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.

And They're All Made Out Of Ticky Tacky And They All Look Just The Same

As I pen this entry, I am coming down from a high. I am sweaty, feel guilty and swear I will never do it again.

Actually, I am crashing hard. The shakes have already passed, but the nausea and ticks are starting. If I can just get through till morning, I should be fully detoxed.

I am talking about the marathon shopping excursion Sara and I went on yesterday. It was the best day of the year! Neighborhood garage sale day!

In order for you to understand WHY this is no normal garage sale, I must explain where I live.

Imagine, if you will, Wisteria Lane meets Agrestic meets a Norman Rockwell painting. Then add in the Stepford Wives. I live in THE place.

The homes START in the high 350's, and I dare you to find a car older than 2004 parked on any of the pressure washed driveways. We have deed restrictions that do not allow us to paint our houses, unless we use an approved color. We are given a list of annuals we are allowed to plant. (NO Marigold's until May!) Our children are all perfect, our teeth are all straight and white. Our husband's have high-pressure jobs, sleep with their assistants, and we wives all have secret drinking problems. It's awesome!!

I pretend to be one of them, because they will eat me if I don't. During the day, I drive the right car, send my kids to the finest private schools and flash my diamond and pearly whites. At night, I eat ice cream, smoke a pack of cigarettes while hiding in my garage and dream of shopping at The Goodwill.

So when the homeowners association decided that in order to maintain harmony, it was needed to only allow garage sales twice a year, I was really excited. The first Saturday in May and November are the days set aside for us elitists to act like common folk and buy junk from our neighbors. ( Gasp!)

Sara and I set out at Seven AM, armed with bankrolls and an empty SUV. For the next Five hours, we drove through the perfectly manicured neighborhood and acted like women on a mission.

The best part about buying stuff from rich folks is that they have good shit! And they sell it cheap. They are not looking to turn a profit or finance little Preston's education, they are looking to clean out their garages to make room for the new Cadillac they just bought.

I made some major scores, as did Sara.

I found a table FULL of Dr. Seuss books. Of course, they were in excellent, like new condition. Some had never even been opened or read. ( How can the kids READ? They are too busy with karate and tap class) How much for all? $5. 18 books in total. CHA-CHING!

At one house, I spotted a BRAND new set of Hooked on Phonics. $15 please. SOLD! They are already on eBay. I expect to fetch close to $100.

I found an AUTHENTIC Coach purse for $20, a boatload of Little People Toys, new patio chairs and a new in package crib sheet.

I think the find of the day was Rubbermaid FULL and I mean FULL of Mr. Potato Head pieces. There are easily over 500 pieces, 4 full sized potatoes, and three babies. $5! My children can lose pieces for the rest of their lives and we'll never run out!

I also scored two BOXES of Huggies. Never opened and fresh. I usually pay over $20 for each box. How about $8 for the two? Bag em up!

When we got back to my house, Sara and I emptied the SUV into my living room and went through our loot like kids on Halloween. The excitement was just too much!

Do I hate living here in 'Perfect'? Some days.

I love the schools, the shopping, and the fact that I get to have an official " I LOVE living in Perfect!" license plate frame on my car.

I hate the fake women, bratty kids, homeowner's association, and the fact that I got fined $50 last summer for not mowing my lawn on a Saturday.

But, as The Eagle's once sang, 'Every form of refuge has its price.'

At least my husband isn't sleeping with his assistant. She's 63, and would rip his willy off if he ever showed it to her.

Cici

Stickin' It To The Man

Two posts in one day! Who am I? Stephen King?

I just HAD to share my new found way of sticking corporate America in the ass.

I had a craving for McDonald's today. Ok, who am I kidding, I crave McDonald's daily.

Their Diet Coke is THE best fountain soda to be had. Ronald has discovered the perfect balance of carbonation to syrup. A fountain soda from anywhere else pales in comparison.

I like their fries too. Although I am usually on the receiving end of cold, limp fries, I have devised a fool-proof system of ensuring I receive hot, crispy fries with every order. I simply ask for no salt. It's not that I am health conscious, (I am not) it's that by requesting no salt, I KNOW I will get fresh fries.

I have endured more than one confused glance from a Mcworker over the years, as I liberally poured salt all over the golden sticks of love that I just ordered sans salt.

I have also started ordering burgers without ketchup. It's not that I don't love ketchup, ( I do) it's that ketchup is the only ingredient they cannot scrape off without leaving evidence of their cunning attempts to deceive me.

I used to say no onions. But, I always find evidence that onions once existed on my burger and were scraped off by the pimple faced teenager who probably picked his butt before he made my cheeseburger.

Ketchup is a liquid of sorts, buns are absorbent. Once ketchup hits the bun, there is no pretending it wasn't there. It seeps immediately into the crown of the bun; therefore rendering the burger as a smoking gun in the trial of Cici v. McDonald's manager.

Ordering no ketchup guarantees a freshly made sandwich. I then ask for a handful of ketchup packets which also creates a stir among America's finest.

But to say that I have hit the McDonald's lottery would be an understatement. I hit the JUMBO SUPER JACKPOT!

Late in my laboratory last night, while mapping out my plans to take over the world, I had a realization. Big Macs are delicious, and come with a hefty price tag of $2.49 in these parts. Double cheeseburgers, on the other hand, are $1. ONE DOLLAR.

Why not order a double cheeseburger, but ask for it Big Mac style?

Could it be done? Would time cease to exist if I dared tempt fate? Would every McEmployee walk out on the job at my confusing order, while McManager's explained that I wasn't at Burger King, and I couldn't HAVE it MY way?

Only one way to find out. Field research.

I walked in to my local Golden arches earlier this afternoon and placed my order. Panic set in when the cashier looked at me quizzically. I was a nano-second away from telling her I was just kidding; like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, I'll just have some Chicken Nuggets, I guess.

But, she pulled the mother of all moves. She called over her manager. Standing there, I was sweating and feeling like a criminal. Surely the cashier was pressing the panic button under the register to alert local law enforcement of my indiscretion.

I would be arrested immediately. Theft of services was the first charge that entered my mind. I would go to McJail and be cell mates with the Hamburglar. What of my children standing innocently beside me, eyeing the newest Happy Meal toys? They would be taken away by family services and sent to live with foster parents that lock them in the garage.

Adrenalin kicked in and I almost ran. Then the manager explained to the cashier- ''Just type in 'Dressed like a Big Mac.'" I was relieved and humored at the same time. Not only was I NOT going to McJail, I was about to dine on a burger that was 'DRESSED' as in wearing clothes.

Yep. The plan worked. I had a Big Mac(minus the extra bun in the middle) for the bargain basement price of $1.

Suckers.

Join me next week as I go to Outback Steakhouse and try to substitute a lobster tails for my baked potato.

Love,

Cici

Tastes like chicken

Hey gang,

Sorry about the lack of posts this week. I could give you reasons why I have been MIA, such as I got a fabulous job or I am having a torrid affair with the pool guy; truth be told, I have nothing to say. Nothing exciting and interesting anyway. Life can get pretty boring being a stay at home mom.

Unless you find diapers, laundry, cat pee and frog hunting to be exciting, you'd be bored to tears by the week I had.

Let's talk just a minute about frogs. I HATE them. Yes, hate is a strong word, but appropriate here. They are slimy, creepy and always seem to be planning revenge. They have taken over our patio and I am in full on gross out mode.

Last night, while I was watching ER, a big fat white frog flung himself onto the sliding glass door. I swear the thing was a foot wide. I let out a scream that ultimately woke both kids. The sound was like fat people having sex, and the sight was not much better.

Kermit was exposing himself to me!

I told Joey that he needs to figure out a way to get rid of the frogs or I am never going outside again. Being a gentle, kind man, he could not think of a humane way to take care of our issue.

I suggested we call Doc Hopper.

On a completely separate, sarcastic and just plain bitchy note, I'd like to give a special shout-out to my reader in Homasassa Springs, Florida! Thanks for reading!

Have a great weekend!

Love,

Cici