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escape to paradise

i had my first chiropractic treatment today. long story short, i'm not cut out for the chiropractic business. for 20 minutes i had to try not to giggle as a licensed massage therapist rubbed all over my back and got dangerously close to my rectum. i have always suffered from getting the giggles at the wrong time, but today was just downright horrible. my first response to the onset of inappropriate laughter is to contemplate really serious atrocities that no sane person could possibly snicker through. this chick's thumbs were like two little ballerinas pirouetting around my asshole and i'm sitting there thinking about syrian war casualties.

after finalizing my plan for world peace, the therapist decided that her hands weren't cutting it and she proceeded to start elbowing my left butt cheek. i had just kinda shifted a bit in response to my ass being pummeled by floyd mayweather when it happened.... i felt a little... ahem... bubble in my tummy. with each stroke up my vertebrae, the bubble traveled closer and closer to the escape route. at this point i am no longer trying to suffocate the urge to crack up, but i am now squeezing my butt cheeks so tight together that it prompted the lady to ask "is that too much pressure?" to which i responded "no, that feels great."

NO, THAT FEELS GREAT?!?!?!?!?

why would i say that? she had just given me an easy out that i instead used to offer encouragement - encouragement to keep massaging my colon through my spinal cord with her forearm. as that little pocket of toxicity got closer and closer to rearing it's ugly head, i scrambled to prepare for what may happen next. as a lady, i would like to think that i would be spraying a light mist of tahitian breeze throughout that little 2x2 cubicle we were sitting in. as a realist, i know that tahitian breeze has never been a direct result of having scrambled eggs for breakfast.

i had just started sweating when the timer went off. she was done. it was over. relief had arrived. she told me to meet her outside in the receptionist area once i was ready and got my belongings together. as soon as she shut the door i may or may not have ripped ass.

and it may or may not have smelled like a tahitian breeze.

anniversary toilet reading for my love

even in 10th grade you couldn't keep your
eyes off of me

in honor of our anniversary i really racked my brain trying to dust off my earliest memory of you. here is what I came up with: we were sitting in mrs. boyd’s french class in 8th grade and you sat directly in front of me. you had a buzzed haircut and a fat neck. when you looked up at the projection screen, your buzzed neck rolls kind of resembled a sideways vagina and I tried to land little tiny spit balls into it.

we’ve come a long way since french class. from childhood to high school, from high school to college, from college to adulthood, and now - because of rozlyn and london, we’ve come full circle back to childhood. not only have we survived the growing pains that inevitably come with lilfe, but we’ve survived them together as a couple who, sitting here right now in this moment, love each other more today than the day we walked down the aisle. and that’s impressive, too - when we first got married i had perky tits and my favorite thing to do was to make dinner. now my boobs sag and my favorite thing to make is reservations.

random piece of land in the middle of
the wisconsin dells

we have been to numerous movies, sporting events, vacations, weddings, funerals, zoos, parties, amusement parks, haunted houses, orchards, golf courses, festivals, cabrewing trips, concerts, ski resorts, and fairs. we got kicked out of the fairfield commons for heckling a security guard, narrowly escaped jail at both ohio state and purdue, you stole a wallet from jc penny’s and i stole 2 dessert plates from bahama breeze. we’ve had sex on a beach, on a golf course, and on some random piece of land in the middle of the wisconsin dells.

we’ve had our fair share of adversity, too - but nobody wants to hear about the time you missed our very first parenting class because you were drunk on the golf course. we’ve said some nasty things, and we’ve screamed a lot of obscenities - well, actually i have screamed a lot of obscenities while you just stood there calm and collected. through it all, though, we’ve realized that being together is better than being apart even if i have to sleep in the basement.

although we don’t express our undying love for one another very often - and definitely not publicly - today i’m doing just that. i love you, tj jaynes. i love you more than anything in this world. we only have one life on this planet and because of you, i have the best. you make me a cup of coffee every morning, you do all of my laundry, you do the dishes, you mow the lawn, you take out the garbage, and, overall, provide a great life for me and the girls. now that i think about it you are more than just my husband; you’re like a really hot indentured servant who happens to be really good in bed - and for that i’m very thankful.

ps: for our anniversary i got you an appointment for a vasectomy. you can thank me later.

crypt keeper of kids

i got "randomly" selected for a drug test at work. with tj being out of town on business, what could've been only a minor pain in the ass quickly became a gigantic one. as a parent to a 1 and 2 year old, even an errand as simple as pissing in a cup is quite the to-do. after i got the girls bathed, diapered, dressed, fed, packed a diaper bag, poured juice, packed the necessary buffet of snacks and found their shoes (any parent knows that finding 2 pairs of matching kids shoes in less than an hour is quite impressive) i strapped 'em in the car.

after waiting 20 minutes in a room where my double stroller left .05mm for the other patients to roam freely, they called me up to the counter. the receptionist - who had been a member of the audience watching my "mommy theater" trying to keep the girls entertained - asked if i had anyone with me.

me: *looking at her with a duh face and motioning to the 2 kids that everyone in the entire building was aware of* "my 2 girls."
her: *pointing to a 8/12x11 sign on the wall among 50 other signs* "you cannot leave minors unattended for any amount of time."
me: "well, i'm just peeing in a cup, right? i've had a pot of coffee - i'm pretty sure i can produce urine quick. matter of fact, i sneezed at the gas station and i may have a sample already waiting for you in my underwear."
her: *crickets*
me: *starting to turn into a black lady* "so what you're saying is, after you saw me waiting 20 minutes here with 2 kids, you wait until it is my turn and then inform me of the asinine rules?!?!
her: "the rules are posted right there on the wall. can't you call a friend or a family member?"
me: "yeah. i have tons of friends and family... IN OHIO!!! CAN YOU WAIT 4 1/2 HOURS??!?!"

i had just started strategizing on how i was gonna get my fist through that hole in the plexiglass window when, out of nowhere, a man says "i can watch them." i looked over to see a guy who was so old that he wouldn't have ever been able to save my girls if they were in danger or choking. but since he was the only volunteer, he was hired. there were 4 other complete strangers in the waiting room which also looked like nice enough people to leave my only children with. i was pretty sure they looked capable of picking up his slack should he... i don't know ... die?

as a mom who utilizes zero childcare resources - and has nobody other than acquaintances and neighbors where i live - i face many challenges. today was one of them. my goal was to piss in a cup faster than the time it would take to issue an amber alert - and i did it. i came flying into the waiting room and scooped up the girls like a soldier returning from overseas. i looked over to that nice gentleman, with a beaming smile, and told him "thank you." i'm sure he would've replied with an equally enthusiastic "you're welcome" had he been awake.

a stupid ass time

well, as you can tell by my lackluster performance in the blogosphere, i've been stupid busy lately. i have a huge endeavor that i've been involved with for a while now that i can't really talk about. doesn't that piss you off when people do that? it's like people who "check in" at the hospital on facebook but don't give any further information. i always hope it's something really bad happening to them like a nailgun shot them in the face if they are that annoying of a person to just check-in at a hospital without explanation.

anyways. what i can tell you is that this endeavor has left me little time and very little patience. tj accused me of being "short" lately... which is something he should know about at a whopping 5 foot 8.5 inches. some mystery guy on the internet accused me of abuse and negligence because i take my two young children to baseball games. i sent him a private message telling him i'm dying of cancer and that in the short 6 weeks i have left i wanted to enjoy a ball game with my daughters. of course i'm not dying and nor do i have cancer, but i sure enjoyed his apologetic and graveling response. then there are the 5,678 people that have asked me if i have applied sunblock to london's pale skin this summer. yes - i applied both sunscreen and stupid-repellent, but obviously one isn't working.

it isn't helpful that i haven't enjoyed a proper vacation this summer, either. tj - in all of his shining brilliance - suggested that instead of taking one nice long vacation that we embark on a series of "staycations" which is code word for "motel 6's all across indiana." instead of sipping margaritas on siesta key, i have been forced to drink sarsaparilla at vintage baseball games where old men yell "huzzah" and other annoying pre-civil war phrases that make you sound like a douchebag when used in a public setting.

i am really trying to get back to my usual happy-go-lucky self, but it is just so hard when every single person i encounter is just a complete stupid ass. especially moms. stupid ass moms are on my last nerve and the girls haven't even enrolled in kindergarten yet. roz isn't potty trained and london is still breastfeeding. when these two facts are discovered by stupid ass moms, all hell breaks loose. one stupid ass mom had the audacity to ask me if i was going to try to recreate the infamous time cover where a toddler was standing up breastfeeding.

i just laughed it off, waited a couple of seconds... and then brought up her son's lazy eye.

jurASSick park

i have always despised cutesy names for genitalia. it's a penis. it's a vagina. if there was one thing i was going to never do, it would be to have my girls refer to their private areas as coochie or vajayjay. like every other goal i have set for myself as a parent, i have failed. and failed miserably.

me and roz got out of the shower and as i stood there buck naked, roz pointed and asked, "mommy what is that?" proud to educate my toddler with anatomically correct terminology, i boldy stated, "that is mommy's VAGINA." no sooner than the word could escape my mouth, she responded in a way that i never saw coming. she... well... she roared. "RAWWWRRRRRRRRR!" i paused. "roz, why are you roaring?" do you know what i said? i said that this is mommy's vagina." "RAWWWRRRRRRRRR!" she roared again.

and so, the vaginasaurus rex was born. yes - vaginasaurus rex is what we call our vaginas around here.

i could never come up with an equivalent of the almighty vaginasaurus rex if we had a boy - yet another reason why tj and i are still arguing over him getting a vasectomy. he is still trying to convince me to have another baby, to which i now reply: no sex with this v-rex!

needy rewards program

so i had my first and final garage sale. i don't care how many teeth i need to buy: i am not ever going to make the decision to organize another cheapskate weirdo convention on my property. i already had a distaste for the human race as a whole, but this past weekend just placed a stripped nail in the coffin.

it started off with my craigslist ad responses. i posted an ad for my garage sale with the sole intent of letting people know that i was having a garage sale with lots of baby girls' clothing and other miscellaneous baby items. the point of an advertisement is to say "hey - i've got this stuff to sell! if you are need of this type of shit, come buy mine!" (although i am, you don't need to be a marketing professional to know how a classified ad works.)

approximately 4 minutes after hitting "publish" my phone started dinging; it was alerting me to the fact that a bunch of retarded people looking for weed wackers, pre-1964 quarters, baseball cards, and other common "miscellaneous baby items" were emailing me with inventory inquiries. at first i attempted to reply to each of these jackoffs with pleasant reminders that i had advertised a "baby sale" and that i'm not really into bartering my high chair for an ice chest of porterhouse steaks just like they sell at TGI Fridays. after 30 minutes of  kind emails explaining what exactly my "baby sale" was comprised of - no, not size 8 1/2 men's softball cleats with metal spikes - patience became a thing of the past.

when the day of the sale came i knew that i probably pissed off a lot of people who had my address, so i treated every customer as a suspect - especially the pregnant chicks. tons of pregnant chicks emailed me asking about sizes and pricing. i eventually got to the point of telling them they were pregnant, not crippled and they could get their fat asses off the couch to actually come shop my damn sale. they're about to embark on a journey of raising a human from birth to adulthood and they can't walk a block to look at a bunch of shit on my ping-pong table. i understand there's some negotiation and awkward chit-chat that is part of the garage sale kingdom, but i've worked for real businesses my whole life; i cannot imagine calling jc penny and asking them to walk out to the misses section and give me a run down of what they are offering down to the color, size and price... oh and yeah, would you mind giving that to me for 93% off if i sent my uncle there before noon?

would i take $65 for the $80 treadmill? no. you have to pay a heavy fine if you want to hang your clothes on that bad boy just like i did. can i call you on sunday if the bumbo is still sitting there and i'd like to get rid of it for a lesser price? no. my mother is lucky to hear from me through an actual phone conversation once a month, let alone call some random nutjob who just pulled a a post-it note with her phone number already written on it out of her fanny pack like some kind of hillbilly business card.

yeah, but was it worth it, you are wondering. did you raise enough money to buy a new tooth? no. i made $400 at my garage sale. a new tooth is gonna run $1,500.00. oh, yeah... and after counting my precious dollar bills,  t.j. pulled up with $600 worth of golf cart batteries he "got a great deal on."

so now tj is also going to need some new teeth.

no snooze + ooze = need booze

today i could have really used an extra hand - not because i'm busy, but because i could've used the extra middle finger.

i got 3 hours of sleep last night because i was up all night with pressure building up in my right inner ear; so much pressure, in fact, that it burst my ear drum. it is about as comfortable as it sounds. since it burst at about 3 am, i have been walking around all day with a liquid comprised of wax, pus, and blood oozing out of my ear. it is about as yummy as it sounds. 3 hours of sleep and ear juice meant that when i took roz to school this morning i was in no mood to chit-chat with the cool mom group who are all unemployed yet able to afford to leave their SUV's running for an hour while they talk about toms, mustaches, chevron print, and any and every other annoying ass trend in the world today. the one girl with vocal chords located in her nasal cavity cheerfully greeted me with a "ISN'T IT GORGEOUS OUTSIDE THIS MORNING?!?!?!" deciding between answering her or shoving a #2 pencil inside of my oozing ear drum i managed to mutter a "uh-huh" before whisking by her.

once inside roz's classroom, some little brat with a pacifier came up and pointed to london and said "what's her naaaaaaaaaaaame?" i acted like i didn't hear her and took roz to her cubby where she hangs her jacket and backpack. i noticed that she was having a hard time hanging her backpack up because her "cubby buddy" used her hook in addition to using his own. so i  removed his jacket from her hook and accidentally dropped it on the floor.

i had to come home and check work emails. a co-worker of mine has sent me the same message multiple times from a guy with an "urgent" matter to discuss with me. i finally call the guy back only to discover that he is wanting to give me a large, undisclosed amount of money if i help him track down somebody that i am friends with on facebook. all i needed to do was give him my facebook username and password. after politely telling him to f*#$ off, i decided to fix something to eat. i really needed something to coat my stomach because the doctor had prescribed me antibiotics, which i had been popping with vicodin - a very disruptive cocktail to the digestive system if on an empty stomach. the only thing worse than having an earache is having an earache with explosive diarrhea.

the antibiotic the doctor prescribed me was a super dose of amoxicillin. having had it before, i distinctly remember there being a warning of not taking it while under the influence of alcohol. knowing that i plan on being under the influence of alcohol this weekend, i asked the doctor what would really happen to me if i washed down my prescription with miller lite. he was a bit taken aback... probably because when he asked me why i hadn't taken a decongestant i told him because i was breastfeeding. sudafed? no. vicodin, amoxicillin and miller light... mmm... ok.

on top of  the pain of my ear making everything in this world mind-numblingly annoying to me, tj is out of town for work. this means i have sole responsibility of two kids, two dogs, my full-time job, grocery shopping, meal preparation, and bed time routines. tomorrow he will nonchalantly walk in the house  and casually ask how my days were without him. i'll tell him not to worry about me and to go rest his pretty little head on his pillow.

(the same pillow my ear leaked all over the night before.)

i'm gonna need more than a fountain

recently i met some girlfriends downtown for drinks and the discussion turned to aging and our feelings on it. nikki (34 years old, 2 kids, skinny bitch looks exactly the same as she did in high school) said she had no problem with it. katie (34 years old, 3 kids, tiniest waist and the greatest set of knockers i've ever seen) almost seemed to enjoy the thought of her upcoming birthday making her another year wiser. katie actually started going gray some time ago and instead of coloring her hair she just rocks the look and it really works for her. (of course with those tits, who's really looking at her head?) i was actually really inspired by their poise and no-nonsense attitudes on the aging process - this is because if i could shoot botox up my ass to make my rectum tighter, i would. 

my boobs may be perky right this second, but once london starts eating real food i'm gonna have to be extra vigilant in keeping them from getting tangled in my belt loops. the "laugh lines" on my face are, ironically, no joke. and although i'm a thin person, i have some weird skin reserves going on in my upper thigh area. matter of fact, i used to just put my foot on the tub to dry off my legs after the shower and that'd be it - well now i have to also dry my thighs while standing in an upright position because, while bent, they create a secret fat hideout where excess water just kind of hangs out for a while and then runs down my leg in a way that makes me feel like i'm pissing myself when i put deodorant on. every time it happens i should automatically know that it is just secret fat hideout water, but just like clockwork i grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe. just in case, you know? if someone would've told 20-something larissa that in 10 years i'd be periodically wiping upper thigh secret fat hideout water off my vag with toilet paper while getting ready in the morning, i'd be equal parts confused and horrified. but now? now it's like "oh yeah... it happens."

t.j., who is more terrified of aging than i, gets better looking by the minute. matter of fact, judging by his senior year yearbook photo he was a chubby 40 year old sporting a porn 'stache. now he is smoking hot and has the stamina of a 18 year old. if i would've known that i was gonna morph into the crypt keeper, benjamin buttons wouldn't have been my first pick in a mate. 

i suppose it is time that i take my own advice in not stressing over the inevitable. if there is one thing i want my girls to have, it's confidence. and i believe in order for them to gain confidence i must be the one to exude it. so that is it: instead of fighting a losing battle, i shall embrace it. i want to face my impending wrinkly death with the same humility that nikki and katie have. (although with a rack like that, i bet katie could fill a bucket with secret fat hideout water.)

jock-olate chips

well, in case you hadn't heard - our food system in the US blows. we are being poisoned by food companies who are infiltrating our bodies with harmful ingredients. this really angers me and i vowed to take a stand. i'm going on month 4 of making dinner every night for my family that incorporates a clean eating menu (www.thefresh20.com.) and the other day i did my part by signing a very important petition urging kraft foods to stop putting food dyes in their mac and cheese. i've sworn off any dairy or meat that comes from antibiotic-ridden cows or chickens that aren't grass fed and cage-fee. and, in just 2 weeks tj and i will start using the nutribullet system to do the juice cleanses dr. oz recommends. the only part i'm struggling with all of this, however, is the fact that i fucking love cookies.

oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, butterscotch, sugar, snickerdoodle, lofthouse, peanut butter... i'm pissed that kraft uses yellow #5 in their pasta, but god knows if they made a yellow #5 cookie i'd eat the hell out of it. it's not just cookies, either; i purposely stopped buying boxed desserts of any kind at the grocery. i used to have a box of betty crocker hershey kiss brownie mix in my pantry at all times. i knew that if the temptation weren't there than i wouldn't have a choice in the matter - but after a quick inventory check, this happened:

9,000 search results and an hour later i was shoving a brownie in my face

if i could just finish my book and get a movie deal then i'd be famous enough to go on celebrity rehab with dr. drew and he could help me with this sugar addiction i have. everyone would be tweaking out and taking their methadone while i inject my hip with insulin like a mad woman. i'd have tj sneak chips ahoy in his jockstrap and i'd get kicked out. 

well, this blog just got weird. of course none of that could really happen... tj doesn't even own a jock strap.

a thong gives more support

so exciting stuff with my blog yesterday. for a long time i've been following nicole at moms who drink and swear. as her title implies, we have at least 3 things in common. i consider her to be hot stuff in the blogosphere and i sent her a link to my blog. not only did she read my email, but she shared it with her 250,000+ fans and all of a sudden my day became centered around sitting in my pajamas hitting F5 every 30 seconds - completely neglecting my children and my real job. that judgy mom who wrote that overly-dramatic narrative about moms staring at their iphones while their kids twirled around annoyingly begging for attention would have been sporting a journalistic boner over my household on tuesday.

tj came home early and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. i explained to him that this was my version of a hole-in-one. (i have to talk sports terms to him or he just sits there with a derp face on). i told him all about the link being shared and how she thought i was funny and that she even commented on how much she liked my hair. here are tj's top 3 responses to my new z-list internet status:

1. "how many blogs do you have?"  tj only reads actual text if ESPN sends him a text message or if he is taking a shit while reading ESPN mobile. if i want tj to know what i've written in a blog i have to read it aloud to him in the same voice i read to my 2 year old. 
2. "do you ever blog about how your husband doesn't read your blog?" i am now.
3. "you should send her a picture of your hair right now and see what she says."  sorry i didn't spend 33 minutes rubbing $40 pomade all over my head like you did this morning. dick.

for the remainder of the evening i acted like i was a famous person and every time tj asked me a question i told him to call my agent and then, in my best dave chapelle voice, would scream "I'M RICH, BITCH." i explained to the girls that this was the boost of confidence i needed to get crackin' on finishing my book and told them when mommy becomes real-life famous she would set aside enough money to buy them each their very own tramp stamp when they turn 18. 

i could go on and on about my hopes and aspirations, but i have to get ready - i have zumba in an hour. 

zumbadoos and don'ts

so i started zumba.

zumba is so weird - at one point i'm doing sexy salsa steps and the next minute i'm doing some retard version of gangnam style. during the part in gangnam style where you look like your riding some kind of stupid animal, i noticed my tits flying up dangerously close to my chin. as i rode along on my fake ostrich i realized the huge contrast between the support of a sports bra, and the support of a nursing bra that looks like a sports bra. my nursing bra wasn't the only article of mom clothing i was sporting either - i was also wearing my black, stretchy maternity leggings. i still like to wear all of my maternity leggings because they have that big panel i can pull up to my collarbone in case i want to eat a steak or drink beer - or in this case, tuck my tits into them like some kind of weird zumbaroo.

because it's been so long since i've taken an aerobics class, i made sure to get the spot in the very back by the door. i figured i could hide my lack of coordination, plus have an easy escape in case of heart attack or stroke. this was a great idea until students for the next class started huddling up outside of the door with 10 minutes of zumba left to go. the next class happened to be a little girls' tap class and when "i'm sexy and i know it" came ironically blaring out of the speakers, these girls came like moths to a flame. there i am tripping all over myself trying to watch our instructor (who apparently drinks a cocktail of 5 hour energy, red bull and cocaine before each class) do some move i can only describe as having sex while standing up, and these little girls are laughing. they were laughing at us. more specifically, i was starting to wonder if they were laughing at me. i began some weird inner-monologue about how i was an adult and i wasn't gonna let those those little punk ass tap bitches psyche me out of zumba. i looked over to see if any of my classmates were feeling the same unbearable scrutiny and the first lady i glanced at had... well, she had a beard.

 immediately those little tap jerks faded out of my existence and i became enamored by the bearded lady. i know these things unfortunately happen... but it's like she doesn't even try to maintain it... just a thousand random pubic hairs kinda shooting out in every direction from her face.

anyways... i always end my blog with some type of joke or funny moral, but today there isn't one. i just wanted to write about my zumba class and how it turned into a bit of a hairy situation.

dark chocolate

well i've survived my first toddler preschool valentine's day. it took me no time to see that valentines are not for the kids - they are for moms to out-pinterest each other and those bitches were out for blood. when i was a kid you bought cheesy punch-out paper valentines. today's kids are making it rain with confetti and passing out conversation hearts that say "tweet me." not to be outdone, i joined the good fight and withdrew my mortgage to spend on craft crap at hobby lobby. what little money i had left was put into the "divorce attorney" fund i have set aside for times like these when tj goes raging around the house spewing obscenities like "WHEN DID VALENTINE'S DAY BECOME F&*#ING CHRISTMAS?!" and, my favorite, "WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO EAT DINNER AFTER CUPID SHIT ALL OVER THE TABLE?!"

the idea behind my roz's valentines was simple: put teddy grahams in a cellophane bag with cute personalized idioms playing on the word "bear." trying to think of 12 different ways to use the word "bear" was downright... well... ahem... unbearable. after assembling all the bags and writing my beary cute valentines messages on them i had to fill them with the treats. well, i had just completed 10 of the twelve when i realized i was out of teddy grahams. i had to load up the girls and go to walgreens in the freezing cold just to get another stupid box of teddy grahams. (if i hadn't ate half of the first damn box, we probably wouldn't have had to do this...) anyways... i get back home to find that i accidentally purchased chocolate teddy grahams and what i should've got was the honey kind. "oh well" i thought to myself, "these two kids will feel special." i had just convinced myself that i was about to make 2 precious children happy when all of a sudden... "shit!" it dawned on me that one of the kids with the chocolate treats was black. not wanting the teacher to think that the KKK had infiltrated the 2 year old preschool class, i re-loaded the girls into the car and off we went back to walgreens.

here you see an example of valentines for white kids

i know that, most likely, the whole ordeal would have gone unnoticed. however, even the smallest chance that my innocent mistake could've been misconstrued as something bigger was just too much for me to bear.

sometime TODAY please

so i have been very excited about taking the girls downtown chicago friday morning for the live broadcast of the today show. i would like to get my face on national television before i die and i figure these two cute babies of mine are just what i need to catapult me into the spotlight. earlier this year, tj and i built a shitshack igloo with our friends and got it featured on the 11:00 news. (we know someone who knows someone that is banging the weather chick.) that 15 second clip was all i needed to catch the bug - now i'm dreaming big... like, today show big.

other than the igloo debacle, i've only been questioned by a news reporter one other time. nathan howard from wdtn came up to me outside of krogers to ask me what i thought about "this crazy warm weather." by "crazy warm weather" he was referring to the 60 degree march day that we randomly get in ohio every single year, and every single year people talk about it like jesus himself has blown hot air onto the chosen people of the miami valley. then they all update their facebook statusus about it... but i digress. anyways - the reason my answer never appeared on the noon report was because either: a) i asked him if i needed to have a bra on to be on tv or, b) my nipples were poking out of my shirt. (60 degrees is warm, but it's not that warm.)

i have been on the radio a few times when i worked at the car dealerships in high school and college. Those places are swarming with radio dj's on the weekends who give away concert tickets and other freebies to lure the public to the salesmen. i never could understand how people could show up for an umbrella and leave with a damn F1-50. every once in a while they would ask me to make the on-air plea with the public and i obliged every single time. nothing warmed my heart like begging the good folks of our community to come get a free nickleback cd and then watch them walk away with a 72 month lease on an '02 mercury sable. "oh that doesn't happen!" you might say. yes it does. ask my husband.

but, back to the today show: we have all of our supplies ready to go to make the oh-so-necessary sign. everyone who gets good air time in the crowd always has a good sign and i've come up with a great one. between that and that cute babies, i'm for sure going to get my 15 seconds of national fame. what does my sign say? well, you'll have to wait and see. for those of you that actually have a life, i will be sure to update with pictures and a crappy quality video of me taping my dvr playback.



**spoiler alert** just look for the crazy screaming lady and her two children with the sign offering al roker a diaper.

blue balls

just to recap my health, briefly:

miscarriage 2009

baby #1 2010

hospital stay for post-partum hemorrhaging 2010

miscarriage - D&C for 4 month fetus 2011

emergency removal of gallbladder 2011

emergency removal of appendix 2011

tooth extraction 2012

c-section baby #2 2012

now to recap, briefly, t.j.'s:

sore elbow from too much damn golf 2011

man cold 2012

for those keeping score: i'm down 2 organs, an incisor, vaginal elasticity, and a set of perky tits. t.j.'s down a night of men's golf league.

i feel like my body needs recovery time. i have designated 2013 as the year that larissa stays out of the hospital. i'm not going to need any one's assistance to go pee and i'm not going to have to fart in front of a nurse to gain permission to go home. i am swearing off anything requiring anesthesia; to which t.j. suggested i go on the pill. to which i suggested he go to hell. i'm 32 damn years old, i'm not going on the pill - unless it's a valium washed down with pinot noir.

so, i have given my husband a deadline for a vasectomy: march 1st... or as i like to call it: v-day. v-day was announced when london was approximately 32 seconds old. i told him there was no excuse - especially after i found out about "vas madness," in which urology practices offer special rates during college basketball's final four tourneys. t.j. usually spends march madness sitting in front of the t.v., not getting laid, and crying, so this is perfect.

he has many ways of deflecting talk of v-day including: getting mad, getting quiet, getting nauseous, and his latest... getting baby fever. yep - you heard me. t.j. has decided that the easiest way to avoid v-day is by planning another birthday. he was very convincing in his stance; so much so that i conceded. i agreed to let him out of v-day in hopes for getting the little boy he has always dreamed of.

when i find out who he's having it with, i'll provide an update.

keeping my cool

when i was younger i often wondered at what point my dad decided he would stop listening to music created after 1982. with each peter gabriel hit that blared through the speakers of our 1988 chevy safari i would re-commit myself to a lifetime of top 40 and sports cars. i didn't know when people faded from cool to parental, but i was never going to allow it to happen. i solemnly swore to never have jeans that covered my belly piercing; which was an easy thing to do since i made the pact to never, ever, ever - under any circumstance - shop outside of the junior's department.

now that i've become a mom, i am constantly evaluating and scrutinizing the actions and behavior of t.j. and i to make sure we are staying steadfast on the cool-ometer. (see, the fact that i just used the word "cool-ometer" shows that i slip-up every once in a while.) i live in a juxtaposition of being a great parent without seeming like one. every time i use the phrase, "because mommy said so" i justify it with a pair of purple skinny jeans. when t.j. and i have immature conversation like this recent string of text messages that took place while he was out of town for business, i revel in our hip-ness:

look how cool we are

t.j.: "sitting here working. bout to blow up this hotel printer"

lars: "better than blowing up the hotel"

t.j: "better than blowing up"

lars: "better than blowing... someone"

see, discussing innuendo about homosexual relations is so much cooler than talk of balancing checkbooks and preschool drop-off. and every time an exchange like this takes place i am reminded of how relevant we have remained in today's pop culture.

sometimes the fact that i'm horribly annoyed by the tourette syndrome caused by justin bieber's hair style makes me fear that i'm starting to lose touch. but just when i start to feel this way i tell myself it's going to be alright; one day when roz and london accuse me of being not cool i will reassure them i'm the bomb and drop a hook from whoomp there it is while flashing my tramp stamp. they wouldn't know cool if it hit them in their face - which is what i may do because i'm the parent here.

oh boy

when i was at my last OB appointment before having rozlyn there was a mom in the waiting room with her little boy running all around crazy like all toddlers forced to wait at an OB office act like. acting all stressed out from having to actually get up from her chair she looked at me and asked "do ya know what your having yet?" with a proud smile i answered, "yeah - a little girl." she then wasted the next 10 minutes of my life to  explain how lucky i was that god had given me a sweet, perfect female instead of an unruly hell-on-wheels little boy. what i didn't know in that moment was that was only the first of numerous times i would have to endure a mom of a boy(s) tell me how much harder they have it in life than me because i was a mother to a precious girl(s).

since that day i have seen countless bruises and scrapes used as living illustrations to coincide with the outrageous stories explaining why i should be so thankful to have a girl. according to every mom of a boy, my daughters will NEVER be as rambunctious or accident-prone as their sons. as i hear story after story after story of experiences that ONLY mothers of boys get to have in life i can't help but laugh: see, if it weren't for having a vagina, i was a little boy when i was growing up.

i can show you the scar on my chin from ryan egleston stopping my back tire at about 20 mph resulting in a perfect flip over my handlebars. my left leg has a scar on it from my ten year old self's decision to hop onto a harley davidson that hadn't cooled and melted off the top layer of my skin. while i had heard of dressing up barbie dolls, my only preference for pink was neon grip tape for my skateboard. and while i could have joined the girls in the neighborhood as they rode their hello kitty bicycles, i preferred trying to burn the retinas of innocent civilians driving down our street with my laser tag gun. then there is that time i convinced andy sparks to slam the door shut with a piece of floss perfectly knotted around a doorknob on one end and my bottom left incisor on the other end. (one lesson in life i will no doubtedly teach my girls is that if you must remove teeth with a slamming door, make sure it is the front teeth - the sides and molars are a bit finicky - and a tad painful.)

last week at mcdonalds playplace there was a Super Boy Mom (SBM's have 2 or more boys) who was appalled at my decision to let my precious little 2 year old girl play in the big part of the jungle gym reserved for 3 and up. (gasp!) i explained to SBM that we were frequent guests of the big play area and that roz had no fear. after what seemed like an eternity of listening to SBM make comments about roz not being allowed in that area, i finally told her to worry about her own kids. her response was "WELL DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN SHE GETS TRAMPLED BY ONE OF MY BOYS!"

i won't go into detail, out of fear of embarrassing my mother, but i will say that the words "bitch" and "playplace nazi" may or may not have slipped out of my mouth. these words that i may or may not have used resulted in SBM attempting to storm out of the play area talking about my lack of class and my truck-driver mouth. however, before she could go she had to round up her boys; which would've been easier if roz didn't have her second-born child in a headlock in the ball pit.

roz got extra ice-cream that night - more than most little boys eat in a month.