If That's What You're Into...

Please watch this and if you don't have HBO and have never seen this show, The Flight of the Conchords, you must go to Youtube and watch all their clips, because they are HILARIOUS!!

This makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside...I hope it does the same for you.



What are you into?

The Birth of the Goddess of Dildos...

Today I am participating in the ultra fun Spin Cycle from Sprite's Keeper and the topic this time around is "the birth of your blog." So basically, I am supposed to spin you a yarn on why I decided to start blogging, why I chose the name of my blog and why I have chosen to blog over so many other activities in my life for the past four months or so. Yes, I will admit that blogging has somewhat taken over my life, and yes, I have gone un-showered and hungry some days because my ass was stuck to the couch in front of the computer cruising blogs, commenting and checking my stats. My children now do not recognize me without the computer keyboard extended from my fingertips and my BFF is definitely Jim from Irregularly Periodic Ruminations, and no, I do not think that there is anything wrong with having a "virtual" best friend whom you have never met. So how did I get here? It's actually a funny story...

The only reason I originally started this here blog was because my dad wanted to start a law blog and I was going to help him start it. Since I had NO idea how to start one, nor did I know really what a blog was, I decided that I would start one so I could hold his hand through the process.

I will interject here to say that right now, FOUR MONTHS LATER, my father still does not have a blog; however, my mother, myself AND my sister all have them. Sorry Dad.

I am a writer. I have written all my life, from the age of 7 or 8 when I wrote my first short stories and even mini novels. I wrote poetry in high school. And then I got a job in a publishing company right out of college with aspirations of becoming a magazine or newspaper editor. However, as we all know, life got in the way and I ended up getting married, having a baby and not continuing on to grad school like I had planned. Instead, I took my writing and editing experience and became a freelance writer and editor. Awesome. There was only one problem...

Everything I got paid to write was completely boring and left me feeling as unsatisfied as a Viagra-less Hugh Heffner. I wanted to write for me again, about the things that tickled my pickle (and funny bone) and about the things that actually mattered to me (such as my children, and of course, dildos and nipple piercings). So when I started up The Wise (Young) Mommy, it was actually first called The Wise Spot, and I was going to just write about things in the news and things I wanted to learn about. However, I started looking around the bloggy world and realized that the niche I really loved was Mommy Blogging. But, being the always against the grain personality that I am (and realizing that just posting pics of my kids and talking about their bowel movements and sleeping habits would be totally grotesque and boring), I also decided I wanted to talk about EVERYTHING that comes with being a mom, a wife and a work-from-home writer. This includes my not so illustrious past, my ongoing struggle to battle the bulge, and my penchant for sex toys and body piercings. I never thought anyone would read it, to be honest.

I think the first time I got a comment from someone other than a friend or member of my family, I almost peed my pants, I was so excited. I just couldn't fathom that someone had stumbled upon my little corner of the blogosphere and STAYED to read. This was my first taste of the powerful addiction of this thing we call blogging (I have never done crack, but I assume it's something like that), and I was HOOKED. I decided to devote all my free time to finding out how to get more people to read (and comment).

But something else happened. Not only did I get faithful readers anda commenters (and awards--holy sheesh, I couldn't BELIEVE it when I got one of those. ME? Little ole me? An award? Sweet.), but I found this incredible community that existed only within the confines of the world wide web, and I made some amazing friends. These were people that came and read about my life, shared theirs with me and didn't judge me or get offended when I dropped the F-bomb or posted pictures of crucifix shaped dildos. These were people I felt comfortable enough with to post pictures of my muffin top, and not only did they not taunt me and call me a fattie, but they told me that I looked great, but offered advice and support in my efforts to lose weight. Blogging was not what I thought it was. It was so much better.

So the original reason I started blogging was not why I continue to. I love having my writing read by others that can relate, and I especially enjoy knowing that, just sometimes, I have touched or inspired someone in their life. But that's not the most appealing part of this "hobby." The best perk is that I have the biggest, most diverse group of friends, spread out all across the country (and the world!) to always pick me up when I am feeling low or to share my trials and tribulations with. I never feel alone, because I know I can always hop on the internet and be welcomed with open arms.

Alright, enough of this mushy crap. You wanted to know why I started my blog, so there you have it. Please keep coming back, cause it would suck if you didn't. And I promise to keep attempting to amuse you and will regularly post pictures of dildos to live up my title of Goddess of Dildos.

My mother must be so proud...

Secret Santa Can Suck It Gift Swap!!

Bee over at Bee's Musings came up with the coolest of Christmas ideas, so much cooler than a Secret Santa where you buy someone something that they will never use, mainly because you have no idea what they like and you have to spend under $20. Here are the rules for the Secret Santa Can Suck it Gift Swap, according to Bee:

You will post a picture of what you would have gotten this person had you the money, time, love, hate etc. on Thursday December 11th.

It can be any picture, as long as it's not of nahked people because some people don't want to see 3 boobied men. If you're into that sort of thing, more power to you and I'm sure you'll get enough of those stuffed in your stocking but the recipient might run out of the room screaming and then get hit by a bus whose passengers are elderly appliance salesmen. You don't want to be responsible for somebody's broken bones, do you? Don't answer that.

Link the person to your post so they know you are their Secret Santa. That is a very important one right there.

If you would like to write a story telling us WHY you thought this would be a perfect gift, cool. If you think the picture speaks for itself, also cool.

Then I, the beautiful and talented toe juggler, will link all of y'all so that everybody can go look for their *gift*… kind of like an Easter egg hunt. Hey, look at it as the merging of two Holidays.

I will post all the links on Thursday. It would also be nice if you thank the person who gifted to you for their generosity in these here troubled times.

So I don't know the person that I got, but like the good, obedient little girl that I am, I went straight to her blog and read up on her so I could make an educated decision on what her gift should be. I found out some key things about her that helped me make the right choice for her Secret Santa gift. #1. She is a dog lover and has a beautiful dog, and # 2. That she used to rollerskate!

This person is Siren at Idiot Girl In Action

So her first gift is not actually for her, but for her dog, Sable:

As a fellow dog owner, I know how we love to pamper our pets, so this year Sable has a posh and comfy dog couch, just for her. You're welcome Sable. All I ask in return is a big, sloppy doggy kiss!

And for the Siren herself, I thought she could use some new gear so she could pick up where she left off years ago as a competitive rollerskater:

And I would like to add that I am a stellar rollerskater myself, so it's all you and me for "couples only" baby!

So I hope you like your gifts Siren and Sable! Enjoy and Merry Christmas (or Kwanzaa or Hannukah or whatever you choose to celebrate)!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

SANTA!!!!!!!!!!

As we waited to see Santa, Baby Girl was so excited, she could barely contain herself, and she shouted to get the big guy's attention...

Finally, the time came, the special opportunity to sit with the Man Himself and tell him all the wonderful things she hoped to get for Christmas this year. The list consisted of a bicycle, dolls and cars, she had told me. She was going to delight him with how good she has been and that she and her brother deserved lots of toys. And she also said she wanted to tell Santa that she had very clean teeth.

But alas, when the time came for the big meeting, she sat in his lap and looked at him, eyes wide as saucers, and she wouldn't say a thing. She sat there, mute, looking like a deer in headlights.

Maybe next year...

Do You Like Me? Circle Yes or No

Last night my 8-year-old son, lover of all things boy and self proclaimed hater of girls, girl cooties or anything associated with girls, did something that I wasn't expecting for at least another four years or so...

He called a girl on the telephone.

(Insert dramatic soap opera music here.)

Yes people, he has a new "friend" and her name is Janie, which I think is just the cutest little name ever. They both love Pokemon and Nintendo DS and she has been helping him "level up" in the game, which I think is fantastic, because he is already not afraid to let a woman tell him what to do. The first time he was talking about "his friend Jane," I thought I must have heard him wrong and said "Your friend, James?" which was met with one of those stares your children give you when the subtext is "Oh my God, parents are so stupid." "No, Mimmy, JANE, as in a GIRL'S name." I tried to hide my shock, not wanting to make a big deal out of it and make him feel uncomfortable while in my head I wanted to jump up and down and sing "Big Boy and Janie sittin' in a tree..." because yes, I am all immature like that sometimes. Whatever, I am a lot of fun at parties.

So he has been going on and on about his new pal for the past few weeks, and a couple of weeks ago he said he told her that he would meet her at the store up the street, because she said she would be there buying something for her brother and he needed her to "show him something" on his Nintendo DS. I thought this was cute, but wasn't about to get the toddler all bundled up and both kids in the car to go to the store where this 7-year-old little girl "said" she and her mother would be at "around 4." So today he came home with her phone number.

He placed it on my laptop table and said "I got Jane's number."

I looked at the tiny scrap of paper with the little girl handwriting, the 3 written backwards, the pencil scratches uneven and crude, and it made me nostalgic and teary eyed. Memories came flooding back of the first boys I had crushes on that I dared to call, giggly and nervous, my stomach full of butterflies. I couldn't quite believe that he was actually going to call this girl on the phone, and even more so that he was so nonchalant about it. Which reminded me, again, that the difference between boys and girls is so much more far-reaching than their genitalia. In his mind, he was calling this girl to have her help him with something; he has a need for her in his life that satisfies his interest. But I couldn't help wondering if Janie was sitting impatiently by the phone at her house waiting for him to call her, with higher hopes of her first glimmer of romance.

"I told her I would call her RIGHT when I got home from school," he said quickly. He went in the other room and got the phone to dial. I sat there, just staring, disbelieving. He has never even called up one of his male friends on the phone before, so this was a barrage of firsts for me to be witnessing. And it was just so adorable watching his face transform from calm to nervous when someone picked up and he stammered out "Is Jane there?" Then, when she got on the phone, he said "Hi, it's B., you know, from school?"

My mind fast forwarded to years to come when I would be picking up the phone to various pimpled, awkward boys and girls calling my house to talk to my kids, who wouldn't be kids anymore, but teenagers, young adults, and then full fledged grown people. One day those boys and girls would drive cars and come pick up my children to take them places where parent's eyes cannot see and where secrets would be created and innocence would be lost. I think my heart broke just a little bit as I looked at the squarer features of his 8-year-old face, which would continue to age until barely a semblance of the child he once was would remain. I'm not ready for this, I thought. This is just the first step, and the ones to come would be even harder. How can I let him go?

He began arranging a play date with Jane to go to her house. And when he asked if it was OK with me, I hesitated for just a moment before saying yes. This time, he is just going to a friend's house to play. I am not losing him yet, I tell myself. This is just the first step of many, but it is one we have to take. I can't stop him from becoming a man; it is out of my hands.

I talked to Jane's mom and handed the phone back to B. so he could talk to his friend again. They chatted for a few minutes and then I heard him say "OK, I'll call you later."

And I smiled. Because somewhere up the street, there is a little girl, sitting next to the phone, waiting for him to call. Just like I sat next to the phone so many years ago for the call from the boy who would be the one to hold my hand for the first time. And that's where it all begins...none of us can stop it. Today it is Nintendo DS and Pokemon, superheroes and cartoons...

someday, it will be love...

How Do I Love Thee Beaker? Let Me Count the Ways...

For my fellow Muppets fans (and Beaker groupies), I have a fantastic snippet of musical genius from the foam prodigy himself. Enjoy!




Happy Monday to my divine readers!

I Have Always Sucked at Tag...

Which explains why I keep getting tagged for these doggone memes!

Etta Rose over at Sanity On Edge tagged me for this meme, so if you are sick of hearing about random facts about me, go over to her blog and lodge a complaint. Or feel free to complain in my comments because to me, any comment is a good comment, even if you are calling me a boring slut with an imperative need to see a therapist. Either way, you know, I'm good.

Here are the rulios:

Seven random and/or weird facts about me...hmmmm...this is so hard because I am so completely normal and well adjusted. Well, now that I have completed the "yeah right" portion of this post, I will move on to the "meat" of it. Speaking of meat...

1. I was a vegetarian from the time I was about 13 until I was 22 years old. I ate NO MEAT. No chicken, no fish, no beef, no pork. I basically lived off of pasta and vegetables. This lasted until I realized that MEAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME and it made meals a hell of a lot more interesting. This realization came from my husband's family force feeding me meat at family functions, however, no matter how many times they serve beef tongue or bear meat, I WILL NEVER EAT IT.

2. I was, like, totally a cheerleader. Not just a cheerleader. I was CAPTAIN OF THE CHEERLEADING SQUAD mofos. Yup, you would never have guessed that my freaky little self was once a pandering, pyramid climbing, spank-wearing cheerleader. This ended my sophomore year in high school when I realized my time was much better spent smoking cigarettes, riding skateboards and making out with hot skater guys. Ah, the good old days...

3. When I was a sophomore in high school, I became a teeny tiny little waif of an anorexic. Yes, I went weeks on end without eating anything except saltine crackers. I got so thin that my breasts pretty much disappeared and my period stopped. I still thought I was fat, and it took me passing out while baby-sitting to realize that I had a problem. I battled with it all through high school and college, yo-yo-ing up and down until I finally got stabilized and healthy a few years ago. But then I went and had a baby and now I am just plain fat. But the good news is I don't starve myself anymore...

4. My first kiss was in the 6th grade with an 8th grader. I was dared in a game of truth or dare and all I remember is that it tasted like hot tamales...

5. I have three sisters, but none of them are related to me by blood. My two older sisters are in their early 40's and they are my dad's kids from before he met my mom. My younger sister just turned 17 and was adopted by my parents when she was 9 years old. That is a story for another day entirely...

6. Since dildos are so popular on my blog, I will share with you that I got my first vibrator for my 21st birthday from my beautiful, gay friend Danny. Thanks Danny! You would never guess what you have started my friend...

7. I have always wanted to be a blond. And I have tried MANY times to pull it off, but it always looked HORRIBLE. I can't even count how many times I have dyed my hair only to have it come out so bad I couldn't even leave the house, and then I would have to do several more dye jobs to get it back to somewhat normal. Thankfully I haven't done that in a long time. I guess I finally learned from my mistakes.

OK, so that's it. Now I am supposed to tag six more people to do this meme, but really, I can't be bothered. So instead I am going to ask each of my readers to leave a comment with one random fact about yourself. Come on, you know you want to tell me about your first kiss or your first dildo, so do it. Leave it!

By the way, I found out yesterday I got a raise for my editing job, and I lost 3 pounds this week, so I just want to publicly say:

YIPPPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

That's all.

How Do You Type That Grunting Noise That Tim the Toolman Does?

Because if I knew how, that is what I would be doing. You know why? Because I got two awards so jacked up with testosterone that I am compelled to go buy a toolbelt and some power tools and start scratching my crotch on a regular basis. Apparently, a couple of the dad bloggers felt like the awards going around were too "feminine" for their taste and decided to create a couple of their own. Fine with me, my blog could use a good infusion of testosterone.

The first one is from Goodfather, and it surely proves that men are definitely obsessed with the "size" of their, well, um...blog. Yeah, that's it...

It's called the "This Blog Measures Up Award"


I am extremely proud to say that Goodfather believes that my blog "measures up" and the feeling is certainly mutual. So thanks Goodfather!

Then there's the award from Captain Dumbass over at Us and Them. This one states the obvious:

Since I have booty to share, I think it goes without saying that my blog has it as well. I am pretty stoked to be celebrating my abundance of booty instead of the usual disdain, so for that, I thank you Captain Dumbass!

So now there are some rules for the first one. They are:

1. Say one nice thing to a man in your life.

2. List at least six ways that you measure success in your life (or for your blog).

3. Assign this award to six other blogs and leave them a comment telling the blogger that you’ve assigned them this award.

4. Link back to the blog that you received this award from.

So for the first one I have already given Goodfather a seriously nice compliment on his blog, so I have that covered. Here are the six ways I measure success in my life:

1. How happy my children are

2. Whether I feel I bring joy to others

3. Whether I feel I am doing my best at everything I do

4. How much love I have in my life

5. How much wine I have to drink before I have forgotten all the bad shit

6. The quality of my blow jobs

So I am pretty sure I am doing well according to at least five out of six of the criteria. But I am pretty sure the last one is only questionable because I REALLY like to drink wine, not because I am drinking away my sorrows.

Since the second award has no rules, I am going to pass both these awards along to the following people and call it a day:

Elizabeth at Parenting Pink

Jaime at My Suburban Can Run Over Your Minivan...And Will

Athena at Hot Child in the Suburbs

Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka

Mommy Melee

Merlot Mom

So if you would excuse me, I really need to go scratch my honorary balls now.

Thanks!

Reader Request: How NOT to Pierce Your Nipple

OK, well, due to popular demand, my post today is going to be about my nipple piercing experience in college because certain individuals out there apparently were not satisfied with the minimal information I provided in my meme. I never would have guessed that simply stating that I had my nipple pierced by a dude in a college dorm room surrounded by coeds tripping on ecstasy would garner so much curiosity...oh yeah, I forgot who my readers were. Pervs who only like to hear about dildos and bodily fluids. Well, today is your lucky day because today will involve at least one of those, and if I dig back deep enough in the recesses of my brain, I might remember a tidbit involving the other as well...let's give it a shot, shall we?

The whole demented experience started much like so many of my other college high jinks: with the consumption of massive amounts of alcohol, British people and the total boredom that comes with being a college student in a small New England town without a fake ID. You see, I had a group of friends that consisted of theater majors, punk kids and almost all of the British exchange students, including my ex-girlfriend (now best friend) who at the time was not my girlfriend, but simply a twinkle in my little bi-curious eye. Just in case you are wondering, the one to perform the actual nipple piercing "procedure" was one of the punk kids named Joel who was about 5 feet tall with a bleach blond mohawk and a penchant for hallucinogenic recreational drug use. He was a really nice guy though.

So that night we were all sitting around in Joel's dorm room, a selection of motley 19-year-olds that would put the Real World to shame. The black light shone in all it's trippy glory and we sat around, inebriated and looking for something to shake up the night a bit. I had been talking about getting my nipples pierced for a couple of weeks, and I had been bugging Joel (who was an accomplished piercer who had real equipment and everything) to do it for me. Apparently, Joel only pierced when he was really intoxicated because otherwise he couldn't stand the sight of blood. It was as if he switched into his alter ego upon alcohol and drug consumption and was able to withstand certain things that otherwise he couldn't. Being the stupid, risk taking kid that I was, this oddly didn't disturb me at all, and I was only concerned with getting him intoxicated enough to agree to do the deed. Luckily someone produced some tabs of ecstasy.

It seemed that it was my lucky day!

Now, here is where I will pause to say that I DID NOT partake in the ecstasy experience, because as much as I was into experimenting with certain carnal pleasures and such in college, I also wasn't stupid enough to not realize how many brain cells were destroyed in such practices. I was perfectly happy to get drunk off three shots of Raspberry Stoli and take a toke off a joint and coast through the rest of the night feeling pretty damn good, as opposed to my idiotic counterparts who ended up praying to the porcelain god or trying to scratch their skin off (or worse, sleeping with a Coyote Ugly *shudder. I am proud to say I never did that, in all my four years of college ballyhoo).

So everyone around me started tripping, including Joel. And I waited patiently for him to transform into fearless piercing guy, as opposed to the pussy punk he normally was. Finally, after passing around a joint and a long conversation about how much everyone loved Ramen Noodles, he looked at me and nodded. It was time.

His little sidekick, Jake, got out the equipment and he had someone else fetch the water in the hotpot so he could boil water to sanitize the needle. This is where it gets fun. This is the part where my less-than-modest self got to whip out my boob and let Joel examine my nipple like a bug under a microscope to decide where to make the little dots with the magic marker so he knew where to put the needle in. You can also create the mental image of five or six other random people sitting in the room staring slackjawed and completely fascinated while he did this. You might think that having a bunch of people stare at your breast in wonderment might make you feel uncomfortable, but surprisingly, I wasn't fazed. It was just basic human anatomy, what was the big deal? I mean, half the people in the room had breasts themselves, so it was nothing new to them. And the other half had certainly perused a nudey magazine or at least gotten to second base themselves so I was figuring they had seen it all before as well. A boob's a boob, right?

The equipment arrived and the adrenaline started to pulse through my veins as Joel prepared with needle and swabbed down my nipple with rubbing alcohol.

WARNING: This is the part where it gets a little graphic so those with weak stomachs or nipple sensitivities, be forewarned.

He took the clamp and strategically secured it on my nipple. That hurt like a bitch. Imagine someone taking some metal cooking tongs and gripping your nipple with it as hard as they could. It doesn't tickle. It's way worse than a purple nurple.

Then he got a piece of cork and placed it on one side of the clamp while he deliberately placed the needle on the marking he had made previously. He told me to look away and take a deep breath, which I did. But at the last minute I turned my head, just as he counted to three and I saw the needle plunge into the soft tissue of my nipple and come out the other side into the cork.

Fire ripped through my breast and up my arm, making me feel lightheaded and a little bit nauseous and the room spun around me. Joel looked me in the eye and asked if I was OK. When he saw me wobble a bit, he led me to the bed and had me lie down. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of my nipple, and looked down to see the needle still in there, attached to the cork on the other side. It was strange and foreign, almost as if my breast was not a part of me anymore, and it was...the coolest thing I had ever seen!

My heart pounded with excitement and I sat up in the bed. There was such a rush involved in doing something that people feared. I felt proud and strong that I had done something so bold, so adventurous. I had endured the pain without tears and now had a symbol of my valor to treasure forever (well, at least until I took it out a year later). I felt powerful and giddy.

The ring was placed carefully in the hole and I sat and stared at it for a while. I am pretty sure that everyone else passed out until I was the last one awake, still buzzing from the excitement of that night's events. I think eventually I fell asleep, my recent wound still throbbing, a reminder throughout the night of my fearlessness.

Luckily, my breast did not fall off from some terrible infection, nor did I set off metal detectors or spontaneously spray breast milk when I got pregnant, like some urban legends would have you believe. I ended up having the other one done at a piercing/tattoo parlor to even myself off and I enjoyed them for about a year until I got sick of them catching on my clothes. The worst part of the whole experience was fending off the frat guys who all wanted a glimpse of the legendary nipple rings on campus.

And although I have to admit that the whole experience is one that I cherish as a valued college memory, I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone else.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding, yes I would!

NIPPLE RINGS RULE!

Typical American Thanksgiving-NOT!

Well, actually, I did have one typical American Thanksgiving celebration. My Thanksgiving day was filled with aunts, cousins and family friends, all stuffing themselves into oblivion, getting drunk and saying things they probably shouldn't in mixed company. It was nice. It was fun. And I ate enough carrot cake to kill a horse. Just your typical Thanksgiving for the Wise (Young) Mommy.

However, Sunday was the day that we got to go celebrate Thanksgiving with my husband's ex (otherwise known as my son's mother) and her family.

Confused yet?

I don't blame you, although if you had been keeping up with my blog (which, of course, you should be), you would know that my son did not actually come out of my vagina, but another woman's, whom we will call Andrea to protect her identity. And although the first few years of mine and my husband's relationship was tumultuous and volatile because of Andrea and her need for making our lives living hell and using her son as leverage to get us to do what she wanted, we now all get along like one big happy family. Well, one big unusually dysfunctional family.

We got custody of Big Boy about four and a half years ago, and since then, Andrea has begun to like me. As in, she likes me more than she likes my husband and wants to HANG OUT WITH ME. At first, to me, this was HORRIFYING. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out with my husband's ex, and if that isn't awkward enough, you throw in the fact that Big Boy treats me more like his mother than her. The thought of having her son asking me whether he could have some candy or some other mom question in front of her made me cringe. Can you say awkward? Yes, I thought so too. So I resisted. I dragged my feet. Well, basically I told my husband "HA, yeah right, when hell freezes over, ya-da, ya-da, ya-da, will I ever succumb to this request and merge our families in celebration."

But eventually time faded the memories of the old days when she would do such things as sneak into his apartment and clean the toilet bowl with my toothbrush and replace my shampoo with Nair, or the night that she threw a cordless telephone at me at 3 a.m. and broke my toe. Ok, well, they haven't faded that much. But they don't quite send the shiver through me that they used to. So I agreed to start going to functions with her family.

And it's not so bad really. At first it was a bit strange, but now they treat me like a member of the family (although Andrea's father regularly hits on me and stares at my boobs, which I am pretty sure he doesn't do with the rest of his family). So when my husband told me last week that we would be going to Andrea's father's house for their Thanksgiving celebration on Sunday, I accepted it willingly, and began planning my wardrobe to show the least amount of cleavage as possible to avoid uncomfortable conversations with her dad.

So my Sunday was spent with my husband, my daughter, my son, my son's mother, my son's stepsister, and my son's mother's entire entourage of family and friends. The one really great perk was that one of her family friends was a guy that I can only describe as "eye candy." I now have proof that my little one is truly her mother's daughter because after batting her eyelashes and doing her "I'm so adorable you can't even stand me" act, he proceeded to pull her onto his lap and I swear I saw her wink at me. Little minx.

But really, the highlight of the day was when my stepson got jabbed in the groin in some tragic childhood wrestling accident. He rolled on the floor, clutching his little pee-pee, and yelled out "Oh man, my NUTS!!"

In full mommy mode, I yelled out (at the exact same time as his mother) "Watch your mouth!"

Everyone got real quiet and looked from her to me and then to Big Boy. And he, in classic Big Boy form with perfect comedic timing, said "It's so much more annoying when you have both your moms saying it to you at the same time."

He gets his humor from me, I think.

It's nurture, not nature, mo-fos.

Meme-y Monday

OK, well, I ate my turkey, I drank my wine and I gave my thanks. Now I am tired, bloated and cynical and also completely out of good ideas to write about. All I know is that I have a sink full of dishes, a TON of work to do and a 2-year-old to keep from sticking things in the toilet or drinking kitchen cleanser, so I am going to THRILL you with a meme I was tagged for, oh, say, two weeks ago that I just was too lazy to do, but now I have the perfect reason--I am a BRAIN DEAD zombie.

Although, on the muffin top front, I have been using my elliptical machine and tracking my eating and exercising online so that's a plus. Maybe, just maybe I will have some news that I have actually forced the number on the scale down sometime soon. If not, I may be the one drinking the kitchen cleanser, if for no other reason to induce vomiting and give it the old college try at the whole bulimia thing. So, you know, wish me luck.

Here's the meme. It's called the Five Things Meme. Hopefully y'all aren't sick of hearing me talk about myself yet and you'll stick around to read it. I was tagged by Dan over at DCRBlogs, and he really took a chance on me since he thinks I am NSFW (not suitable for work) and he has a lot of co-workers that read his blog. So I will suppose I will try to keep it PG-13 today. This may be difficult, but here goes nothin:

5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago:

1. Attending college as a Special Ed/Theater/Communications major at Bridgewater State College
   
2. Working as a one-on-one in-home therapist with children with autism
   
3. Drinking a lot of Stoli Razberri vodka in dorm rooms that smelled like dirty socks, urine and sex
   
4. Attending a lot of rehearsals and pulling many all-nighters in order to get my schoolwork done
   
5. Piercing my nipples in some guys dorm room while everyone was tripping on ecstasy (except me)
   

5 Things on My To-Do List Today:

1. Get this dang blog post up
   
2. Work, work, and work some more
   
3. Do the dishes
   
4. Go through the mail
   
5. Keep myself from eating all the yummy things that I want to eat
   

5 Snacks I Like:

1. CHOCOLATE
2. ice cream
   
3. cookies
4. cheesecake
5. CHOCOLATE

5 Things I Would Do if I Was a Millionaire:

1. Pay off all my parents' debt
   
2. Pay off all our debts
3. Build our dream house
4. Buy everyone new cars
   
5. Donate to some charities

5 Places I Have Lived:

1. Brookline, MA
   
2. Dedham, MA
3. Foxboro, MA
4. North Attleboro, MA
5. Bridgewater, MA
   

5 Jobs I Have Had:

1. Barista (yeah, that means coffee shop worker)
   
2. Special Needs Aide/Autism ABA Therapist
   
3. Phramacy Technician
   
4. Publishing Editor
   
5. Freelance Writer/Editor/Copy Writer
   

That's it. Hopefully you are still awake and the boring details of my life haven't made you slack jawed and drooling on your computer keyboard. I am not tagging anyone for this meme because:

1. I can't be bothered because I am a lazy bum.

2. I can't be bothered because I am a lazy bum.

So there.

I'm So Effin Thankful it Hurts

At least I think that is why my boobs are killing me. I have heard that being overly thankful can lead to chronic chesticle pain. Either way, I'm still thankful.

And since the gluttonous of all the holidays that encourages us to gorge ourselves with food until we pass out on the couch with our pants unbuttoned and sit around in uncomfortable silence (or outrageous fighting) with our families is around the corner, today I will write about exactly what I am thankful for. You will have to forgive me though, because I have not been feeling well, thus I don't have a lot of overwhelmingly "fuzzy" feelings taking over me. Excuse me if portions of this list seem a little sarcastic. But you know, you are on the "Wise" Young Mommy blog. You didn't think it was called that because I'm smart, did you? Dumb ass...

So of course it goes without saying that I am thankful for my family, the health of my children, my friends, and blah-de-blah-de-blah, right? I mean, I am not a monster. I love my peeps. There is nothing more important to me than my friends and family and their health and well-being. Well, except this:
Yes people, this is the piece of equipment that I bought at the girl's night out party and it has not disappointed. I am also thankful to Elizabeth at Parenting Pink for oh-so-generously dubbing me the "Goddess of Dildos," which is a title I accept proudly. I will try my best not to let down my fellow lovers of all things electric and vibratory and represent them with grace and style. Wow, vibratory is actually a word...I thought I made it up. Anyway...

While we are on that topic, I would like to state that I am supremely thankful that I have not seriously offended anyone on my blog (at least that I know of) and if I did, they were smart enough to mosey on to another blog full of rainbows and sunshine and non-vibratory things. Also, that none of the disturbed people that Googled "sexy ass young mommy" and "wise mommies like them young" have not contacted me or left me inappropriate comments that would make me want to shut down this blog forever. So there's definitely that...

I am also thankful for him:

...because he is beautiful and occasionally I get to look at him on the television.

Then there's this:

And it's not what you think. I am thankful that I do not have teenage daughters that I had to stand outside in the cold for hours for to get tickets to this movie. Nor did I have to hear them squeal and scream over Edward, or listen to their little friends squeal and scream over Edward. I know that someday it will be my turn and there will be another equally obsessed-over movie that my daughter will dig, but I am just grateful that I escaped this one.

The little things people.

I am extremely thankful that I can fill up my gas tank for less than the cost of a car down payment, that's for sure. However, I am pretty sure that I could buy a whole friggin farm for the amount of money I spend in groceries every month. The universe gives, and it takes, I suppose.

And lastly, I would like to thank a few of my bloggy friends who have supported me and made me laugh these past few months, and that helped me immensely in getting this blog off the ground. They have become not only people to tag for a meme or pass an award along to, they have become true friends. If you haven't checked out any of these people's blogs, you must do so now, or the Thanksgiving Turkey of Thankfulness will come peck your nose off. Or at least you will be missing out on some great blogs, and that's just wrong.

Here they are, in no particular order:

Elizabeth at Parenting Pink
Jim at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations
Jennifer at Sex Diaries of a Mom
Kelly at Neurotic Mom
Athena at Hot Child in the Suburbs
Jenni at Jiggety Jigg
Jennifer at Happily Ever After Land
Mel at Mommy Doodles
Renee at Cutie Booty Cakes
Rachel at Following in My Shoes
Toni from A Daily Dose of Toni
Chais and David at Full Course Meal

Also, thank you to Ron at Clark Kent's Lunchbox for giving me my first guest post, which was an awesome experience and it made me feel a tiny bit special and a little gooey inside that he thought enough of me to trust me with his blog.

And these people are just hilarious and I emulate them to no end. I am thankful for them because they continue to raise the bar and give me something to work towards as a writer and blogger:

Jenny, the Bloggess
Jen at Steenky Bee
Mary Anne at The Stiletto Mom
Deb from I Need a Martini Mom
Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka
Ana from Life Keeps Getting Weirder
Kirsten from The Soccer Mom Files
Britney from Musings of a Barefoot Foodie
Megan at Undomestic Diva
Kaui at How to Party With an Infant
Maggie at Okay, Fine, Dammitt

There are a lot more incredible blogs out there that keep me entertained and envious of their copious blogging skillz, and I am sorry if I have left you off the list, but I can only type so many, plus I have to link all of them, and I am really tired and feeling cranky and my boobs hurt, so I am going to leave it at that.

Thanks bloggy world, for just being you, and allowing me to be me.

(Silence)

You can't see it, but I am saying "you complete me" in sign language.

Happy Turkey Day!