Suma Cum Something

The following conversation took place this evening, at approximately 6:30 P.M. between Dr.Drake and his wife.

Wife: Hi darling how was your day?
Dr.D: It WAS good, until around 10.
Wife: Why? What happened?
Dr.D: I'd rather not talk about it.
Wife: Okay,deary,sit down and eat your meatloaf.
Dr.D: I think I will stand and eat tonight.
Wife: Don't be ridiculous, sweetie! Sit.
Dr.D: I CAN'T sit, OK?????
Wife: Well, why ever not, pumpkin?
Dr.D: Because I met a woman named Cici today, and she ripped me a new asshole!
Wife: Oh my!

About two weeks ago, Lauren told me she was seeing TWO of everything. Thinking it was odd, I paid closer attention to her behaviors. I noticed her shaking her head a bit, like she was trying to shoo a bug away. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was trying to see only ONE of things.

It would help if you knew that I am EXTREMELY picky about which Doctors I will use. Doing an externship at a medical malpractice law firm skews ones view quite quickly.

I have a list of providers whom I would not let touch my goldfish.

I also have a list of the TOP in the field, for almost EVERY specialty. Call it my type-A personality, but if I ever get penile cancer, I know exactly where to go!

So, a quick glance at my list tells me that Dr. Drake is THE pediatric eye man in this region. He is board certified in pediatrics, opthamology, constructive surgery, and has acted as an expert in several high profile litigation proceedings. What his CV did NOT state was that he is a Fellow of the American Academy Of Assholes.

Of course, being that he is THE man, a call to his office prompted them to offer me an appointment, in December. I threw around a few big medical words to throw the receptionist for a loop and name dropped a bit. SHAZAM! An appointment was booked for today at 10.

We were seen by the nurse, who did the standard read the chart test, and put drops in Lauren's eyes, then sent us out to wait for dilation to occur.

Once we were called back, Dr. Drake came in. A small man he is not. And, I could smell his breath before he even OPENED his mouth. You know that type. The breath is so bad that it oozes out of the pores.

So he did his little exam, stated his diagnosis and said, "She needs glasses, but not for her vision."

Um... Ok.

It was then that I offended the man beyond repair. I called into question his years at Harvard medical school.

"So, what does THAT mean?" I dared ask.

"It means I have been doing this for twenty-THREE years and I KNOW what I am talking about!" He snorted.

"Well, no one is questioning your credentials, but you are talking about MY child!" I told him.

"It's all very confusing! You wouldn't understand!' He bellowed.

GAME. ON. BITCH.

"I have a MASTER'S DEGREE FROM M.I.T., TRY ME." I snotted. I figured, if I am going to LIE about my degree, I may as well lie about my Alma Mater, too.

He bowed down, and took a blank piece of paper out.

Yeah, I thought so. Who's my bitch?

He began drawing optic nerves and refraction prisms. Then he festooned the page with fancy words like accommadation, myosis and hyperopia. He drew a bunch of arrows and triangles, and explained in grave detail the way that ocular reflexes work.

I looked on like a Harvard grad student and took in every word.

When he was done, I felt like I had just watched a foreign French film with no subtitles. I had NO clue what the man just said or what happened.

I did not retain or process a damn word.

"Thank you, that makes perfect sense now." I said.

He set up an appointment for next week, as we have to measure Lauren for glasses.

Why?

I'm not quite sure. I think her flange is discombobulated and she needs a flux capacitor for her thingamajigy.

I was half-way out the door when the nurse stopped me.

"Mrs. MIT?, Good for you! No one has ever stood up to him like that." She whispered.

I already printed out a copy of the 'It's ALL ABOUT CICI' Memo.

I'll give it to him next week.

Concrete Shoes

Well, it's almost over.

I had a good run. Six years of eating bon-bons and watching Oprah is drawing to a close. I am about ready to re-join the rat race.

I have been busier than a one handed hooker in a jack off contest, trying to get all of my affairs in order.

I hired a new cleaning lady, who will come weekly, and I *think* I like her. She doesn't speak any English, so she may be yelling obscenties at me, but she does it with a smile, so we are good.

Joey is back to work and washing himself daily. The kids are going mach 3 around the house and ready for summer to end.

I have started crying myself to sleep at night. I am really going to miss Anthony.

Lauren, not so much. I LOVE that girl, but she is so independent and headstrong, that she is READY to take on the world. She has also been in pre-school for two years now, so I am used to her absence.

Anthony is a different story. His umbilical cord was not cut before we left the hospital and it is intact to this day. The child thinks the moon and sun rise on me (which they do, coincidentally) and he is going to be mortified when I leave him.

He keeps saying "Cool" which is school, so in theory, he wants to go. I just don't think he grasps that I am going to abandon him for eight hours. Poor baby..


What else? I woke up at like 3 this morning, and had to pee. While I was sitting there, I saw a mini tootsie roll on the bathmat, so I leaned over and picked it up.

I screamed silently as I realized that A)We do not eat tootsie rolls and 2)Even if we DID, tootsie rolls are NOT slimy and alive.

It was a SLUG! A wet, slimy, slug. With antenna! I tried to throw it, but it was stuck to my hand like a leech, so there I was, screaming under my breath, since the bathroom I chose was RIGHT outside of the baby's room, with a slug stuck to my hand and my panties around my ankles.

I finally flung him hard enough that he flew out of my hand, and stuck to the wall like one of those quarter machine hands. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, scooped him up and flushed him down.

I then washed my hands for 2.5 hours.

Of course, I had nightmares for the remainder of my sleep.

This morning after breakfast, Lauren screamed, so I went running. She was standing, looking into the toilet bowl "There's a WORM IN THE POTTY!!

Holy crap. He was BACK. Dead, but floating. I guess his corpse filled with water and he floated to the top. I flushed him again, but he wouldn't go down.

I finally grabbed a slotted spoon, fished a dead, bloated slug out of the toilet, walked it through the house, and flung it out the back door.

I guess it's a good thing I am not going back to work as a hitman, huh?

Never Have I Ever.....

Thought I would hear a man tell me to "Mush it around in the diaper to look for the penny."

Nope. Never expected to hear those words.

Also never thought I would actually do it.

But, when your son decides to act like a slot machine and eat a penny, mushing through poop is just what you have to do.

I usually put my money in a slot and never see it again. My two year old human slot machine gave me a 100% return! And a few undigested peas to boot!

Maybe my luck is changing? A trip to Las Vegas may be needed.

Never A Dull Moment

So Thursday, Joey had an appointment with his orthopedist to follow up on his shoulder injury. About 4 years ago, he tore something and as a man would be known to do, self-medicated. Meaning Beer and sleep. It got better for a few years, but the last year he has been living in pain daily. So six months ago he finally saw a doctor and was started on cortisone shots and physical therapy. Neither really helped, so surgery was the next plan.

When he went Thursday, the doc performed some range of motion tests, and very flatly informed Joey that he was hours away from losing use of his arm. So, guess who woke up at 4am to drive him to the hospital yesterday?? Yours truly!

We were at the hospital by 4:45 and I didn't walk back in my house until close to 3PM. Thank GOD for my friend, Christie who stayed with the kids all day.

I tell ya, sitting at a county hospital all day is an eye opening experience. I saw prisoners in orange gowns being wheeled into surgery with hand and leg cuffs.

I sat next to a woman who explained that her husband had a little too much to drink the night before and decided to cut some crown molding in the garage. I learned that Pabst Blue Ribbon and Mitre saws don't mix well, as her husband was now missing his ENTIRE hand which rolled down the driveway and into some dirt.

I have been singing 'On Top Of Spaghetti' since she told me that story.

But, I think the BEST part of my time in the hospital was when a VERY drugged patient in the holding area broke free of her IV pole and ran into the waiting room. She spotted the tray of complimentary bagels on the table and started shoving them in her mouth like a rabid animal. It was at that point that the orderlies came running after her and in an attempt to control her, tackled her to the ground. This caused her flimsy hospital gown to open, exposing her very fat and very white ass for all the world to see. I think the entire population of the waiting room gasped in unison at the sight.

Joey came through the surgery fine and is now as high as a long haired hippy freak at a Phish concert.

He is pretty much sleeping non-stop, only waking to drink, take his vicodin and ask me to bring him things, like our cat that died last year.

As an added bonus, he is not allowed to shower until Friday, which makes me SO happy. Because, if there is anyone who loves washing hairy balls more than me, I dare you to find her.

Alive

Did you miss me?

After a few emails from curious readers, I decided to check in here. I could provide you with 100 excuses as to why I haven't written, but instead I will tell the truth.

I didn't think anyone was reading anymore. I KNOW my mom reads, but I talk to her 3 times a day, why should I have to write to HER? I KNOW Ginger reads, but, she already knows every good story I have to tell, so why bother?

I even got three random emails from unknown readers, asking my whereabouts, and I assumed they were from my mother and Ginger using fake email address. But- when I saw THIS posted on a message board, in regards to my location, I knew I had at LEAST 4 readers:

From the last blog we know that there is an injured finger. She got a massive raging infection in the finger from the ketchup while mistaking her finger for a french fry. The finger had to be amputated and she can't blog right now because she is in physical therapy learning how to use the bionic finger.

Ok. So I am a whiney little bitch. But, would YOU want to keep working if NO one appreciated you?

End rant.


I start my job in less than five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. I slept in my bed until 8:00 today, then dozed on the couch while the kids watched a video until 9:15. Five weeks from now, I will need to be showered, dressed and ready for a full day at 6:45.

This may not last long. I am good at cashing paychecks. Not so good at waking up early and spending my WHOLE day working. Damn Joey! Why couldn't you have gone for the PhD?!!

I am full of stories, and funny tidbits to share, but truth be told, my fingers feel weird today. I keep making typos and having to backspace. So, stories will be saved for another day.

I am going to see Hairspray tonight with Sara- isn't that interesting?

Now Accepting Applications

I know it's unlike me to post TWICE in one day, but I just HAD to share this.


It's official. I am now a card carrying member of the fat girl club. How do I know this to be true?

I took the kids to McDonald's for lunch today. Lauren was begging me to open her Hello Kitty toy, Anthony had the look of 'I'm about to barf' on his face and then started the quiet dry heaves. I, like the pig that I am, was shoving french fries in my mouth 3 or 4 at a time so we could make a quick exit.

Wouldn't you KNOW I BIT MY OWN FINGER! Imagine it. You are holding 4 fries in all five of your fingers, you drag them through the blob of ketchup infront of you and shove them in your open pie hole. OUCH! I bit my middle finger so hard that my nail is turning BLUE.

The scarlett letter of fat girls.

Cha Cha Cha Charmin

Ya know, there are some things in life that should be left alone. New and/or improved is not always better. The Coca-Cola Corporation learned this lesson the hard way back in the eighties when they decided to change the recipe for Coke. Public outcry, mob mentality, and complete global meltdown ensued. So, they changed it BACK to the OLD recipe. Why? Because Americans don't like to be messed with.

So, when I read THIS ARTICLE I was angered, but not shocked.

Go ahead, click the link. Read the article. I'll wait.



Damn! You are lazy! Ok, since I KNOW you didn't read it- here are the Cliff's notes.

There is a new invention! An automatic toilet paper dispenser. Much like the paper towel dispensers that are popping up in restrooms around the nation, a simple wave of your hand will push forth your allotted amount of toilet tissue. Five squares was determined to be adequate. FIVE SQUARES?

FIVE?

Did she just say FIVE?

Yes, she did. Five.

Ok. I admit it. Here and now, to the world at large. I am an over-wiper. Call me crazy, call me OCD. I like my butt to be clean. Porn scene clean. And I surely know from over 30 years of experience that I cannot achieve that zestfully clean feeling with only five squares.

MAYBE five squares would cut it after a small tinkle following a day of dehydration. But a Sunday morning after a night drinking and eating at Chili Carmen's Casa? Five would be adequate if you multiplied it by 100.

Surely a man concocted this facacta contraption. Under the guise of saving the environment and creating less waste. Let's face facts here- it is a way to save TIME and energy. Two things most men will gladly take more of.

I think somewhere in the Midwest, a man named Skeeter was sick of his wife complaining that she had to soak his BVD's in bleach to remove the tire tracks he left behind.

Skeeter devised this auto toilet paper dispenser as an EXCUSE. Now when his wife, Amber complains, he can say "Hey! I was only given five squares at the piggly wiggly crapper! Now get me another beer, bitch!"

Jesus F. Do NOT mess with MY toilet paper. I use Charmin Ultra. Nothing less will do. If I am unable to get to my home base in enough time, I WILL resort to using what is provided me, but you better believe that I will be wrapping my hand like a glove before proceeding with the business at hand. (Pun intended)

Interestingly enough, this is NOT the first time someone has tried to dictate to me how much toilet tissue I could use.

Year ago, I was working at very prestigious law firm in a multi-BILLION dollar high rise downtown. The Senior Partner was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams and married to the cheapest, most miserable woman I have ever known. This woman was a trophy wife if ever there was one, and had barely squeaked out a high school diploma when she was grabbed up by the man twenty years her senior.

To show her that she was more than a gorgeous body, he gave her the title of office manager. She was the laughing stock of the entire office, as she flitted around in her designer shoes and tried to tell room fulls of young associates to remember to leave their pens on the conference table when the meeting adjourned.

Well, one day, a MEMO came across our desks. As luck would have it, I am a pack rat, and still have that memo. Here it is:

To: All Partners,Associates,and Staff
From: CheapAss Bitch
Re: Toilet Tissue Usage

It has come to my attention that we are using an excessive amount of toilet tissue. XXX and I just purchased an 84 pack at Costco last month and it is almost gone already. Please be more aware of the amount of tissue you use and help us conserve costs and waste.

Thanks!
CrazyAssBitch


OH. MY. GOD. I almost swallowed my tongue when I read that. I remember turning to the woman I shared an office with and saying "Is this a JOKE??"

It wasn't. She was SERIOUS.

Now, I have been known to waste things. I will take more than I know I can eat at the buffet. I will grab a few extra napkins at McDonald's and I am the first to openly admit that I steal soap and shampoo from the attendant carts in hotels.

But toilet paper? That is something I do not use in excess of my current need. I don't achieve cleanliness and then flush gobs of paper down for sport. Nor do I stuff it in my purse to take home as a souvenir.

Well, as luck would would have it, my local newspaper had an editorial section. SOMEONE wrote a letter to said section and explained how this richer than God woman was rationing toilet paper to her firm employees. A copy of the memo was included with the letter. The newspaper PRINTED the letter, and the memo, with all identifying information blacked out. That certain someone ALSO let herself in to the office early the morning of the article and put a copy on the chair of every person in the office. Toilet paper usuage at the firm saw quite the increase that month. Someone even invented a game. It was called spin and win. An occupant of the restroom would spin the roll of toilet paper until the first square was touching the water in the bowl and then flush. The occupant would then count how long the roll unraveled before breaking off. My high score was 5 seconds; which was beat by many.

On my last day of employement with the firm, I sent an email to the whole staff. I informed them that oxygen consumption was now being monitored and to please conserve. And then, in a move that I still envy MYSELF for doing, I sent an email to the boss' wife letting her know that we noticed she had used her daily allottment of oxygen, and could she please hold her breath for the rest of the day.

What was she gonna do? FIRE ME?

Rumour has it, to this day, CheapAssBitch is still known as the Quilted Northern Nazi.

This weeks nomination for mother of the year goes to....

This fat crackhead who thought it would be FUNNY to give her 2 or 3 year old ECSTASY!

It's bad enough the poor child is half naked and not in a car seat, but she is obviously "rolling." To the untrained eye, she may appear to be kidding, but as someone who spent every Friday night of her teenage years at Flirts in West Palm, watching the rollers- that poor little girl is straight TRIPPING. Check out her eyes, that's why they call it Rolling!

I swear. Somebody PLEASE nominate me for President. PLEASE. I, along with my mother will solve ALL of the social issues affecting our Country. For starters, I would hunt these retards down, drag them into town square and sterilize them.

I think my favorite part of this story is that THE RADIO STATION they are listening to is CHRISTIAN ROCK!

I don't know about YOU, but I've never seen a JEW get their kid stoned. A little manischewitz wine, yes. Ecstasy no.

Maybe I am getting old? Would I have found this funny ten years ago?

Not bloody likely.

Seems each and every day I am forced to say this- I HATE PEOPLE.

Disnerds

Naked fat girl + No A/C + Leather Couch = Not a pretty sight. I didn't even KNOW it was possible for the backs of my knees to sweat! Lesson learned.

So there we sat last night, sticking to the leather couch, watching Macy's attempt to blow up Manhattan. Joey was oohing and aahing over every explosion. I was less amazed. In fact, fireworks are downright BORING to me. Joey could not understand this, fireworks are awesome, and to the average person, something they see once a year.

As usual, I am not average. I spent two summers after college working at the happiest place on earth- Disney World.

It truly was the best job I have ever and will ever have. It was fun, exciting, offered free admission for me and my family and best of all- having Disney on your resume is akin to having 'Magna Cum Laude- Harvard'- a deal closer if ever there was one.

Disney is notorious for being extremely picky in who they hire. And to be cast in a 'role' where one actually SPEAKS to the public? This high honor is only granted to those of us graced with physical beauty and top notch personalities! Luckly, I was blessed with both- so was cast as a tour guide for VIP's.

This job insisted I deliver 'smiles for miles' or as I put it- be terminally happy. I could only point with TWO fingers, never one. One finger pointed in any direction could lead someone to believe I was pointing at THEM.

In addition to my daily tours and providing guests with magical experiences they would never forget, one of my duties was 'Fireworks Fanatic!' Once night fell upon the world, I would act as a cheerleader to tired, broke families. I would run around and get them excited to watch us light up the skies. I handed stickers to children, flirted with old men, broke out into song over seeing a Minnie Mouse hat and acted like a first class looney toon.

I would estimate I have seen over 300 fireworks displays, and they lost their novelty somewhere in the mid 200's. I have watched parents navigating over sized strollers through a sea of people while trying to exit the park in order to stop their screaming children from going into cardiac arrest over the noise. I have seen a tree set on a fire from a wayward flame, watched in horror as Tinkerbell's zip line snapped and she fell 25 feet to the safety net below her.

I have seen parents so overcome with misery on the amount of money they have spent, that I have watched GROWN men in Mickey ears crying.

Happiest place on earth...my ass.

To cure my terminal happiness, I devised new and exciting ways to be the bitch I am at heart. While I could not openly be rude, lest I be hauled of to mouse jail and forced to listen to the plaster dolls sing 'It's a small world' for eternity; I COULD be a smart-ass, as most people check their brains at the airport before deplaning at Orlando Int'l Airport.

I kept a journal of my favorite Disney smart-ass remarks. Here, I will share some of them with you.

Guest : "Excuse me, what time is the three O'clock parade?"
Me: "4:15"

Guest: "Is there a midget inside of that costume?" ( Pointing to Stitch from Lilo and Stitch)
Me: " No, sir, that's a real alien!"

Guest: "Is there anywhere to eat here?"
Me: " No, I'm sorry, we only serve beverages"

Guest: " Are the bullets real on the Pirates ride?"
Me: "Some days yes, some days, no, depends on the mood of the engineers."

Guest: "Are the animals on the jungle ride real?"
Me: " They only come to life at night when we are all gone."

Guest: "Do you work here?"
Me: "Do you really think I would wear ORANGE pants if I wasn't PAID to?"

Guest: " Is Ariel a real person?" (Asked after watching a live stage show of The Little Mermaid)
Me: " Nope, she's an actual mermaid!"

Guest: "How many people are here today?"
Me: "I lost count when you started talking to me! Now I have to start over!"

And the REASON I hate FIREWORKS?????

Guest: "Where can I see the fireworks?"
Me: Silence. Silence. Slowly roll eyes toward sky and lift pointer finger up.

Dumb Disnerds.

99 In The Shade

Happy Independence Day!

I am penning this at 9:00PM- after spending part of the day at the neighbor's house, eating patriotic hot dogs and drinking patriotic Corona's.

We came home, hot from the sun, our bellies full, to a nice SAUNA.

Our good for nothing A/C was frozen over-AGAIN.

This is now the 3rd time since Memorial Day. And the unit is six months old!!

A call to the serviceman found him drunk and getting ready to blow his own hands off with cherry bombs and illegal fireworks he trafficked over state lines.

He'll be here at seven in the A.M.- or so he says. From the sound of the party going on down at his double wide, I am banking on 10.

So, I am naked, dripping sweat and as annoyed as Paris Hilton in a courtroom. Joey and I are fighting like cats and dogs, because we are HOT. Last I looked, the thermostat was saying it was a nice toasty 84 degrees in here.

84 may not sound hot. To those living in Phoenix, it's a downright freeze wave- but you must understand- I run my A/C 10 months a year, and on 69!

So, as I sit here, feeling like I am going to die, and wishing I just would- I wish you a happy Independence Day and Happy Birthday, America.

Cici

Holy MOTHER OF GOD!!

WHY ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Did I ever mention my next door neighbor and the construction fiasco?

Around February, my exact next door neighbor decided to ADD a level to his house. What followed was the closest I have EVER come to actually committing murder.

Between the porta-potty on the lawn, the endless construction workers, the smoking of said construction workers, language, dust, smell, sounds and the fact that EVERY truck that comes thinks it OKAY to park in front of MY HOUSE, I was OVER IT.

But, it finally ended yesterday. I heard the backing up beep of the truck and looked out my window to see the glorious site of the portable shed of shit being taken away. I even saw the Foreman pull the permit box off the lawn yesterday!

FINALLY! 5 months and it's OVER! My street is back to normal. No more questionable gentleman lurking around. My children will not hear the F bomb, unless it's uttered by me.

THEN.

It happened.

I awoke this morning to the familar sound of trucks. Surely I must be dreaming. Or hallucinating.

One glance out my front window proved I was wrong on both accounts. I was very much awake and very much gazing at a truck parked IN FRONT of my house with the words "Apple's remodeling" on the side.

WHAT THE HELL??

It would appear that in an effort to keep up with the Joneses..err...Simon's; my ACROSS the street neighbor's have decided THEY need a new level AND a pool too!

OH. MY. GOD.

Folks, I may not make it through this one without adding a felony or two to my otherwise clean criminal record.

I have MONTHS to look forward to my morning routine of going to get my newspaper while having "Hey Sexy Chica!" Yelled at me by assorted day laborer's. Leaving my house and wondering if it will still BE HERE when I get home, will continue.

But best of all, I get to enjoy the EYE candy that is a blue shack of CRAP every single time I look outside.

Kill me now. Please.

Workin' At The Carwash

So. I went on the interview. After a forty minute interrogation about what I thought my biggest strengths and weakness' were and where I see myself in five years; I was offered the job on the spot. Of course I was, I'm Cici!

Truth be told, I have never gone to an interview and NOT been offered the job. I guess I have great interviewing skills?

So, I was offered the job and asked when I could start. I hemmed and hawed a bit here, and explained that my current child care arrangements or lack thereof were an issue.

It will be August before Lauren starts school and Anthony is allowed behind the locked doors of the WABTY* school.

No problem! We'll wait for you, we want you that much! Ok. So August 27th is my first day. How awesome is THAT? I just got eight weeks of vacation and I haven't even STARTED yet.

To add salt to margarita- the BASE salary is more than enough to satisfy me. And let us not forget monthly bonuses, etc. Funny, I was concerned about re-joining the work force somewhere around my LAST salary ( which was six years ago) and I was just given a FIFTY percent raise! Gotta love inflation.

So, there you have it folks, I will be a working class stiff in 2 months. I hope to keep up on this blog, as it's very therapeutic for me to get it all out.

So..what is annoying me today?

Anne Coulter, The Immigration Bill and snot.

Anne Coulter- Let me go on record here. I admire her moxie. She is a self-centered, arrogant bitch who has diarrhea of her oral orifice, and I LOVE IT. I am, quite possibly the POLAR opposite of Ms.Coulter when it comes to political, well, almost every view. She is an ultra-conservative right wing Republican, and I disagree with most everything she says. BUT, I do admire her big balls. In case you hadn't noticed, I speak my mind pretty freely, too. I call them as I see them, and say WHAT I want, about WHOM I want. Isn't America wonderful?

The Immigration Bill. I have two very different opinions on this subject. My first knee-jerk reaction is send them all back. Why should I pay taxes so THEY can have free medical care, tax free wages, and drivers licenses? If you sneak into MY Country in the dark of night illegally, you should be sent to prison, just like anyone who breaks the law here, not given rewards for your behavior.

On the other side. I live in Florida. If we send all of them back, I will starve to death. SOMEONE has to pick the fruits and vegetables.

So here is MY solution. Let them stay- but send them to Iraq. If you want to be a member of this country so badly, then show us you are willing to DIE for it. Serve a tour of duty, and when you return, we will place you in a job, and tax your wages.

Problem solved.

Next.

Snot- Why do kids makes so much of it? Every time I look at my neighbor's kid, he is either picking, wiping, rolling, flicking or eating. I am grossed out. Enough already!

Oh yeah! I wanted to touch quickly on a comment that ANONYMOUS left for my parents cruise post. I am sorry your dad died, you surely miss him terribly. I am sorry that he got cold hard stares for coughing his way across the country on his last trip. But, if you have been reading my blog for any amount of time you know that I am an equal opportunity offender. I offend everyone at some point- hell- I just offended about four different classes in this ONE post.

My post was not meant to harm YOU- I don't even KNOW someone named Anonymous!

Joey and I are taking the kids over to Orlando for the weekend. Disney in the summer with two kids- sadists, that's what we are.

Have a great weekend!

* We are better than you

Filling In The Pieces

Most of you reading this know me in real life. You KNOW why I am like I am. For those of you unlucky enough to say you KNOW me, allow me to introduce reason number ONE for my self-indulgent, self-centered, egotistical beautiful self. It's called genetics.

I just got off the phone with my mom. My parents returned from a 10 day Alaskan cruise yesterday. Of course, my mother is now sick. She complained of fever, chills, flu-like symptoms and nausea. I have diagnosed her-via telephone-with the Norwalk virus. When discussing her prognosis and plan of care, she mentioned how she contracted this horrible illness.

"It was that bitch behind me at Bingo!" She declared. "She was coughing up a lung! Every time she went into a coughing fit, I would turn around and glare at her like 'HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOO!.'"

Damn. I love this woman.

She gave me life, she gave me my stunning good looks and knock-out figure. And she gave me the belief that I am more important than ANYONE else.

I asked my mom if she had pondered the fact that she flew on TWO airplanes, which are basically pressurized tubes of germs; been on TWO trains, and then a SHIP FULL of people. I also reminded her that cruise ships are NOTORIOUS for giving people illness.

"Well, yes, but...it was that damn lady. Cough Cough, Sneeze! Why did she have to sit BEHIND people? If she REALLY had to play Bingo!, she could have sat in a corner!"

THIS is why I am like I am. We ARE better than everyone else. If you are sick, cancel your trip, or if you are selfish enough to still come, then at least stay in your cabin. If you MUST exit your cabin, PLEASE sit in the corner. WE do not want YOUR germs.

It's a good thing I wasn't there. While Ms. Germs thought she was getting an evil eye from my mother, she would have gotten more than a 'HEEELLLLLLLLOOOOO' from me. I would have stood up, declared her unfit for travel and demanded her immediate removal from the ship. This would have been followed up by me demanding an entire DE-lousing of the vessel, a full refund of my trip AND a free cruise anywhere in the world for me and three friends. Again, those that KNOW me can attest to the fact that my demands would have been met.

Back in the day, my mother was quite the pot stirrer as well. She taught me the best she could, molded me into a perfect demanding woman, and then bailed on me. She hit menopause. Suddenly, she was a little less demanding, and a little kinder. Without the hormonal imbalance pulsing through her veins, she actually engaged her brain before opening her mouth.

What a sell out.

Lauren likes to play dress-up and be a princess. The other day she said to me, "Mommy, I am the princess, and you are the queen." I gently reminded her.."No, dear,GRANDMA is the queen, I am merely an heir to the throne."

Beluga Caviar and Cucumber Sandwiches For Lunch, Too!

Is it any wonder I thrive on drama?

JESUS F.- My life is BORING.

The only light in my life right now is that July 5th is just around the corner. The guilty summer pleasure that is Big Brother premieres that evening.

So, what is new in CiciLand?

Well, we opened the castle with smashing success. Slowly but surely, it will catch on more.

I have a job interview on Thursday morning! More like a 'let us make sure you don't have three breasts' meeting. I was all but offered the job already- so assuming I like the locale and the firm, I just may be on someones payroll again.

It's been a long time since I worked outside of my house. Do they still use carbon paper to make copies in offices? What about the smoking room in the office? Is RAVE hairspray still the spray of choice? And can I bring my OWN cassette tapes to listen to at my desk? And, is it still PC to call the janitor 'the colored man that mops?' can we even CALL him a janitor anymore? Probably not- he's likely the ground covering sanitation engineer. (In case you were wondering- NO- I am NOT working for the NAACP.)

I DID tell the VP that I could not start until the last week of August, since Lauren will start Kindergarten and Anthony will be able to start attending the DisgustinglyExpenseAndSnottyButIFYourChildAttendsHereHeISGuaranteedAdmissionToHarvard Day school. The last Monday in August is the first day he can attend, as is it will take the rest of the summer for us to legally change his name to Preston J. Cummings the third.

In all seriousness, the school IS disgustingly expense. A little North of $1350 a month- but every teacher is accredited and has either a B.A or M.A in Early Childhood education. I am willing to pay a premium to know that little Preston will be attending such a fine establishment. My other choices were the local KinderCare and Kids 'R Kids- where all of the teachers are guaranteed to be crime free for the last two years, and have completed high school, or at the VERY least passed the state equivalency program. No thanks.

So, keep your crossables crossed for me. It will sure be nice to have a reason to brush my hair every single day. And, the paycheck will be nice- and consistent, something I couldn't count on working from home.

I told Joey I want my housekeeper to come WEEKLY once I start, and to start packing, because with this new paycheck, we are moving to a bigger house for her to clean.

Have a great Tuesday!

Je déteste les gens

A décidé d'écrire dans aujourd'hui français. Si vous comprenez ceci, s'il vous plaît partir un commentaire.
Les gens qui ne comprennent pas si seront ennuyés. Ils penseront que ceci est important.

J'aime les chiens Chauds, la Tourte aux pommes et français Frisent !

J'aime savoir une autre langue !

Cici

The Humanity!

19 year old mother taped pacifier to baby's face- Causing death.

This story popped up on one of my boards, and I was going to reply THERE, but decided the things I had to say would probably cause quite a stir over there. So, here is MY opinion on this whole thing. As always, Uncensored.


What a needless, senseless tragedy.

The 19 year old mother should be given the death penalty, not 8.5 years.

What kind of MORON would tape a pacifier into a child's mouth?? Obviously THAT kind of moron.

Stupid people should not be allowed to breed.

Do you know that in my state, you need a license to catch a FISH or own a DOG, but any person with healthy reproductive organs can have a child??? How ridiculous is THAT?

Yeah, Yeah, I know. The Government has no right to tell anyone what they can and cannot do with their bodies, including forbidding stupid people to reproduce; but when will it end?

I will now state MY not-so-democratic-solution to this problem. REFUSE to give these morons assistance if they continue to breed. Don't want to work? Ok. Rather sit on your fat ass and watch Maury Povich reveal the names of baby daddies? Cool. Want to fuck like rabbits and have MORE babies? Your business. Want US to pay for your milk, eggs, rent and diapers? I think not.

I digress. Back to Mother Of The Year.

Someone on the board asked where the baby's Grandmother was in this situation.
That's a bit far fetched, I think. Who knows if there even IS a grandmother?
History repeats itself, and something inside of me thinks this girl did not grow up in Beverley Hills with attentive, loving, involved parents. More likely, her mother is a moron herself.

Am I being a profiling, stereo-typical bitch? Yep. But if the shoe fits....

I was raised to believe marriage comes FIRST, THEN babies. Why? Because a GOOD marriage and all the work that comes with making it work, brings maturity and stability. One learns things during that period, like how to fix a drain, or pay a bill, or, I don't now, how to calm a baby without tying PAJAMAS around his body and taping a pacifier to his face!

Yes, I know there are plenty of women out there that had babies out of wedlock and did not go on to kill their children.

I also know there are plenty of nineteen year old morons who can't even bag my groceries without putting the eggs ON TOP of the bread.

What's my point? I don't really know. I just needed to vent.

I hate people.

Application For Permission To Date My Daughter

NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless accompanied by a complete financial statement, history, lineage, recent FBI background check, psychiatric evaluation, and updated medical report from your doctor.

NAME:_________________________________
DATE OF BIRTH:_____________________
HEIGHT:___________ WEIGHT:____________ I.Q.__________ GPA____________
SOCIAL SECURITY#_________________________________________________________
DRIVERS LICENSE#_________________________________________________________
BOY SCOUT RANK:__________________________________________________________
HOME ADDRESS:____________________________________________________________CITY/STATE_________________________________________ ZIP_________________
Do you have TWO parents? _______ yes? _______ no?
Number of years parents married:_________________________________________
Do you own a van? _________ A truck with oversized tires? __________
A waterbed? _________ Do you have an earring, nose ring, or belly ring?_______________ Tatoo?_______________
(IF YES TO ANY OF THESE QUESTIONS, DISCONTINUE APPLICATION AND LEAVE THE PREMISES)

In 50 words or less, what does DO NOT TOUCH MY DAUGHTER MEAN TO YOU? __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In 50 words or less, what does LATE mean to you?
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In 50 words or less, what does ABSTINENCE mean to you? _________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Congregation you attend:_______________________________________________
How often do you attend?_________________________________________________
When would it the best time to interview your father, mother, relatives, neighbors, minister/rabbi/priest, and past girlfriends?(supply phone numbers)____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
What do you want to be IF you grow up? __________________________________


ANSWER THESE SEMI-CONFIDENTIAL QUESTIONS BY FILLING IN THE BLANKS.
"If I were shot, the last place on my body I would want to be wounded is _________________________________________________________________________
"If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is my ______________ _________________________________________________________________________
"A woman’s place is in the ______________________________________________

"The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is _________ _________________________________________________________________________
"When I first meet a girl, the thing I notice about her is ______________ _________________________________________________________________________
(NOTE: If the answer to above begins s with "T" or "A", discontinue and it is advised that you leave the premises right now keeping your head low and running in a serpentine fashion.)

I SWEAR THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE, UNDER THE PENALTY OF A SLOW DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, SOLDIER ANT TORTURE, RED HOT POKERS OR DRIPPING WATER TORTURE.
____________________________________________
SIGNATURE (That means your name, moron!)

Thank you for your interest in my daughter. Please allow four to six years for processing. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. You will be contacted in writing if you are approved. Do not try to call or write (since you probably can’t, anyway). Any attempt to make contact might cause you injury. If your application is rejected, two gentlemen with violin cases and cement shoes will notify you – one size fits all.

Four things about Cici

I stole this idea from my friend, Mikey. Since no one obviously cares enough about me to put a copy in MY inbox. Enjoy getting to know me.

Four Jobs You've Had:
Wendy's
Paralegal
Property Manager
The Gap
Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over:
West Side Story
Life Of Brian
Forrest Gump
Grease
Four Places I've Lived:
New York
Vermont
Florida ( 5 different cities)
TV Shows I Love:
Entourage
Big Brother
The Amazing Race
Grey's Anatomy
Four Places I've Vacationed:
Las Vegas
Canada
Phoenix
Grand Bahama Island
Four of My Favorite Dishes
Eggplant Parmigiana
Prime Rib with a baked Potato
Black Pepper Asian Chicken
A HUGE bowl of Froot Loops with whole milk
Four Sites I Visit Daily:
One I refuse to give advertising to.
Chase.com
CaringBridge.com
CNN.com
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now:
Las Vegas
Sleeping
Disney World
At the lottery office, cashing my winning ticket
Four Things on My Immediate Shopping List:
Diapers
Milk
New House
Paper Towels
Four Songs That Always Put Me In a Good Mood:
Lyin' Eyes
Scenes From An Italian Restaurant
My daughter singing the National Anthem
ONE
Four Things I Refuse to Eat:
Frog legs
Pig Feet
NON beef hot dogs
Pre- packaged Pasteurized processed cheese food ( Kraft Singles) BLECH
Four Things I Can't Live Without:
Air
Water
Food
Love
Four Places I Will Visit Before I Die:
The best damn Doctor money can buy
See above
See above
See above
Four Concerts I Have Seen:
Guns N' Roses
Skid Row/Aerosmith
Billy Joel
Poison/Cinderella
Four Favorite Candies:
Pez
Kit Kat
BB Bats
Take Five
Four Pet's Names:
Fizz
Mittens
Francis
Lola
Four Skeletons In My Closet:
I use assorted accents when checking into hotels
I broke off an engagement in 1994 and left someone at the altar in 1997
I wake up and eat chocolate in the middle of the night
I go both ways
Four People I'd Like to Have Over for a Dinner Party:
Bill Clinton
Anthony Kiedis
Natalie Merchant
Drew Barrymore
Four Books I've Read More Than Once:
Brown Bear, Brown Bear
Good In Bed
Catcher In The Rye
Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
Four Favorite Cocktails:
Banana Daiquiri
Vanil Stoli and Diet
Amaretto Sour
Appletini
Four Favorite Pizza Toppings:
Pepperoni
Black Olives
Onions
Anchovies
Four Pet Peeves:
Bad Spelling
Bad Grammar
Censorship
Muffin Tops

Bagels, Muffins and Bread

I WAS going to go on a rant about censorship AGAIN.

The more I think about the 'situation' the angrier I get, but..I figure my dear readers are content with the current amount of menstrual talk on this site.

So, we'll move on.

But not before I restate that freedom of speech must apply to EVERYONE- not just those whom we agree with.

So. Where were we?

Lauren. She seemed to be getting better, she was drinking, eating and acting normal. I ran out of Tylenol with Codeine yesterday, so I called the office. While the nurse had me on the phone, she asked how the scabs were healing.

SCABS? "Uh, there are no scabs, just lots of white stuff" I told her.

The words 'white stuff' apparently set off alarms and require the nurse to go into F.O.F.T.F.O.M*- as her reply was a bit unsettling.

"WHAT do you mean- WHITE stuff?!?!?!" She gasped.

White stuff, like cottage cheese in the back of her throat I explained.

"Oh NO!!- When can you bring her in???" She demanded

It was at this point that I joined in the party. If this nurse, trained to assess and diagnose medical issues was concerned enough to enter the 'mode', who was I to remain calm? Surely she knew that white stuff was the pre-cursor to throat removal or tongue biopsy and was frantically re-arranging the Dr's schedule to fit in my daughter for her throatectomy.

" I can be there in thirty minutes!" I exclaimed, while mentally preparing myself for getting two kids who were currently eating breakfast and watching 'Dora'; ready to leave the house in fifteen minutes.

"Oh, the Dr. has no room today, how about tomorrow at 2:00?" She asked.

TOMORROW??

"That's fine, just from the tone of your voice, I thought you were more concerned with the situation." I told her.

"Oh no, dear, she probably has thrush- it's very common after a strong dose of antibiotics."

THRUSH. My daughter has yeast infection in her mouth.

In the words of my favorite blogger- YUMM-O-DELICIOUS!

VOMIT.

So today will consist of laundry, dishes, eBaying, and a visit to the Dr.

Do I live life in the fast lane or what?

What am I? A Republican?

I am pissed.

Just back from a trip to the local grocery store, where I was behind a woman in the checkout lane. This woman had a "baby" (he was easily over the age of one) in an INFANT carrier, a 4 or 5 year old hanging off the back of the cart, and a 6 or so year old pulling on her skirt. She was also visibly pregnant and about ready to pop.

A quick glance at her goods on the belt showed me she was purchasing Froot Loops, Nathan's hot dogs, milk, eggs, Aunt Jemima syrup, Eggo waffles, a Spider man birthday cake from the bakery and 4 12 packs of Coke.

When the cashier told her the total, and she pulled out her Gubmint issued debit card, I was slightly annoyed. When the cashier told her that her balance was $15 something (since the state obviously doesn't pay for custom engraved birfday cakes), and the woman reached her long ass nails complete with sparkles into her knock off Louis Vuitton and pulled out a WAD of cash, I was even more annoyed. When she told the cashier she also needed 2 cartons of Newport's, I almost swallowed my tongue.

WHAT THE EXCUSE MY FRENCH FUCK IS THIS????

My cart contained my two children, store brand loot froops, ball park franks. store brand syrup and Toca Cola and I work!

Well, Ok, I don't WORK per se, but Joey does, quite hard I might add.

So, there were my mighty tax dollars hard at work.

Her nails were done, her hair was done, she was wearing jewelry, had a Motorola Razr clipped to her belt and had an iPod clipped to the outside of her bag.

When I got out to my car and saw her loading her goods into the trunk of her I KID YOU NOT FOLKS, Cadillac, I lost it.

Once I was safely inside my car, doors locked and driving away, I rolled down my window, and yelled to her- If you're gonna breed 'em, feed 'em!

I looked and sounded like a bitch, but I'm a sissy. She was a bigger bitch. She coulda taken me out in a second.

Get a job, people. And stop reproducing. For real.

There are only a few ways to wealth in this country- work, fame, or inheritance.

We all wish we had a rich Uncle out there who would die and leave his millions, but most of us do not.

Fame is fleeting and only happens to a select few, so let's count that out of the equation.

What's left? Work. Either do it, or marry someone who does and stop asking ME to take care of YOU and your offspring.

In an ironic twist of fate, I DO have a rich Uncle. He is only 11 years older than me and married with two children of his own to leave his millions to.

Guess I better get famous real soon, because I sure hate working.

The Other Side

Well, we made it.

Every single day, my children amaze me.

Joey and I made the decision NOT to tell Lauren about her surgery until that morning, as we knew that the anticipation would be the worst part for her.

We woke her up early and sat on her bed in a serious manner. I explained that we were going to the hospital ( which was followed by her screaming NOOOOOOOO!) and I promised her no shots or needles. I explained she would change into a super special hospital uniform, drink a little cup of medicine and when she woke up, her throat would hurt a little. She made me PROMISE no shots, which I did, and she calmed down.

She willingly walked into the hospital and it was smooth sailing from there. I was SHOCKED. My stomach was in KNOTS for the three days leading up to this, as I just KNEW she was going to go into full on freak the fuck out mode.

She changed into her gown, drank her versed/codeine cocktail ( Thank GOD it was NOT a nasal spray) and within eight minutes was fall down drunk. Call us mean, but Joey and I were laughing our asses off. She was drunk as a sailor on leave. She was slurring her speech, babbling about space ships and Taco Bell and looked like a bobble head.

By the time the nurse came to wheel her bed into the OR, she was blowing kisses and waving goodbye. Nineteen minutes later, the Dr. came out and told us it was over.

She did wonderfully and the Dr. said if she drank a can of Gatorade, she could go home.

A few minutes later, the nurse came to get us and bring us to recovery. When we got there, Lauren was just starting to wake up. It was at THIS point that she went into F.O.F.T.F.O.M.

I guess anesthesia alters personalities slightly, as my child was possessed. She was trying to scream, but couldn't, and was thrashing around. I was seriously waiting for her head to spin. We spent the next thirty minutes trying to calm her down as she came off her Versed/Codeine/Anesthesia/Morphine high.

Watching her trying to gather her senses reminded me of a bad LSD trip I had in college and I truly felt sorry for her. She was completely disoriented and scared.

Once she was calm, she drank an entire can of juice and we were on our way home.

She is getting better everyday and should be back to normal in another 10 days or so.

Thanks for the emails and e-cards wishing her well!

Love,
Cici

CRASH

This morning we were running late to an appointment. I threw Lauren's clothes on her bed and told her to get dressed. She told me she already HAD panties on, why did she need to put new ones on?

I explained that she should ALWAYS have on clean underwear.

She then decided to start a debate. She calmly and articulately told me that she had been wearing her current pair for a very small amount of time. She took a bath last night, then put on this pair. All she did was sleep in them, how dirty could they be?

While her argument was convincing and obviously well thought out- I told her to change panties anyway. She still demanded an answer as to WHY.

"Because I wasn't allowed out of the house unless I was wearing clean panties and neither are you!" was my final word on the subject.

She changed panties and we were on our way. Later on the phone, I was recalling the story to Joey and he asked WHY I always had to have fresh panties on as a child.

My mothers reasoning was that if I was ever in an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital, she would die of shame if I was wearing dirty panties.

I got to thinking.

Let's assume for a moment I have clean panties on. Now let's assume I am involved in an accident bad enough to require me being taken to the hospital for medical care and disrobed for examination.

Odds are, at the time of impact, I will shit my pants anyway.

I will no longer make my daughter change out of clean panties to put CLEANER ones on.

That is all for today.

Chinese Torture

I have had two C-Sections, EIGHT amniocentesis', my wisdom teeth extracted, my foot broken, my back thrown out and a stapler rip through two of my fingers.

All of those things combined were more pleasant than holding my daughter down as the poor woman at the lab tried to draw her blood.

To the lay person in the waiting room, I am sure it sounded like we were practicing torture methods on Lauren. She was dripping sweat, screaming like a lunatic, kicking, crying and just freaking out.

Once they got the needle in her arm, it was over in less than thirty seconds. That was fun.

The Dr. assures me Monday PRE-OP won't be as bad, since Lauren will receive NO needles until she is under anesthesia.

"We just have to spray some Versed in her nose as soon as she gets here." She assures me.

Yeah, good luck with that, let me know how that works out for you.

Damn. I am NOT looking forward to this.

Yes. I have been bad.

I should be spanked.

Truth be told, I have not been inspired lately.

Life has been quite boring. Lots of laundry, child rearing and cleaning.

I am not even sure if anyone besides my mom is still reading this- Hi Mom!!

I spent last weekend with my parents at a fancy pants hotel. Joey had to work, so the kids and I packed it up and headed on an hour long drive.

We had a great time. My mom and I shared some laughs ( at my dad's expense- of course) and we shopped, sunned and relaxed. My parents are so generous! We went shopping and both of my kids have new clothes and shoes. I have a new diaper bag, and my dad filled my tank.

I learned this trick in my late teens. If I know one or both of my parents will be in my car, I make sure I have as little gas as possible. When I pull up to the pump to fill up, they ALWAYS offer me their credit cards. I am sure they are on to my ruse- but I still play the game anyway.

I have a busy few weeks coming up on me again now. Lauren is out of school for the summer and driving me nuts! On Friday, we are heading to the beach for a three day weekend, only to be followed Monday by pure hell.

Lauren is having her tonsils and adenoids removed and has to stay over one night in the hospital. I lost the coin toss and get to sleep over with her. For those that actually KNOW my daughter, I need not explain. For those that do not- allow me to elaborate. My daughter is a DRAMA QUEEN. I am quite certain she will need to be sedated in the parking lot before we even enter the hospital.

I will need drugs by the time this all over. I was advised that she will have two weeks of being home bound and miserable. YAY! Something to look forward to!

Of course, Joey took Monday and Tuesday off, but those will be the easy days as Morphine will still be in her system. Wednesday morning should be when the real pleasantries begin. Joey will be safe at work and I'll be here with a dramatic five year old and a two year old who never had his umbilical cord cut.

In other news, I have begun a search for a FT job. The work at home thing is nice, and I had a good five year run- but the tide is turning. Anthony NEEDS to be with other kids. The child has no sense of sharing and has not grasped the concept that life goes beyond mommy. He needs to be bitten and pushed. He needs to play in dirt, and he needs to learn that there are people besides me out there.

So, the decision to send him to school was made. I found an excellent program that is not "daycarish" at all. It is a curriculum based program that focuses on play.

I could continue to stay home while he is gone, but I would end up weighing 500 pounds if I did that. Imagine a quiet, empty house and a TV that does NOT have to be set to Nickelodeon!

So, the search is on. I haven't had a 'real' job for over five years, so I expect to be a little rusty and expect I will have to do some serious convincing of employers to take me back, but I am sure I will find a firm somewhere that needs a beautiful, smart and sassy woman.

I have to take Lauren for her pre-op blood work today. Imagine my good fortune. Ever try getting blood from a rabid hyena?

I can only assume that would be easier.

No, Brad, I Don't Want a Frosty Beverage.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

May I Borrow 25k?

JESUS. CHRIST.

What a trip!

Here is the condensed version of the trip report.

Cry
Cough
Lose
Sleep
Vomit
Repeat

I am working on the full length novella now.

The working title is Ginger, Cici and the frosty beverage boy, Brad.

Wish Me Luck, The Same To You

All I have left to do is cook three meals and I am out of here.

Seems Joey cannot eat McDonald's for three days, so I am stuck cooking some food for him.
Cause, ya know, he'd wither away to nothing if I didn't leave him lasagna and meatballs.

I just got back from the bank and am stocked with cash to give away to the Harrah's empire.

If I win a jackpot, I won't be back , so if you don't hear from me, you know what happened.

I'll update when I return.

The Eagle Has Landed

That was scary. It seems 'We're not sure disease' quickly turned into 'horrific and life threatning.'

It would probably be in the best interest of all involved if I found a Pediatrician who was a bit less of a hypochondriac than me. Only, he is a hypochondriac by proxy. He had me convinced that if Anthony didn't poop by noon- his life was hanging in the balance and immediate surgery was his only hope.

So, George Michael prayed for time.

I prayed for poop.

It would seem that vomit + fever + no poop for two days = bowel obstruction.

Or constipation.

The Pediatrican chose the former. I believed him.

We were both wrong.

At 9:47 AM, my son insulted his diaper beyond repair. It was big and it was bad and it was named LeRoy.

So, crisis averted.

In less than 48 hours, I will be de-planing in the City Of Brotherly Love and hopping into the G hoopty- heading to the shore for three blessed days of drinking, gambling and general debauchery.

Expect a play by play trip report upon my return.

Is anyone still reading this??

Still Kickin

My inbox is on fire! No, I was not abducted by aliens. Thanks for your concerns though.

It has been anything but quiet around Casa De Cici over the last five days.

Let's see. Thursday, as you know was my birthday. I received some awesome gifts, emails and cards. I also was the person of honor at a party on Thursday night. A good time was had by all.

I woke up Friday to a hangover and a head cold. I battled that all day Friday and Saturday, and then, Anthony got sick.

He started out Saturday with a techni-color yawn, and has yet to stop. I spent my weekend forcing Pedialyte down his throat, only to have it come back on me time and time again.

We were at the Pediatrician by 8 this morning, only to wait for 45 minutes. Ever tried sitting in a hot waiting room with a screaming, feverish toddler on your lap? I seriously thought I was gonna flip.

By the time we were called and placed in a 3x3 room with no ventilation, Anthony was in full on freak out mode. He was screaming, dry heaving and crying tearless tears ( he's a touch dehydrated.) When the Dr. finally came in, he examined him and found nothing, other than tenderness on the right lower quadrant. What does that mean? He's not sure.

Gee, I could have diagnosed THAT. I love 'not sure' disease. I think it's the easy out for medical professionals. " We're not sure what's wrong with him. That will be $20 please."

So where does that leave us? I am typing this, Mr. Vomit is passed out cold on the couch next to me. The Pediatrician gave him a shot of anti-nausea medication, in hopes of calming his tummy. As an added bonus, the medication also acts as a sedative. The child is snoring like a lumberjack.

I should expect a call from the Pediatrican within the next few hours. If Anthony wakes up and is still screaming from pain, off to the ER we go for an ultrasound. Maybe he swallowed a Lego? Maybe his appendix is about to burst? As of now, it's wait and see.

In addition to my poor baby being sick, I am fighting an ear infection and head cold.

And to add a nice big bow to the package, I am holding a boarding pass for a flight that leaves in a little over 72 hours. Should I stay or should I go? Should I join The Clash?

Again, it's wait and see.

Join us next time for the continuing saga of crusty ear girl and vomit boy.

Cici

Thirty Something

Well, I made it another year.

Being born on Mother's Day, thirty plus years ago, is a tall order.

I am the gift that keeps on giving. (Or taking to hear it my parents tell it)

According to the actuaries at Charles Schwab, I should live to the ripe old age of 97. This is fabulous news, as I am not even close to halfway through with my life . Of course, I could get run over by a truck today (Spit it out! God forbid! Kunahurah!)

So what do I have to show for my more than thirty but less than forty years on this planet?

Let's see....

I have a wonderful family. I have been blessed with two healthy and cosmetically beautiful children, who also happen to have stellar personalities. I have a handsome husband who treats me like a princess, healthy parents that are married- TO EACH OTHER! A brother who married a nice woman and made me an aunt to the most beautiful blond children that exist and an 87 year old grandmother who has her health, her mental faculties and her original teeth!

I completed my educational goals (OK, taking and passing the bar would have been nice, but I can live.)

I live in a nice home in a safe neighborhood. I have food in my fridge, clothes on my back and the air conditioner cooling my house to a nice 68 degrees.

I have money in the bank, a safe reliable car to transport my children to their various activities, and two cats who do not pee on the bed.

I also have some of the nicest friends a girl could have. Off the top of my head I can think of over 20 people I could call upon to help me move a body; if I was so inclined.

Overall, I'd say my life is pretty damn good. I really can't complain.

But I still do.

So....

Joey surprised me with my birthday present early. He couldn't hold it in any longer. The man is genetically programmed to not be able to keep secrets. I know if he ever cheated on me, he would tell me immediately.

I was presented with a 30gb Video iPod in the color of my heart- black.

What a guy! I hadn't even completed my three hundred song wish list yet! AND he loaded about 200 of my favorite songs on to it before he gave it to me.

How sweet is he? Maybe I'll keep him for another year or so.

I will be up all night ripping CD's and financing iTunes.

Before you start telling me to STEAL music- might I remind you I took an oath of ethics, and stealing is wrong. Wrong I tell you! I will not be one to partake in such blatant disregard for authority!

The plan for tonight is Sara and her brood coming over to BBQ some Bubba's and HebNats. After stuffing ourselves full of animal flesh, we plan to really light up the night by watching Grey's Anatomy AND ER. Am I gonna party like it's my BIRFDAY or what??

I'm tellin ya, gettin old ain't easy.

Happy Birthday to me!

Post Grip to Ginger: I'm comin!!!! BEAR!

Law School- Day 3- Lesson 1

Full disclosure is mandatory.

In the interest of full disclosure, I hereby put you on notice that my Birthday is less than 36 hours away.

If you fail to acknowledge this momentous day, your IP will be banned.

Gifts and E-cards are not only welcome, but expected.

Thanks for your patronage.

Edited to add: All cards and money can be sent to AllAboutCici@gmail.com

If you need my physical address for sending larger gifts such as cars and fine jewels, please email me. Thanks!

Pay The Line

Well, I am in the final countdown here. In ten days, I will be on vacation!

This trip marks the start of my summer of travels, and I am so excited! I have several trips planned this summer, some with family, some with friends, and even one with my parents!

Thursday the 17th, 6 PM, Philadelphia Ginger will be picking me up from PHL airport so we can head down to Atlantic City for a three day weekend. The Harrah's corporation was nice enough to comp me a room at Caesars for three nights. Ya know, since I'm a high roller and all.

I will be child and husband free for a little over 72 hours and I am going to be in heaven! I plan on filling my big gulp cup with Captain and Diet, to take on the plane. By the time we touch down in Philly, I should have a nice buzz going.

The one hour drive to the shore should be enough time for the buzz to wear off so I can start another one.

I am going to play a lot of craps, blackjack and the occasional slot machine. I also plan to get some poker in, in the early morning hours, when the big fish are sleeping, and it's just me and the drunks. I figure playing with a bunch of drunk guys will considerably improve my chances of taking the pot.

Instead of reading message boards and googling high school friends, I have spent the last week practicing my skillz. I got MAD skillz.

This week and next are shaping up to look pretty busy, so the time should fly. I have Dr's appointments, swim lessons for the kids, a soccer game and practices, a haircut, and Lauren's preschool graduation.

Of course, TV is still going strong, with 24, ER, Grey's Anatomy, The Sopranos and Entourage all showing new episodes, my nights should be full as well.

Nothing else to report around here, just life as usual.

OH! I have cancer- again. Or at least that's what I have diagnosed.

If you have been reading me for any period of time B.B.S ( Before blog spot) you KNOW I am a hypochondriac. I have self-diagnosed myself with every disease and affliction out there, so this new diagnosis is no surprise.

I went to the dermatologist today, for my yearly once over. He looked at all my moles and spots and said I looked fine. THEN, he saw something on my back. It was brown.

He said ' I don't like the way this looks- I'm going to take it off and biopsy it.'

Now, let's give the man the benefit of the doubt here. He has only seen me twice before today. He obviously doesn't know that I am a hypochondriac. Had he held this knowledge, I am certain he would have chosen his words carefully.

Saying the word 'biopsy' to a hypochondriac is a mortal sin. Biopsy= cancer. Cancer= death.

After two shots of lidocain around the tumor, he cut it off. He even had the presence of mind to SHOW me my little tumor swimming in its formaldehyde bath. Of course, it was gross. It even had a few black hairs growing out of it. I am not board certified in dermatology, YET, but I can only assume that hair growing out of things equals imminent death.

He casually mentioned he'd call me in a couple of weeks to discuss the results. A couple of weeks!? I could be a goner by then! Shouldn't we be starting chemotherapy, radiation and end of life care? Dear God! I am going to be a mess by the time he calls.

At least I'll have a gambling trip under my belt by then.