Ditto

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Dysfunction Function

What happens when your family gets together?
Is it fun and stressful and crazy?
Do you debate which family vendetta to support and which to avoid?
Which side to pick in the fight du jour?
No? Just me?
In the last two weeks we’ve celebrated two big milestones.
My son’s communion and my daughter’s confirmation. A Catholic religious rite of passage, squared.
This is particularly interesting because I’m not Catholic and my husband is what I would consider a fair weather Catholic. Christmas time, he’s in. Easter mass? Ditto. Other than that? It’s a crap shoot.
Nevertheless, this was important to him. And I like to make him happy and ensure he and my children go to heaven. I plan on being reincarnated until I can finally live a life without Spanx – so they won’t see me for a bit in the afterlife.
Anyway it was two weekends full of fun. The kind of fun that could break out into a fight at any moment. The kind if fun that requires alcoholic beverages.
But it was also the kind of fun where you remember why you love your parents, uncles, aunts, sisters and cousins. You remember that you’re related to these loonies because you are a looney too. In fact you may be the king of the loonies.
God is good.

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Blog Vent

Today was a Day.

Ever had one of those?

And almost every agitating thing that happened was my fault.

Not one other person to blame. Trust me, I tried to find someone, anyone. Nothing. It’s all me.

I hate that.

My girlfriend said that Mars is in Aries. And I’m a Gemini. So I’m dysfunctional on a good day. Throw in Aries and it’s a hurricane.  So why does Mars making a pit stop in Aries cause such havoc?   Because it means we’re much more likely to take risks. Live without guard rails. In general be a little nutty and go off the deep end.

Well people. I’m off the deep end. Can I blame Mars? Or Aries? Or Kit Kat? Sorry.

I’ll spare you the gory details. I didn’t kill anyone and I’m not selling crack to babies. But boy were there doozies today! F’ups. Miscalculations. Gaps in judgement. Ok, massive craters in judgement.

Sorry to be so pissy. Please go read a trashy online magazine to shake this blog off. Or don’t. Who am I to give any advice today. Good night.

(i was going to find a YouTube video to end the post on a positive  - the one with the dancing babies for Evian – have you seen it? I’m not an Evian fan – I think it’s oily and has an aftertaste – but the commercial is funny. Anyway I decided not to find/cut/attach the clip. See. I’m a nightmare today.)

you can’t always get what you want

This is a state park near us. We go to walk, to picnic, to lay about – actually that’s what I go for.

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My family goes there to bike.

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I think I’ve told you before. Haven’t I? It’s no biggie. Everyone has something. Some people can’t eat a peanut. Some can’t have dairy (the horror). Some are diabetic. I too have a debilitating challenge. I can’t ride a bike. Well, technically I may be able to actually ride a bike without killing myself, but I really really don’t want to.

My family tried to have an intervention a couple of years ago. They were horrified for me. My husband lived on his bike throughout his childhood. Both my kids adore their bikes. They gave me a long list of reasons why I’d love it. The freedom! The independence! So I finally caved in and they bought me a fancy bike. Took me out every night to practice. And I tried. I acted excited. I seemed enthused. It was awful.

I don’t like riding a bike. It makes me nervous. It makes me feel out of control. It gives me zero happiness. Freedom and independence are not for me. Sorry.

This causes great sadness in my family. I’m like a traitor among them. An alien. They’ll never be able to ride like a full family.

They’ll get over it.

 

 

 

Happy Birthday WMEP

I’m one.

Just a baby blog. Not even a toddler yet.

I started the blog to get me through my first year of 40. I decided I needed a hobby (that wasn’t watching TV).

I thought I’d write about family, work, life. Nothing heavy. Maybe write about my travels, maybe write about food. No real rules.

I graduated college with an English Ed degree. There were several years of my childhood where I was convinced I’d be a writer. But then I wasn’t.

I wanted to write a post a day. That did not happen.

I wanted to write about my family. I have to get back to that.

I wanted to write about my husband’s family. I still plan to do that.

Some days I dreaded the empty post page, other days I couldn’t wait to get to it.

One of my blogger buddies told me not to sweat it. If I only wanted to write a line or two – that’s what I should do. And some days that’s what I did.

I love photographs – so I posted many.

I haven’t upgraded the site. There’s no jazzy pages or plug-ins. Maybe when I’m a tween.

I told you all that I started the blog because I’m nosey and I hoped that you were all nosey too. Turns out, you are. Lucky me.

I’m not sure if I should even be celebrating turning 1. I should be cooler than that and just move on. Pretend like it’s any other day.

But I’m not cool. I’m excited to make it this far. 269 posts and counting.

Thanks so much for tuning in. Let’s see what the terrible twos bring!

 

 

From Jersey, with love

We live about 40 minutes from the beach. More specifically, the Jersey Shore. You know, the place that gave birth to GTL, Snooki, and the Situation. But it’s also the place that gave us big old boardwalk slices of pizza, funnel cake, arcade games and oh yeah, the beach.

Because it was sunny. Because it was a perfect 65 degrees. Because I needed to extract myself away from the TV. We headed to the beach.

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This was also the place hit hard by Hurricane Sandy – and although they were still rebuilding parts of the boardwalk – doors were open.

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Here’s my babies playing an overpriced game that can’t possibly be worth the crappy stuffed toy that they will eventually win. Everything is back to normal.

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Our day ended with this.I love the shore.

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Easter Mash Up

This is Pulaski’s meat market. Every year I trek there for kielbasa, ham, pierogies, etc. for our mix and match Easter. North American Catholic traditions, check! Eastern European homage to pork, check!

I wait my turn with old school Polish, Ukrainian, Czech couples. One of these things is not like the other. And that thing is me people.
I get my number and start the wait. I’m #93. They are on #18.
No, you can’t wander about the market while your number is called. There’s no side shopping while you wait. This is like the soup nazi for meat. Wait your turn. Know what you want. Do not hesitate.
But I’m not scared. This isn’t my first polka. I may look completely and utterly out of place. But I know exactly what to order.
2 1/2 hours later. Success.
It’s not Easter until my Subaru smells like kielbasa.

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Close….

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You know those weekends when the garbage bag almost makes it to the garbage? And then you just come to terms with it being on the floor. And you start using it. And then it gets fuller and fuller to the point where it’s too late to stuff into the can. That would be wasted energy, you think. The next bag will go right in, you decide. And the other three people that live with you decide the same thing. You’re not committing a crime. This is no big deal. I mean… How type A would you have to be to get totally obsessed with a dumb bag.
Oh thank god.
My husband just threw the bag out. I love him.. I just hope he puts a new bag in. Happy Weekend!

Do you world Promise?

These two monkeys live in my house and yell and fight and laugh all day long.

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They’ve been at it since she was 5 and he was born.

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They are 5 years apart. Two little Scorpios.

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She was going to be an only child – imagine that! But then we came to our senses and added the ying to her yang.

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They are so different. And so alike. They write each other letters of love and devotion – and then sell each other out at the drop of a hat.

She’s his best friend – says him.

He’s her best friend – says him.

When they tell each other secrets they make a “world” promise. The biggest, most powerful kind of promise. A promise that, if broken, can have dire circumstances. These usually involve hidden candy in their rooms, newly learned bad words or inappropriate videos on YouTube. The usual world promise stuff.

Last night I was writing another blog post and my girl asked what the topic was. When I told her what I was writing about she said,”oh. you should write about me and Jack.” So there you go.

Big Mac without the Mac

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Actually, this is a Whopper no meat.

I couldn’t help myself today. I needed something from a drive-thru window. I didn’t need to supersize it or make it a meal. But I really wanted this sandwich.

Did you know that McDonald’s and Burger King all have veggie versions of their famous sandwiches? Not a veggie patty (ewwwww). I’m talking all the goodness of the burger with none of the meat. The meat is the goodness you say? Meh.

Don’t be fooled. These aren’t healthy by any means. I may have knocked out a few thousand calories, but there’s more where that came from.

Give it a shot next time. I promise you won’t be disappointed.  Well – you might be. If you need beef in your burgers you’ll be disappointed.

(ps –  I like raw onions. I don’t get to eat them often because I don’t live alone in the wilderness. but I like them. alot.)

Anyway – what did you have for lunch?

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