I try hard to be. But I’m just not. Never have been.

And like everyone else out there, I have been bullied….and I have also been the bully. And neither feels very good.

My freshman year of high school was an absolute nightmare that I still can barely stand to think about in part because I was bullied and in part because I was so traumatized going to a new school that I barely spoke for an entire year. People have a hard time believing the second part of that statement because I’m someone who is considered outgoing but really I’m not. A true outgoing person can walk into a room where they know no one and make friends without even trying. I can do that, too, but I have to really try. I’m super friendly to overcompensate for the fact that I lack natural charisma and I’m secretly dying inside from fear of rejection. On the inside, people aren’t always who they portray themselves to be on the outside. I am perfect example of that.

Anyhow, the bulling happened on my school bus by three boys who I thought I was friends with but one day they just turned on me and started saying really awful things to me the whole ride.
One of the boys had lost his sister in a horrible accident the year before and had a younger brother with down syndrome so even while he was tormenting me I felt sorry for him because I figured he was acting out to deal with all the tragedy in his life. Empathy, even for bullies, has always been my greatest gift.

The second boy was like a bully out of a bad TV show or comic book. If you put five kids in a line up and said pick out the bully, you would definitely point to Andre. I don’t know why he hated me but he just did. And he’d hated me before we even met. During the bullying he would sometimes mention how over the previous summer he’d seen me in the mall with my friends and he hated me then. Now I am not the most confident person in the world but I am confident that my friends have always been adorable so hearing that from Andre made me realize he must hate the idea of people like me and by people like me I mean people with really cute friends who like to shop. That made me feel sorry for him, too, because being the big oaf bully is not a role anyone dreams of playing in life and sadly he was born to play to it so that must of kind of sucked.

The third boy was a complete tool. I was a little girl and I outweighed him by about 30 pounds and he had a face that was all pointy and sneaky looking – pretty much exactly like a weasel. I hated this kid the most because he seemed to derive so much pleasure from making me feel bad. And even though it was obvious why he needed to bully others, I felt no empathy for him because he was just a mean little troll.

Anyhow, that was blatant run of the mill bullying and it sucked. I’ve also suffered at the hands of much more sophisticated bullies. The kind that try to beat you down by making you feel less than them – mentally, physically, economically – whatever.

I was actually really close friends with a bully until about a year ago. I knew she was a bully because I watched her tear people down and I saw how much pleasure it gave her. I didn’t realize until we stopped being friends how much she actually tried to bully me and how many times she bullied others and I ignored it because we were friends. And that made me sad that I had ever been friends with her. It was as if I was a bully enabler.

As I mentioned before, I, too, have at times been the bully. I have never just looked at someone and decided to be mean to them. And I would never be mean to someone based on their race or religion or size or sexual preference on anything like that. But there have been people who have crossed me and I have been so mad that I have bullied them in my own way. I’m excellent at freezing people out. I once had such a big problem with an internal vendor I worked with that I told that person’s supervisors that if they wanted my business they had to agree that this person would have zero contact with me, in fact he would not even be allowed to make eye contact if we passed in the halls. And they agreed to it - which made me really happy in a smug, dickweed kind of way. That is until I realized that being such a bitch was also being kind of a bully and that’s not who I want to be. It’s not who anyone should want to be.

A bully isn’t always the kid who steals everybody’s lunch money. Bullies come in all shapes and sizes. Mac had a kid bully him in preschool when he was four and that child looked like a tiny angel. Not like someone who was going to try to stick a fork in your kid’s eye.

The thing is – and I’m not trying to make excuses here for bullies because what they do is wrong and I’m still mad at that weasel faced kid from my bus – but when people bully it’s not because there is anything wrong with you (the victim), it’s because there is something wrong with them (the bullies). They feel insecure about something and in order to make themselves feel better they put other people down.

I’ve mentioned before that I had a friend who dated a guy who fancied himself a super smart film student and when I didn’t like the movie Fight Club, he told me it was probably just “over my head”. In a super lame way, he was trying to bully me because he had recently been dumped by my friend and his career was going nowhere and so implying I was dim was supposed to make him feel smarter. I wonder if it did? Probably not. And that probably sucks. Because when you’re mean to someone, you know it. Mean isn’t something that happens by accident. And when you go home and think about what an ass you were and realize that trying to hurt someone else didn’t change the fact that you look like a weasel or your boyfriend doesn’t want to marry you or you didn’t walk out of film school and immediately become Martin Scorsese, that has gotta feel really bad. And no amount of bullying is ever going to make you feel any better. But you know what might? Being nice. Choose good. It always works out better for everyone.

Bad Girls Club

Saturday night we had a get together at our house to say goodbye to my bestie Holly who is moving to Los Angeles in a little over two weeks. Several of Holly’s nearest and dearest brought their kids, kids I had never met before, and one of them had the hots for Mac. Not just a little crush – the full on hots.

Now Mac has a way with the ladies, so watching little girls flirt with him, and him flirt with them, is not something new to me. But this girl had moves that no six year old should have. At one point Bobby and my friend Denise, whose much more innocent daughter Fia was feeling a bit left out, caught the girl jumping on Mac, yelling “kiss me” and then proceeding to dry hump him. What’s dry humping? Basically sex with your clothes on. The ultimate tease move. It scared the crap out of me. Luckily, it also scared the crap out of Mac who I think may now consider the priesthood.

The whole thing got me thinking about kids today. Something I know I think about a lot but how can you not when you have some little stud in the making fighting off aggressive Bratz wannabes in your basement? Isn’t it supposed to be the girls fighting off the boys? When did the roles switch on that one? I thought it was supposed to get easier for me as my boys got older. As long as I raised them to respect girls there would be nothing to worry about. Apparently things have changed. Big time.

When my mom died in 1997 and my dad started dating, he gave me horrifying details about the women he went out with and how strong they all came on to him. My dad hadn’t had a date since like 1966 so it was only natural that things had changed a little. But the stories he told me implied a lot more change than that. And hearing how about it in regards to your dad is only slightly worse than worrying about it in regards to your son. Gross.

Friday night Bobby and I went to a social event for Mac’s nursery school at the home of some other parents. It was a really nice party with a lot of people. Some we knew, some we didn’t. One of the women we didn’t know walked in on Bobby in the bathroom. Oops. We’ve all accidentally walked in on someone at a crowded party so no biggie, right? Except for usually when that happens, you look away and run out. This woman stopped and lingered – checking my husband in all his urinating glory out. Sure, Bobby is obviously a stunning specimen and she was probably drunk but we were at a Catholic School social event. Are you kidding me? When did the whole world go all Mary Magdalene on me?

Luckily on Saturday, Mac’s little pal Fia wasn’t willing to compete with the little harlot for his attention. And in the end, she was the one who spent the night over here and played with him all morning on Sunday. And when we talked about the party later Mac went on and on about how he wished Fia could spend the night every weekend and didn’t want to talk about the other girl at all. I think that’s a lesson to all the tramps out there. Whether it’s my son, my dad or my husband…..you’re outta your league and no amount of dry humping is going to get you in.

Angels and Devils

Mac’s teacher recounted a cute story about him where apparently all the little boys were telling her how nice she is and Mac gave her a big smile and said “Yeah, Mrs. Wooten, you’re as nice as a crab”. She thought it was so sweet and funny and had to share it.

I thought it sounded suspicious so I asked him “Mac, are crabs nice?” to which he responded “no” so then I asked “well, if crabs aren’t nice, then why did you tell Mrs. Wooten that she is as nice as a crab?”.

A huge smile came across his face as he looked me in the eye and explained
“I didn’t say she was nice as a crab, Mom, I said she was nice as crap”.

Ah, yes, that sounds my like my child. Big brother of the little devil who grabbed the heavenly host out of the Priest’s hand as he was giving me communion on Sunday and yelled “I want the Jesus!.” That wasn’t embarrassing – or a one way ticket to hell – was it?

The behavior of my sweet little ones has me thinking “what’s wrong with kids today?”

There was an incident at an exclusive all-boys private school near where I live that involved boys setting up a “fantasy sex draft” where they each picked girls from other local schools for their “fantasy team” and gave their teams really vulgar names like “the south side slam pigs”. Then they threw parties inviting girls from their teams and earned points for “scoring” with them. Are you kidding me? Who are these kids and how can they possibly think acting this way is acceptable?

A couple of days after reading about this incident in Bethesda Magazine, I watched School Ties on cable and pictured Matt Damon’s obnoxious prep student character as one of the fantasy sex draft boys. Could it be that elitist schools produce assholes? Possibly, but assuming that all kids who go to those sorts of schools are dicks is as bad as them assuming they have the right to step on other people so I’m not going to go there.

Is it because technology has turned kids into maniacs who think they’re above the law? The texting, the sexting, the overload of information on the internet – maybe it’s all too much.

Is it because their idols are all idiots who are in and out of relationships, trouble or jail on a daily basis? And the ones who haven’t gone to jail are just stupid. Have you heard that ridiculous Ke$ha song where she samples “there’s a place in France, where the naked ladies dance?”.

That’s like me writing a blog where I spend the entire time quoting “there once was a man from Nantucket”. It’s bad enough she spells her name with a dollar sign and wakes up in the morning feeling like that loser P Diddy, but now she’s bogarting my dirty childhood limericks as song lyrics? And kids look up to this tool. No wonder the youth of today is going down the crapper.

My kids have the cutest little faces and exhibit the absolute worst behavior in town. Mac bounces off the wall, pouts, shows off and apparently uses foul language when speaking to teacher’s – though in his defense he’d heard his Dad say “as crap” and didn’t realize that crap means poo so lesson learned there, I hope. Charlie looks like a little angel – an angel who is filled with crazy rage. Lucifer, perhaps? I don’t think there’s been an angrier angel than that guy, right?

But the thing is as “bad” as my kids are – and trust me they are pretty bad – it’s all kid stuff. Inside they are still sweet and innocent and desperate for everyone’s approval. So how do I keep them from changing? How do I keep the core of goodness in my children from being overtaken by their obviously devilish nature? What makes some kids turn out like Taylor Swift and others turn out like Lindsay Lohan?

I’d like to say it’s the parents (yes, Dina Lohan, I'm talking to you) but I’d hate for anyone who sees me carrying a raging Charlie over my shoulder to judge me so I don’t know. I guess all we can do is keep trying and pray the best parts of their little souls will win out. The battle between good and evil is a tough one but if anyone is up to a fight it's my kids. Go Mac & Charlie!

My Mother

My mother never thought she played a big enough part in my life – or anyone’s – which is ironic since losing her is what defines my life now. It’s at the center of everything I do. I base my every action on making sure I never make anyone feel the way she made me feel on our hard days and that I never let anyone suffer alone the way she did on her worst days. I am grounded and empathetic and resilient – all because of her. Being forgotten is something she always worried about, but she shouldn’t have because I miss her more every single day that she’s gone. And I would trade almost anything to have her back. I write about my mother a lot because she still plays such a huge role in my life but due to how difficult our relationship was my memories of her aren’t always happy. The thing is because she was an untreated manic depressive the bad times with her were excruciating and the good times were unbelievably wonderful. And most days I only think about the good side so I don’t know why I refrain from sharing it more. Here are some of my good memories of my mother.

She let us drink pepsi pretty much from birth and when I went to elementary school and it was frowned upon for small children to drink pepsi she didn’t bow to the expectations of teachers and other parents – she just wrapped my pepsi can in tin foil as if it was some kind of disguise and sent it in my lunch box anyhow.

In the car she listened to 8 track tapes – some Barry Manilow, some broadway musical soundtracks and a bunch called “oldies but goodies” with 50’s and 60’s music. When “Duke of Earl” would come on she would sing “Duke, Duke, Duke; Bo & Luke, Luke, Luke; Uncle Jessie and Sexy Daisy” which we thought was hysterical because we were huge Dukes of Hazard fans. My kids have never seen The Dukes of Hazard but I taught them both that song and they love it.

She also had a cb in the car during the time that Smokey & the Bandit was popular. She called herself “Speedy Mama” and would talk to all the truckers while she drove us to school. Picture a woman 5 foot 2 with big perfect Doris Day blonde hair and a little tiny body wrapped in whatever preppy gear was popular holding her own with truckers in a car always filled with at least 5 or 6 children under ten and that was her.

When she was hung over (which was rare) she told us she had the Irish Flu. My brother and I thought it was something you could actually case – like the Swine Flu so we’d stay as far away from her as we could until she miraculously recovered the next day. Brilliant.

When I was a teenager she would buy me all the cutest clothes from whatever movie was cool at the time and if I didn’t want to wear them because I was always so insecure she would put them on and wear them out herself until I’d seen her in them enough times to feel like I could pull it off and want them back. She always looked better in them than I did even though I was 26.5 years younger.

My mom had charisma. She thought she was great and she was excited to go anywhere and when she walked into a room you felt her enthusiasm and you were drawn to her. She was always laughing the best laugh. And she made everything fun. We look exactly alike but I’ll never be her because she had something special that can’t be replicated. Marianne McCarthy brought the party just by walking in the door.

During dinner if conversation lulled or she was bored by us, she would start quoting from her favorite movies - The Sure Thing, Seems Like Old Times, or Night Shift. The quotes wouldn't make any sense in the context of what was going on but she would laugh so hard at herself that none of us could help but laugh either.

She made everyone feel special. My mom died when I was twenty seven years old. It had been fifteen years since I left elementary school and I hadn’t been back to that school since. But at my mom’s wake all of my elementary school teachers showed up. They didn’t all still work there and they hadn’t seen my family in a decade but they were all there. I was holding my own until I saw them and it just killed me. She was such a good mother, such a good person that no one ever forgot her. It was one of the most profound moments of my life.

My mother loved being Irish. She never said so but I think a big reason she fell for my dad was the great last name. We celebrated St. Patrick's Day like it was the Fourth of July. And we all felt proud to be McCarthy's.

My mom came on a lot of field trips when I was in elementary school and everyone always wanted to be in her group because she was the most fun chaperone. When we’d drive into DC on the bus, all the other moms would point out the monuments and the things we’d seen a thousand times. My mom would point out “there’s where Pa got mugged” and “there’s the liquor store where Uncle Jesse bought his beer” and then she would laugh and hand out secret M&Ms to everyone while the teachers weren’t looking.

My mom threw the best birthday parties that all involved some kind of hoopla like 15 little girls in the back of the station wagon going to the Ice Capades at the Capital Center on a school night.

My mom judged people pretty harshly but the people she loved she really loved. When she made me a memory book for my twenty fifth birthday and it asked who were her favorites of my friends she wrote Nancy and Patrick my two best childhood friends. I’d made so many new friends since then but I’d held onto Nancy and Patrick and so had she because for both of us that time in our life was our best time together.

When we got our first betamax, my mom would rent movies from the Photomat and borrow a neighbor’s betamax so that she could hook them both up and record bootleg versions of our favorite movies to watch again and again. She didn’t think it was illegal because she would fast forward and not start recording until after the FBI warning.

If I curled my bangs under too tightly in high school she would tell me I looked just like Sister Miriam who if you went to my high school you know was not the best looking nun ever.

On Sundays for football she wouldn’t make a real lunch or dinner. Instead she would make a full Super Bowl type spread every weekend including these little sausage things she called “Hog Balls” and we’d eat that ALL DAY.

She went a Bar Mitzvah once and since she didn’t understand Hebrew she was bored during the Torah portion where the boy reads from the Torah so after that whenever anything boring was happening she would refer to it as “the Torah portion”. Like if we were watching a movie and a boring part was coming up she would say “I’m going to run and fold the laundry during the Torah portion, but I’ll be back for the action”.

When we ran for student body offices in school she made up mean jingles about our opponents. Bobby never met my mom but he can sing the jingles because I still do.

Marianne McCarthy was beautiful. And loving. And so funny. She was my mother. And I miss her.

Ready? O-Kay!

So last night I watched the premiere of Hellcats on the CW and my take on it can best be described in a cheer:

C-H-E-E-S-E-Y, this show is pretty cheesey, guys
Cheesey, yes, it’s cheesey!

And I love it.

It’s one part “Bring It On”, one part “Flashdance”, one part teen soap and one part music video which adds up to a great big “Hell Yeah!” in my book. I mean, imagine if the kids on the original 90210 had been snobby but gorgeous cheerleaders and Andrea Zuckerman had been forced to join the squad in order to pursue her educational dreams and the rage she felt at this injustice was choreographed a la Kevin Bacon’s anger dance in “Footloose” until she decided to teach the other cheerleaders how to street dance, they became the best squad ever and at the same time all learned to accept people who are different from them. Oh, you’re also going to have to imagine Zuckerman was hot and underage. Now, can you give me an A-W-E-S-O-M-E on that?

Sure, there are some drawbacks, like how they use a cheerleader tumbling to transition from scene to scene. Annoying. And how once Marti (the townie/college student who loses her scholarship and is forced to join the squad to pay for college) shows up, suddenly everyone not only knows how to dance but everyone actually knows the same dance that Marti is freestyling. She’s not doing the electric slide, she’s just making up moves and not even Wade Robson would be able to pick them up that quick.

Marti’s rival, Alice, the cheerleader she’s replacing because of an injury, is a typical teen drama mean girl who is having just enough of a hard time personally for you to maybe forgive her behavior. Ashley Tisdale is all saccharine sweet as cheer captain, Savannah. Her acting isn’t bad, it’s just that her character could not be more annoying. But Alyson Michalka is perfect as Marti. I’m totally waiting for the episode where it’s revealed she works in a steel mill between classes and practice. Love her.

I’m not sold on the adult story lines yet – Marti’s alcoholic mother? So tired. And Jackie Taylor already did drunk parent better than anyone else ever could so we might as well just give that one up. The cheer coach caught in a love triangle between her hot team doctor boyfriend and the returning football coach she has a mysterious past with? It might get interesting but I need another week or two to decide. And really, who cares because no one watches this kind of television for the grown up story lines.

The best part of the show – for me at least – is that it marks the resurrection of One Tree Hill’s tragic basketball star, Quentin Fields (when they killed Quentin, I stopped watching cause it was just too much sad), and Peyton Sawyer’s stalker, the guy who was pretending to be her brother and terrorized her in the best titled episode ever, “Prom Night at Hater High”. Quentin is now a Hellcat Cheerleader with eyes for Marti and the stalker is now Marti’s townie best bud who may hook up with Tisdale. Whatever happens it good to see those guys working, and, you know, breathing, again.

The next two weeks more new shows (and the return of some old ones) will be rolling out so although I’m giving Hellcats a big old thumbs up right now, they’re gonna have to get in there and fight for my viewing time. But, come on, they’re cheerleaders – who better to compete?

Home Sweet Home

The last few weeks have had me feeling like I’m in high school again – and not in a good way.

First, I let Charlie hold the car keys while I was opening the garage door and he pushed the “trunk open” button which resulted in the trunk getting caught on the garage door, sparks flying and our car needing $1500 worth of repairs. The next day, while driving a car with bungee cords holding the trunk closed, my crappy depth perception resulted in me hitting one of those white support poles in the mall parking garage. Suddenly, I was sixteen again, having to tell my parents that I’d rear ended someone on West Street or hit the tree on the way out of our driveway. Bobby was a lot more understanding that my parents ever were but I still got the sinking feeling in my stomach that reminded me of everything I hated about growing up.

Then I went to a friend’s bridal shower in the neighborhood where I used to live. Driving there was like watching an old movie again for the first time in years. Everything is familiar and sort of sentimental but it’s not yours. It was like driving into someone else’s life. That is until the bride’s mom got mad at her and yelled at me in front of a room full of people and all of a sudden I was seventeen years old again trapped in my mother’s kitchen with nowhere to hide from the insanity. Being yelled at by someone you consider an adult when you’re actually an adult yourself is not fun because even though I’m forty years old, I still wouldn’t dare talk back to one of my mom’s friends so I just stood there and took it just like I did when I was a kid. Which reminded me about how home was never a place I wanted to be for long.

Last week I went to the beach with my family for our end of the summer getaway, and as luck would have it our beach trip coincided with my best friend from high school’s beach trip with her mother. Rachael lives in Seattle now and we only see each other once a year when she comes home for a few days to visit her family. Before our visit last summer, it had been nineteen years since we’d seen each other in person but the minute she walked into my house it was like 1986 again. So when she called me from a bar to come meet her, I dropped everything. And it was so worth it because what she gave me back was the thing all my memories of late had been missing – the laughter.

See sometimes I’m so consumed with the bad stuff that I forget about the good stuff. I forget about how it felt to drive around in my smooth wood paneled station wagon blaring “Blister in the Sun”. I forget the freedom I felt on a car ride, especially a car ride that involved some version of a faked asthma attack, a Chinese food buffet and a skipped afternoon of school. I forget the easy, giddy laughter that existed between teenaged friends and the strength and hopefulness that those moments gave me.

Seeing Rachael brought it all back with one very important difference. In the old days, at the end of the fun that sinking feeling always snuck back into my stomach because I wanted to go anywhere but home. But on Friday despite how much fun I was having; and how much I loved being reunited with my pal, I wasn’t sad to go home at the end of the night. Bobby, Mac and Charlie gave me the home I always wanted. Or I gave it to them. It doesn’t matter. All that does is that I am finally happy to go home. And that’s pretty cool.

It's not that complicated

I don’t even know where to start. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to avoid being constantly attacked – blatantly or worse passive aggressively – by people in my life and I’ve finally just decided the only way for me to keep my sanity is just to rise above all the bullshit and be the bigger person once again.

Let me tell you, being the bigger person bites. But since I’m usually the only person willing to take the job, it’s mine. And since being the bigger person means I’m not able to use this forum to gripe about all the issues I have with people I actually know, I’m going to spend today passing judgment on people I don’t know. Ah, I feel better already.

P Diddy – I saw your performance on the Teen Choice Awards (yes, I watched the Teen Choice Awards because I really care about the choices our teens are making) with your new group Diddy Dirty Money and I was, well, confused….and, frankly, bored. Who exactly is in this group besides you? Is it just the two skanky chicks who danced on either side of you or is it that whole like 20 person posse dancing with the three of you? I wasn’t sure. Like I said, very confusing. And why when you are clearly 41 years old did you feel it was cool to dance around in a letterman jacket with what looked like cheerleaders who have aspirations to be porn stars? I get the trashy girls – that’s Video Casting 101 – it’s the jacket that bugged me cause Diddy, it made you look old. And sort of pathetic. Word on the street is you were great in that Get Me To The Greek movie so why not stick with the extended cameos instead of trying to revive your music career as the old man in Danity Kane?

Levi Johnston – Oh, Levi, Levi, Levi. On the one hand I almost feel sorry for you because you are just so stupid. But on the other hand, other really stupid people seem to know right from wrong so what’s your problem? Is being famous for being a humongous douche better than not being famous at all? Maybe that’s a conversation you and Scott Disick should have. I was sure there was no bigger douche in the world than him until I heard about the reality show you’re pedaling that involves you (a guy with no high school diploma and a reputation for being a total sleeze) running for mayor of Wasilla, Alaska. Are you kidding me? Apparently not because when asked about it Levi’s rep, Tank Johnston (yes, that’s a real person’s name) had this to say “People questioned Jesus Christ, so I definitely don't care about these mere mortals questioning Levi Johnston. People can question whatever they want. I mean, he's going to keep on doing his thing. He was going to do this, even if this wasn't a reality show." I’m sorry did Tank just compare Levi Johnston to Jesus Christ? Excuse me, while I throw up.

The “It’s Complicated” Option on Facebook – I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but it’s not complicated. You’re married. You’re single. Or you have the option to keep that bit of information private. When you choose to change your status from married to “it’s complicated” you are just asking for people to gossip about you with all your mutual ‘friends’. Is that really what you want? I think “it’s complicated” was set up as an option for the drama filled relationships that the kids on the CW engage in. Not real life adults. No matter how complicated you think it really is, “it’s complicated” is not a valid status for a grown up.

Bachelor Pad – Of course, I didn’t watch it because as you know I gave up on the Bachelor franchise after the plane crash that was Bachelor Jake: On the Wings of Love and just because his engagement to Vienna went down in flames doesn’t mean I will ever waste my time on that nightmare again. And now we have the option of watching all the pathetic fame hungry rejects competing for love and money in the Bachelor Pad. No thank you.

Mel Gibson – Note to all the entertainment news outlets: can we please just let him go away? I think we’re all in agreement that he’s a foul mouthed racist with an anger management problem but enough is enough. Does playing a new gross voicemail message for us everyday do anyone any good? Does E! need to broadcast a special called “Mel Gibson: Sex, Lies and Audiotape”? Can’t we just close the book on this one and let him fade into obscurity? And now his dad is getting all this publicity for bashing the Pope – why does anyone care what Mel Gibson’s dad says? We knew that guy was crazy way before Mel’s true self was revealed so just let him rant and rave at home. My ears hurt from listening to this stuff.

Compared to Diddy and Gibson my real life is looking good. And very uncomplicated. Which is exactly how I like it.

Ties don't always bind

Ever wish you could just crawl under a rock and hide?

That’s how the last couple weeks have been for me. And it sucks because when you have little kids you can’t just pull the covers over your head and hide from all the crap that is stinking up your life. You have to get up in the morning and smile and act like everything is great.

And when you have extended family, you have to continually apologize and make excuses and swallow all the acid that’s dished out to you so you can get along because if you don’t get along then you have to explain to your kids why certain people don’t come around.

I grew up in a house where a lot of value wasn’t put on extended family. I had one grandmother who wasn’t interested in even meeting me and my brothers, and another who wanted to smother my mom so much that things always ended badly. I have two Aunts and probably some cousins I’ve never met. And one Uncle who wasn’t ever around enough for me to really get to know, but at least he did give me some great cousins, particularly my Jennifer who for a small part of my life was so important that time and distance have not been able to sever our bond. That’s pretty rare in my family which makes her all the more special.

Anyhow, I always wanted the TV family, where being together actually felt good, not hard. And there was nothing you could ever do that would make those people stop loving you. I’ve spent years fighting for that family and I’m finally starting to accept that it’s probably not going to happen for me. The fact that my brother is getting married next Saturday and I just found out about it yesterday because I asked my dad what he was up to next week sort of sealed the deal for me. I didn’t even know Kevin had a girlfriend. Or even a guy friend. I thought his last friend was Sticky the cat. Apparently, I was wrong. And I guess I’m happy about that because all I want is the best for my family. The best and an occasional email or phone call, maybe a hug. But that is apparently way too much to ask. So I’ll have to just be happy knowing he’s hopefully happy and not much else. It’s kind of a lot to swallow when you’re someone who busts ass to make everyone else happy. It’s kind of a huge blow to your ego when you can’t even win over your own family.

And just when I was at my lowest point, something awesome happened. I got an email from a very old, very close friend asking me to make a “crank call” for her. Back in the day before caller ID and star 69, I was an excellent and fearless crank caller so the request to make the call (which was more sneaky investigation than crank) was definitely one I couldn’t refuse. But it was how the request made me feel that saved the day. All of sudden, someone who’d known me as my original self and all the versions since then, needed help with something and thought of me. Not just because I was once the Bart Simpson or Jimmy Kimmel of Davidsonville, but because she remembered that when asked, I will do anything for the people I love and it felt really good to know that someone out there remembered that.

My favorite author, Jay McInerney, starts his book Last of the Savages with the line “The capacity for friendship is God's way of apologizing for our families”. Never have I believed it more.

Butt, Of Course

The second year that Bobby and I were dating, he bought me a Valentine’s Card that said on the front “what do I love about you the most?” and on the inside “butt, of course!” He thought this was hilarious because, you know, he’s a boy and all.

I’ve been thinking about that card at lot the last week because suddenly thoughts and conversations about butts are something I just can’t get away from.

Last week Bobby was out of town, and I choose to use that time to watch a sad movie because when he’s home Bobby is the sad movie police and keeps me from making such horrible decisions. Like an addict, as soon as he leaves the house for a few days, I start trolling the cable stations for showings of “Terms of Endearment” or “Steel Magnolias”. So last week I decided I’d watch “Nights in Rodanthe”, a movie based on a Nicholas Sparks book so you know it’s just going to be brutal going in. And it was. I sat in the dark on my bed sobbing when it was over.

And then I remembered about Richard Gere and the gerbils. You know, how he puts them up his butt? And that made me stop crying because, come on, what kind of dumb ass sobs over a guy who willingly puts rodents in his butt?

I mentioned this at a bbq over the weekend at my friend Holly’s house and everyone, including her dad, nodded in agreement about Gere and the gerbils, but there was one girl there, an FBI agent no less, who was clueless about it. She asked us questions like “when did this happen?” and “was it on the news?” and “are you sure it’s true?” and while none of us could come up with any concrete proof, there was no denying it was absolutely true. Gere and the gerbils is something you just believe in. We take it on faith that it happened and we’re at once disgusted and fascinated by it. On his tombstone I’m sure it will say “Actor, Buddist, Guy who loved gerbils in his butt” cause that is just who Gere is. No question. And those gerbils in his butt saved me from a Sparks induced death spiral so thanks little Zhu Zhu pets.

Later in the week, I was chatting with one of my close friends about how her boss is kind of a dick. I asked for an example and she told me that he often blows up and gets super mad but then apologizes in a less than favorable way. Like when he showed his remorse to her by presenting her with a DVD set of the television show “Mad Men” so she could watch and see what working for an actual “bad boss” is like and then appreciate him more. Really? So, you’re some kind of temper challenged crazy person and she’s supposed to be psyched that you’re not trying to grab her butt like Jon Hamm? Hamm is pretty hot and I’m pretty sure my friend’s boss is not. Plus he’s playing a boss from the 1960’s not 2010 so the argument/apology here is pretty weak. It’d take the butt grabbing over the insane manic personality any day.

On Friday we went to the pool for Mac’s swimming lesson. After the lesson all the kids were playing in the pool when a little girl who is new to the pool crowd came over to me and said “Um, Mac’s mom, your son is trying to grab my tush.” I thought this sounded odd, but I assured the little girl that I’d talk to him so I called Mac over and said “Buddy, were you trying to grab that little girl’s butt, because she doesn’t like it” to which he responded “Mom, I wasn’t trying to grab her butt – I was just playing a simple game of grab ass”

Um, excuse me? Did my 4 year old just tell me he was playing a simple game of grab ass? I had no idea how to respond to that so I just said “well, don’t touch anyone’s butt – EVER” and then thought about how great it was that I was going to end up being the mother of the next generation's Sir Mix A Lot.

So, here it is another week and I’m hoping to get through it without any talk about rear ends. Butt, of course, I think we all know that won’t happen.

I know what Boys like

As the mother of two boys, I am often asked if Bobby and I are going to “try for a girl”.

I understand why people ask this – the ideal family has both and I’m a pretty girly-girl so it seems like something I would want to “try for”. The thing if I tried, I’d probably end up with a third boy and which would make the male female ratio in my house 4-1 and there’s already way too much testosterone in my house.

The other thing is, I never really wanted a girl. Don’t get me wrong. I love being a girl. And I’m totally a girls’ girl. I’ve always had a million girlfriends and I just couldn’t live without a single one of them. And I absolutely adore my nieces, Brooke and Bella, and my friends’ daughters and Mac and Charlie’s many girlfriends. And, oh how I want to go for manicures, and shop for hair accessories, and do princess stuff. I love princess stuff and there isn’t one princess in my house full of superheroes. Well, if you don’t count me, of course.

The thing is because I am a girl who had a rough, often traumatic relationship with her own mother, as soon as I was pregnant I worried “what if it’s a girl and I make her feel awful her whole life the way my mom did to me?” The thought consumed me. I HAD to have a boy because I was not fit to raise a girl. These fears were hard for people I confided in to understand. They thought that because I was so aware of how my mom made me feel, I would never do the same thing to my own daughter. And they were probably right. But what always got me is that my mom wasn’t a bad mom. She was a GREAT mom. Maybe the best mom. And when she was tearing me down and making me feel awful, she had no idea that she was doing it. She thought by saying things like “why can’t you be as pretty as Anne?” that she was inspiring me to diet when really she was just making me feel like “crap, I’m the fugly side kick”. I know now that she never ever meant to hurt me and that from her spot in heaven she regrets it and I completely forgive her. But I still can’t risk living through that again.

So during both pregnancies I said “I just want a healthy baby” but I secretly prayed and prayed for boys who I could love and not ruin and both times I got my wish. Not just my wish but better because if you’ve never met my boys they are hands down the cutest, most hilarious, charming little devils you will ever meet. And I wouldn’t trade either of them for the world, but more often then I’d like to admit I wonder what “my girl” would be like and if maybe I sold myself short by “ending the cycle”. Maybe I could have handled it and my girl would have rocked. Probably. Definitely.

Luckily for me, these moments are fleeting because then I go to the party store and see all the super sexed up costumes for girls. And I see pictures of my four year old niece in a bikini posing like she’s a Victoria Secret Angel. And I watch the old 90210’s and see what poor Brenda Walsh’s parents went through.

Last week I watched two of Mac and Charlie’s friends for full day which doubled the number of kids I usually watch for more than an hour or two. God bless all my friends with four or more kids because it was hard! Getting four children under six to walk through a parking lot and keeping everyone alive was maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Then throw in the fact that one of them is a very pretty 3 year old girl and you’ve got problems. See my little pal Ella is pretty, but she’s not just normal 3 year old pretty. She’s 3 year old with two really gorgeous teenage sisters pretty which means she knows how to work it like no one else her age (well, except my previously mentioned bikini model niece). So anyhow, the day is going fine, all the kids are playing in the basement when all of a sudden Mac, Ella and her brother Matthew come running up stairs at varying levels of hysteria. See it seems that Ella decided she wanted to marry Mac and Mac was cool with that if “marry” meant “chase around” so he was playing a game of chase with her. Matthew, though, apparently unaware that he does not come from some sort of crazy Appalachian hillbilly family (his family is really quite lovely and normal) was brought to tears because he “loves Ella more than anything in the world and thought they were gonna get married”. You’d think Ella, his adoring sister, would feel bad that her brother was crying but instead she flipped her hair and hung onto Mac’s shoulder and taunted Matthew until he finally got so frustrated that he spit on Mac which made Mac feel the need to “crush” Matthew by grabbing his chest and twisting the skin until it was red. My child is a real prize, too. And then they all came running upstairs and expected me to deal with it.

So what did I do? First I put them all in time out in different parts of the kitchen. Then I sat Charlie, who had done nothing wrong, up on the counter in front of them and let him eat an entire candy bar by himself. Yes, I am super mature.

And then I walked from child to child and said “Matthew – we don’t spit on our friends”, “Mac – we don’t ‘crush’ our friends”, “Ella – we don’t use our good looks to make others feel bad”.

And as that ridiculous statement came out of my mouth and the pretty 3 year old starred at me like I was a space alien, suddenly all the reasons why I was happy not having just boys seemed clear.

Boys are so simple. Spitting and “crushing”, I can deal with. Bring it on!

All the girl bullshit, I will watch with amusement from the sidelines.
And I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel like I missed anything.

The Wisdom of Zuckerman

While I was cooking dinner tonight, I watched the high school graduation episode of the original 90210. In her valedictorian speech, Andrea Zuckerman says “what we’ve learned about the value of friendship will not be diminished just because we may not end up together. The memories that we have shared will not go away, simply because we do”. Zuckerman, always so wise beyond her years. Or maybe age appropriately wise since she was like 32 when they graduated high school.

Her speech got me thinking about my earlier post on continuity. I talked about how great it is to have people in your life for the long haul because your shared memories help you remember who you were in the beginning and hopefully hang on to some of that person as your life inevitably changes and with it you change as well.

My second child was 6 months old when my friend Pat Noel got married and I hadn’t been away from home overnight with just Bobby in over 3 years. When we got to the Eastern Shore for his wedding, we immediately met my pal Fissy for a drinking lunch which lasted all afternoon and by the time the wedding reception started I was hands down the drunkest person there. Partly because after so much time home with kids, I was sort of like a caged animal. And partly because the majority of the people I knew at the wedding were people I used to party with in my younger days so when I saw them I just went right back to being that person. People kept saying to Bobby “wow, she hasn’t changed at all” and he had to explain that “no, really, she has – she just doesn’t get out much anymore”. Needless to say I had the best time ever and regret nothing. My point is that we all do change – but when you get back together with people who knew you in another form, you return to that form which as long as your past life wasn’t as a serial killer or something is pretty awesome.

When you watch TV as much as I do, there is always this image of what true friendships are like. If me and my very first friend Nancy were TV friends, we’d live in the same neighborhood now and our lives would be completely intertwined. In real life, we see each other a couple times a year if we’re lucky. She’s got two kids and two dogs and is Supermom doing twenty five volunteer jobs at a time and staying in stick thin shape running marathons and climbing mountains on the side. I’ve got the boys and school and still really enjoying sleeping drinking beer, and making out with Bobby more than just about anything. Oh, and there’s that river between Maryland and Virginia that keeps us apart. Yada, yada, yada. We don’t see each other nearly enough but that’s okay because what’s between us withstands time and distance and change. When I do see Nancy, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been, it’s always like it was yesterday because she’s a such a big part of who I am. That’s what real friendship is like.

And I’m lucky because I have lots of friendships like that. I rarely see half the people I love. Jobs, kids, distance, there are millions of things that keep us apart. Thank God for email and facebook or I might forget what some of my friends look like. But out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind.

Recently I found out that someone I thought was a friend, not a super close friend, but definitely a friend, has been talking smack about me and some other friends. We had all been pals a few years back because we had a commonality – babies the same age. Then those babies got bigger and we didn’t see each other as much. Second kids came along. First kids went to different schools. Life just took us in different directions. But there was certainly no falling out, no hard feelings. At least that’s what I thought. And then I hear through the neighborhood rumor mill that it’s being said my friends and I only want to hang out with parents from our kids’ school and we’re in some sort of cult. Yes, the word cult was actually used. About me. And I don’t even think I was the leader. That’s some serious bullshit, right? I mean, I know Catholic School has been called a lot of things but it’s not a cult. You must have us confused with Scientology. Oh, and I’m friends with plenty of people whose children go to other schools. I’m friends with people who don’t even have children. Or jobs. Or their own apartments. Sure I spend more time with the parents of kids my son is in school with because of carpooling and going to the same events and that’s just life. It’s not some kind of grand plan to leave certain people out. I honestly don’t have the time or energy to devise evil plans these days. Wish I did. Kidding.

The thing is, a lot of people expect too much from friends – and these same people don’t necessarily feel the need to give you what they expect in return. It befuddles me. I mean if you don’t feel like you see me enough, then call me and make plans. Maybe even in a way that would be convenient for me. I have a friend who is always giving me a hard time about not seeing her but she’s never once offered to come the 45 minutes to an hour to visit me. It’s always about when can I drive during rush hour across three counties to catch up. And I apologize again and again cause I don’t want to be the bad friend – but damn it, I’m not a bad friend. And these people are not as good as they think either.

Good friends don’t need to see each other all the time. Sure they want to but they understand about life and scheduling and traffic and kids. And they’re happy with whatever time they get you for. I mentioned my friend Aileen in my earlier post and one of the things I love about her is we really never spend time together. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said we’ve seen each other maybe twice in 20 years. But there’s no pressure, no judging, no complaining about why don’t we ever see each other (partly cause she lives in Tennessee). We just appreciate the connection we’re lucky enough to still have and the fact that texting lets us enjoy it. That’s friendship.

Friends aren’t the people who guilt you into going out when you don’t feel like it. Friends are the people who send you a birthday card in the mail. Friends are the people who you have lunch with a couple times a year and laugh your ass off and then don’t talk for four months and it’s okay. Friends are the people who walk in unexpectantly at your mom’s funeral and make you remember why you loved them in the first place. Friends know your strengths and your limitations and they accept that. And just because friends aren’t living in the apartment across the hall and barging in to eat breakfast with you before work every morning like they do on TV, doesn’t mean they aren’t still part of your everyday. Because as Zuckerman said to the West Beverly High School class of 1993: the memories that we have shared will not go away simply because we do. I wish that all friends were as wise as Andrea Zuckerman. And I’m thankful that so many of mine are. To friends. Together and Apart.

Continuity

In Hollywood, movie producers have someone called a “Script Supervisor” who is on set at all times making sure that when scenes are shot out of order they don’t lose continuity. In my real life, that’s what my friends are for. Coming from a family that is fractured and spread out, sometimes I feel like it’s my job to remember every detail of my childhood in order to keep it, and the people who starred in it, from disappearing. My memories and stories keep my past alive. And the people who were there with me validate it.

Over the weekend my baby Charlie stepped on a bee and got stung. The first thing I thought was “crap – I hope he’s not allergic”. The second thing I thought was “well, at least it’s only one sting” because as a child my brothers and our friends the Ratti girls and I stepped on a nest of ground bees in the woods and were chased by a swarm into the south river. I haven’t seen the Ratti girls in decades. But when I posted something about Charlie’s sting on facebook, I almost immediately got a message from Jacqueline saying “remember that time we stepped on the bee’s nest and got chased”. And knowing someone else shared that memory with me made it more real. It made a childhood that seems so far away seem closer. And it made even kind of a bad memory, a good one because it was shared and everything is better when you share it.

Saturday night Bobby and I watched Hot Tub Time Machine again. If you haven’t seen it, get yourself to that red box in the Safeway pronto and rent it because it rocks. Watching it got me thinking, if I could go back in a hot tub time machine who would go with me? It’s a hard question because you can only fit so many people in a hot tub so you’d want to choose wisely. My friend Nancy was a no brainer because I’ve known her since I was five and we met John Cusack (star of Hot Tub Time Machine) together.

My friend from middle school, Anne, would have to come, too, because she grew up to be this super smart, responsible, do-gooder who I totally love but when I met her she was a roller skating rink loving, hair feathering, making out with Bob Ekstrand on the back of the bus to Kings Dominion and then smoking in the sky lift rebel and seeing that version of Anne again would give me a huge laugh.

From high school I’d bring my friend Aileen because even though we’ve only seen each other maybe twice in the last twenty years, when I text her she’s still the same teen movie quoting, snarky comment making, ready to laugh at anyone ball of fun she was in the 80’s. Plus I would love the chance to engage in crazy hijinks and have her earnestly tell me to “Blame it on Rio” even though I’ve still never been to Rio.

And finally, I’d need my friend Fissy, who I saw the movie with in the theater, there. Fissy and I weren’t friends till the very end of the 80’s but we made up for lost time by spending a year wearing matching outfits and tooling around in my convertible. When I hear Fergie sing “sippin', reminiscing on days when I had a Mustang” I think of me and Fissy and I get all giddy. When Fissy moved to California, it was like the day the music died. Some people from Bowie have actually asked me in rather accusatory tones “how did you let her go?” People from Bowie sometimes have a hard time letting go of the past. Trust me, I was born there. Oh, and she came back so get over it guys.

So I’ve put together my passenger list and now I’m just waiting for Chevy Chase to show up with my can of Chernobly. But if my hot tub time machine never shows up, and sadly I think the chances are pretty slim, it’s still pretty fantastic to have so many classic, recurring characters in my life. Without them I might forget who I was before “Mac and Charlie’s mom”, and that would be a shame because if continuity is correct, I was always pretty awesome.

Family Values

When I was younger, way before I actually had kids, I always thought I’d be a cool mom. Not the horrifying “best friend mom” who dresses like the cougar version of her teenage daughter and lets her get away with murder because someone in the house is the queen bee and it isn’t the parent. But a cool mom whose kids could talk to her about anything because she’d already been through it all and still remembered what it was like to be a young. I always thought that my vast, dramatic life experiences would give me this amazing empathy and understanding of the younger generation.

And to some degree it does. My memory is literally like a steel trap and I don’t just remember every detail of my childhood down to what people were wearing and what song was playing but I also remember with fresh pain every feeling. So when I saw the look of rejection on my little pal Cecilia when she asked Mac to marry her and she said no (not knowing that his reasoning was that he’s never getting married because then he’d have to move out of our house and he likes it here), my heart broke for her.

And last summer when one of the baseball boys staying with us for the summer over did it a bit a team party and ended up vomiting out the side of his mouth while passed out cold on the floor of my garage, I felt his pain and remembered the way things like shots of Sambuca and carafes of house red wine had ravaged my system as a younger person.

But as an old person I knew that I was responsible for this kid and so even though he wasn’t going to like it I had to call 911 and get an ambulance over here or risk letting someone die on my watch. As an adult, you can’t always make the cool decision. Sometime you have to make the right decision. At some point you have to give up the idea of being cool and be the least cool thing there is - a grown up.

So my question is – who is running the ABC Family Channel because for a channel with the word “family” in it their programming it is awfully sexed up. Is it being run by the 20 something equivalents of my baseball friend because that would make sense? Or is it being run by washed up sexpots like the “best friend moms” I mentioned before who want to relive their glory days? Or maybe it’s being run by the kind of total geeks who I encountered in my cable television working days who think they missed out on some kind of crazy shenanigans as young people and get off on recreating what they think they missed now? I don’t know. All I do know is that the only thing the ABC Family Channel is doing that has to do with family is showing you how to make one – physically.

Now, I have to admit, I am totally into their new show Pretty Little Liars. The story is super cheesy and ridiculous but who cares because the high school girls are all cute and totally mean and 90210 awesome. And their parents are played by some of my classic favorites: Sydney Mancini from both versions of Melrose Place, Nia Peeples of North Shore and Fame not to mention her own rocking Party Machine, Chad Lowe, the poor HIV afflicted boyfriend of Becca on Life Goes On, and best of all one girl’s big sister is played by that crazy babysitter from One Tree Hill who tried to steal Jamie and hobble Dan Scott. Fantastic casting. I love the show. It is for sure my favorite guilty pleasure of the summer. Note the word GUILTY.

See, I am the mother of two very little boys. If they were tween or teen boys would I want them watching this trash with me? No way. If they were girls of any age would I let them near this show? Not in a million years. I mean in the first episode one girl is depressed so she goes to a seedy bar in the middle of the afternoon, picks up a random guy and has sex with him in the bathroom. Excuse me? And that guy ends up being her English teacher! Who openly flirts with her and tries to ignore their sizzling chemistry but when he sees her walking down the road, in the rain mind you, he stops to pick her up for a quick make out session. Wow. When I watch stuff like that I immediately think Family Viewing. NOT. Even while I’m enjoying the show in the back of my mind I’m hating what this kind of garbage does to the always already fragile psyche of a young girl. Why isn’t this show on the CW or FOX and why isn’t it on at 9 or 10pm? Why would a channel that is supposed to be about family put on something that is so the opposite of their supposed brand at 8pm? I’ll tell you why - because no one cares about corrupting our youth. No one feels responsible even though it’s something we all should feel.

I know it’s kind of a big statement but it’s true. Last night I was at a park near a duck pond with my kids and there were some other little whippersnappers who were chasing two of the ducks and plucking their feathers. Yes, they were actually pulling feathers out of the ducks. Now, it’s no secret that I hate birds of any kind but I also hate the idea of torturing other living creatures and that’s what these kids were doing. The ducks were freaking out. They ran/waddled as fast as they could away from those crazy eyed children and the kids kept chasing them. They’d pull out their feathers while the ducks flapped and screamed and then the kids would give the feathers to their parents to hold while they continued to torment the poor ducks. I instructed my kids to get away from them and then I yelled for the whole park to hear “Everyone get away from those ducks! You are going to give them a heart attack!” The parents of the duck abusers looked at me like I was crazy. But you know what’s crazy – letting your kids torture animals because little kids who enjoy hurting other living things grow up to be the Patrick Batemans of the world and as much as I enjoy Huey Lewis, I don’t think the world needs anymore Batemans.

Sometimes saying no isn’t such a bad thing. Sometimes doing the hard thing is the best thing. Unless of course your dream is to be the parent of a sociopath or a pregnant teenager or the star of a Girls Gone Wild video, to watch someone die of alcohol poisoning or to work as a network executive at ABC Family. If one of those is your dreams keep on saying yes and I’m sure you’ll get exactly what you deserve.

What Would Ronald Reagan Do?

He walks past us starring. More like glaring. We can feel his eyes beating on us through his mirrored sun glasses. He’s waiting for us to do something, anything, wrong so that he can swoop in and implement severe punishment. I’m pretty sure the cold war is over but someone forgot to tell Ivan Drago, I mean, the head life guard at my pool – Darko. Yes, like Cher and Madonna, Darko only needs one name. He’s that bad ass. Heavy on the ass part.

It’s kind of a sad story because apparently the company that manages our lifeguards treats them rather shabbily; paying them little and always threatening to deport them (they’re mostly Eastern Europeans). Normally, something like that would enrage me and I’d be all over helping these poor mistreated foreigners but unfortunately Darko has ruined that for everyone.
He’s just awful. Instead of working with the neighbors to help make the pool a safe and fun environment, he attacks us. I guess the little power he has as head life guard makes him feel like a man or something. So he walks around the pool deck like a traffic cop stalking a parking garage, stopping to tell kids what they can’t do (no water guns, no balls, no laughter, no smiling), take pacifiers from babies (yes, he actually told Charlie that his pacifier is illegal on pool grounds), stop parents from taking pictures (apparently some cameras are not allowed) and ask swim teachers what gives them the right to teach kids in this pool to swim. Are you kidding me? As a life guard wouldn’t it be in your best interest to be watching kids who can actually swim? Sounds like something that would make the job a lot easier. Of course, this would mean you would actually have to be doing the part of the job that involves making sure people don’t get hurt or drowned. That part of the job is not so important to Darko. When my son fell and bled all over the pool deck, Darko didn’t look our way, let alone offer a first aid kit. And when my friend’s daughter fell into the pool, her mother ran in to save her – the lifeguards didn’t even acknowledge it had happened. Now if that little girl had been drowning and holding a water gun, they would have noticed long enough to peel the gun out of her flailing hands. Saving her, maybe not so important.

And on top of everything else, Darko does not seem to agree that cleanliness is close to Godliness. I grew up with a pool in my backyard and it was my job to clean it so I actually have about as much pool cleaning experience as Morris Buttermaker. And unlike Darko or Buttermaker, I cleaned the skimmers for a pool in the woods so I regularly had to remove floating dead forest rodents from it. Cleaning a pool in Davidsontucky is serious business.

Anyhow, now that we have my qualifications in regards to judging pool cleanliness cleared up; let’s get to the problem at hand. First of all, you have to clean the skimmers every night and every morning. Otherwise they fill up with gross stuff that just stays there. And then when the pool water level runs a little low, the gross stuff in the skimmer floats back out into the pool. So if you’re not emptying it out a couple times a day, why even have one? I know that the skimmers at my pool are not being cleaned because last week I checked them myself every day and for four days in a row the same cloth starfish toy was in there. As the days went on, the starfish never moved but just got more and more covered in beetles. Gross.

And then last Friday when the water was a little low, I noticed toys and beetles being sucked in and then spit out of the skimmer. A few minutes after that I noticed some sort of chunky substance that looked to be regurgitated food floating in the water. I thought it was throw up so my first urge was to scream “Throw up in the pool!” but I didn’t want to send the whole pool into a widespread panic like Spaulding did when he saw the Baby Ruth that looked like poo, so instead I just grabbed my son and his two pals and moved them away from the vomit. Then my friend went and told the lifeguards about it. They inspected the substance and said it was peanut butter and then casually tried to remove it. How did the supposed peanut butter get there? How long had it been there? Why didn’t Darko notice it during one of his starring jaunts? Would he have stopped the peanut butter if it had been shooting a water gun? Who knows? All I know is that two of Charlie’s pals ended up with some intestinal problems over the weekend and Charlie ended up at the doctor’s office with an oozing infected cut today. The doctor seemed to think the “incident” at the pool could be to blame. And that made me want to go all Rocky IV growing a savage beard and carrying a log up a snowy mountain to kick your ass, Drago, I mean Darko!

So what next? Do I continue to go to a pool where I feel like I’m part of the Genesis “Land of Confusion” video? Do I wait for Darko to piss off someone else a t the pool and then gather up an army of neighbors and shout “Wolverines!”? Do I climb up on a lifeguard stand and let the Russkies know that if “I can change and you can change then we all can change?” and end the cold war forever? Naturally, I keep asking myself what would Ronald Reagan do? Not surprisingly, my favorite president and the man who ended the first cold war was also a lifeguard. Sure wish The Gipper was here to help me end this one.

Guys I Love

So I’ve been trying desperately to win tickets to The Women’s Conference in California by entering all their monthly on-line give aways. The most recent contest for free tickets is to write in 200 words or less about “Guys We Love”. As the mother of two boys, the sister of two brothers, the best pal to dudes a plenty, a hot number and the wife of the ever charming Bobby Crismond, 200 words was not nearly enough to for me to expound on all the guys I love. I could probably go on for days and days on this subject but I know we’re all short on time so I’ll try to keep it short. Here is a sampling of the many guys I love and why I love them so damn much.

Bobby Crismond – well, if you’ve seen him then you know it’s partly because I’m shallow and he’s hot. Like super hot. But I love Bobby for more than that. I love him because at the very worst moment of my life, he fully accepted all my crazy baggage and swept in to save me. Our friend Rossi loves to call Bobby “a hater” because as I’ve talked about before, he sort of hates a lot of things (men in tight tee-shirts, Bluetooth guy, Cameron Diaz, etc) and he definitely doesn’t like everyone. The thing is that when he does like someone or something, he is intensely loyal. He is your best friend. That doesn’t mean he won’t continue to make fun of your jogging attire or your incredibly nerdy knowledge of Star Wars trivia. He will be the first one to bust on your receding hairline or your clothes or the weight you put on recently. And he will make up mean nicknames for you like “Fat Pappy” or “Bitchard” but somehow he’s super high level of charm and affability will allow him to get away with all this. And when the chips are down he is the person who is going to be there for you and you won’t care that his ribbing you nonstop because it’s that loving teasing that is going to get you through the storm.

Kevin McCarthy – My dad is not conventional. And while there are times that I think it might be nice to have the kind of dads you see on sitcoms, I would never ever trade the dad I have. When I was in 6th grade with 6 girls and 15 boys and my dad chaperoned our camping trip, all the boys wanted to be in my dad’s cabin because he was cool. He didn’t make them hunt for fossils like the chaperones were supposed to do. He played football with them. For someone with the kind of work ethic my dad has – we’re talking about a man who worked his way through college and law school on construction jobs and ended up being more successful than he had ever dreamed – he always valued fun. No one likes sitting around drinking beer and telling the old stories more than my dad. I’ve heard them all a hundred times and I hope I get the chance to listen to them 100 more. My dad is tough but it’s all an act because underneath his never cry exterior is a guy who has buried more people he loves than anyone should have to and has done it all with grace and dignity. A guy who keeps stuffed animals in his office in a case a child stops by. A guy who hates talking about anything but it doesn’t matter because his true feelings are right there under the surface poking out at you. A guy my kids call Noodle and he allows it, even answers to it. My dad is not like your dad, he’s not like any dad, and I’m glad.

Sylvester Stallone – No I’ve never met him but his characters, Rocky Balboa, John Rambo and Robert Hatch. One of them ended the Cold War, one of them saved POWs and one of them ensured the freedom of a team full of concentration camp victims. And yes, they were all a bit ridiculous but as a young person I found the characters Stallone portrayed inspiring and I tried to emulate them in my real life. I’m extremely resilient. Most of that resilience I got from Kevin McCarthy but a little of it I owe to Sylvester Stallone.

Denis Leary & Steve Buscemi – because rumor has it that on September 11, 2001 they suited up with their former colleagues and headed to the Twin Towers to actually fight the fires. Here are guys who hadn’t been firemen in years. Guys who could have just written checks to help. But when they saw what kind of help was really needed they went in there and took action.

Ken Jeong – Like the rest of you, I loved him in The Hangover and I love him on Community, but my love for him skyrocketed when I saw him take home a trophy at the MTV Movie Awards this year and break down crying about his love for his wife and salute her for being cancer free after a terrible battle. Amazing.

Ted Kennedy – My mom LOVED the Kennedys. She worked for the Justice Department and was photographed crying the day Bobby was assassinated. I still have the picture of her from The Washington Post. My dad was much more realistic about the Kennedys. He could see the good and the bad. To him they were people, not Gods. I never really had strong feelings about them one way or another. And then Ted Kennedy died and I watched his funeral on TV and how I wished I had paid more positive attention to him when he was alive. Hearing politicians on both sides talk so glowingly about him was amazing. Hearing his nieces and nephews talk about how much he had done to help raise them and keep the family together was awesome. But hearing his own son talk about his dad sleigh riding with him, despite his disability, and helping him walk up the hill after they went down just about killed me. Here was a man that was known for a lot of unfortunate incidents: adultery, drinking, the death of a young woman in a car accident – and those things could easily have overshadowed him the rest of his life but they didn’t. Because Ted Kennedy wanted to help. He wanted to help his friends. He wanted to help his family. And he wanted to help his country. And gossip was not going to stop him. He worked to help others till the day he died and while I didn’t always agree with his politics, I think he was truly an outstanding person.

My friend James – because even though he thinks the things he does for others are no big deal, he’s wrong. James is not ordinary. And I know the seven women and one boy currently living with him are pretty happy about that.

Mike and Joe – last summer when I wanted to have college baseball players come live with us there were people who thought I was insane to take in strangers and be responsible for more boys. All of those people were wrong. You know in The Blind Side when Sandra Bullock is told that she’s changing that boy’s life and she says “No. He’s changing mine”. That about sums up how my family feels about Mike and Joe.

Mills – we became friends because we both thought Keanu Reeves performance in Youngblood was priceless. Mills immediately sold me out at an office party because that’s how he rolls. Usually that kind of thing would kill a friendship for me but I knew from day one that Mills and I had too much in common to not be friends. And I knew he needed someone to try and run his life for him and I am totally that person. Mills rarely takes my advice but I never stop giving it to him. We’re good like that.

Pat Noel – I met Pat Noel in fourth grade and he’s still one of the closest friends in my life. That’s pretty awesome but what’s even more awesome is that Pat is still close friends with pretty much everyone he’s ever met. The guy has like 72 best friends. Everyone loves Pat is not an exaggeration. Everyone does love him. And he keeps in touch with all of us. Pat has had a life with as many ups and downs as the rest of us but you’d never know it because he is always positive, always optimistic. He got married in 2008 and his wife is a pretty terrific woman. She’s also one of the luckiest people alive because while everyone loves Pat, he loves Adrienne. And that’s pretty cool.

This is just the tip of the iceberg for me. And I haven’t even touched on the fabulous little guys I live with, Mac and Charlie, or my most favorite fictional guy ever, Ray Kinsella. Women spend a lot of time ragging on guys who aren't so bad and obsessing over the guys who suck. What a waste of time. As someone who lived the first half of her life in a house with 3 guys and spends the best part of it now in a house with 3 guys, I think I have the credentials to say there is nothing better than a really great guy.