Juan-uary: Lessons My Son Has Learned from The Bachelor.

 

Gus and I spend a good number of midnight/early morning hours together. Generally, the nightly feeding routine goes like this:

  • Make my way through a binky landmine to grab him out of his crib.
  • Plop on the couch.
  • Flip through TV…if I remembered to put on my glasses.

With late night TV being dominated by WEN Hair and Jillian Michaels infomercials (I’ve already watched them all 3x), there isn’t a lot of competition for my DVR.

The other night, I was disappointed to see most of my Fresh Prince episodes had been deleted, so I only had a couple of options. Doughnut Showdown only lasted about ten minutes before I had to avert my eyes from a doughnut murdered by reckless additions of fresh herbs. Every time healthy ingredients are added to doughnuts, an angel loses its…mind.

That left me with a couple hours of The Bachelor. Gus and I aren’t that into Juan Pablo this season, but we can’t be too picky between 2-6AM. (Why hasn’t my best friend Emily Maynard reappeared? She is the perfect match for Juan Pablo/everyone everywhere ever.)

I’m worried Gus’s unconscious stored these facts away for later use as he drifted back to sleep:

  1. Don’t date girls who will not washing-machine-tongue you on a first date.
  2. If no classical music starts playing during your conversation, it’s a trusty indicator that the relationship will not be progressing.
  3. A woman’s unwillingness to jump of bridges, buildings, or other high objects is a demonstration of her trust issues; therefore, she can’t be dated. No washing-machine-tongue for her.
  4. Chronically naked/drunk girls will never be marriage material, but better to keep them around longer than the shy girls and non-jumpers.
  5. A “group date” consists of one guy and at least 5 girls. Fortunately for The Bachelor, Hugh Hefner didn’t get his patent on that definition in time.
  6. All girls are insane.

I’m going to work hard to correct this before kindergarten.

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A Dissection of the Drawn on Eyebrow Using the 5 W Method

Let me clarify: there is a difference, a big, big difference, between filling in eyebrows and DRAWING them on. Our pleather-clad female society has lost a little dignity as the latter has become more prevalent. As a former New Mexican citizen, I am concerned. I have a deeply rooted, psychological aversion to all things gangster chola, and…ahem…

January is probably Bad Eyebrow Awareness Month, anyway.

WHO? Crazy brows don’t discriminate against any one group and can be found across the whole ladies room, regardless of age, ethnicity, or number of Facebook friends. Anyone from the Burger King Whopper wrapper to the high school “OMG you’re literally perfect, literally! (teary emoji)” Instagram commenter can fall victim.

WHAT? This. Just…this.

In case you were still confused, this one’s more detailed.

WHEN? About 30 minutes before leaving the house*. A little extra time must be allotted to ensure both brows are even, or unnoticeably uneven. Make sure you begin this project after your contacts are in for optimal vision. As this is a freehand art endeavor, each day is a risk. A gamble. A roll of the dice on your reputation.

*The “when” factor isn’t specific to just mornings, as touch ups will be necessary in high heat. You’ll also want to re-trace with a heavy hand just before you go out for the night so they won’t be downplayed by your flash in selfies.

WHERE? Preferably your own bathroom, but the fluorescent  lighting in the 7/11 bathroom will work if necessary.

HOW? A sharpie or an angled paint brush tipped in tar, I think. Define the lines using a q-tip, more foundation, or just press harder so any smudges are less noticeable. Lighting is key when applying pressure to the pencil/pen/Sharpie. Over the age of 50 should press hard, really hard, and give those brows ample dry time. Don’t let those brows get lost or smudge in forehead wrinkles. Alternatively, just don’t move your forehead. Ever.

At my Albuquerque middle school in the 90s, the girls would slick what was left of their own brows back with a glue stick, put foundation on top, and then use the marker method. This observation later gave me a running start to excelling beyond anyone’s wildest DREAMS in my cosmetology school’s costume makeup unit! Boo-yah.

WHY? I don’t know how we could blame Obama for this one, so I’ll let you come to your own conclusion.

The following may be some exaggerations, but not by much. Sadly, I was unable to find the “tadpole” brow method, so picture that in your mind…

…now.

The parenthesis.  (via pinterest.com)
The parenthesis.
(via pinterest.com)

 

The quick whisp. (via juliasmath.com)
The ever common  quick whisp.
(via juliasmath.com)
The unibrow, a classic. (via borispoker.com)
The unibrow. A facial hair classic.
(via borispoker.com)
If you ARE going to do some serious art, make it count. via dagmartully.wordpress.com (via dagmartully.wordpress.com)
Me-ow. If you ARE going to do some serious art, make it count.
(via dagmartully.wordpress.com)

 

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Rookie Mom’s Club, Presidential Nominee

Let’s say you go into go in for plastic surgery to get your neck liposuction and fat injections in your nasolabial folds, and you’ve been pumped about it ever since you saw Heidi Montag on E!, pre-bankruptcy and regret. As you’re prepping for anesthesia, the assistant comes in holding an upside down  scalpel, and informs you he will be doing the surgery instead, because everyone tells him, “You just have to jump in and then you’ll get the hang of it eventually!” Then, he laughs and turns on the Nicki Minaj Pandora station.

Now, pay attention to this feeling you’re getting, because it may be the same disbelief/slight panic my son feels everyday. As a new mom, I’m kind of an intern to parenting. I love it, love, love, love it. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I did I mention? I love it. Some days I am extra confident and think, “Hey! I am a quick diaper changer! My baby napped for 3 hours! He didn’t spit out his medication!” and then something new happens. There’s sickness, refusal to close his eyes, or an explosion of yellow poo because I ate a whole pan of brownies (again, ugh).  As a mom, I’m the ultimate student who, at all costs, avoids letting my son know he is the teacher.

My mom-teacher.
My mom-teacher.

Maybe I really will have the hang of this by the next child.

kitchenfloorsmudge

Anyway, this is a photo of my kitchen floor. That little smudge is face oil, so that alone is sad, but it’s also a reminder of lying on the ground with my eyes closed trying to let my normally giggly baby fuss in his room alone. He had been whiny for two full days, and my arms were going to snap off from holding him.  I just couldn’t make it up the stairs one more time…or even to a carpeted area. So, I hung out on the kitchen floor staring at the pantry door, dreaming it was the door to a sauna, or to the Costco food court kitchen. Maybe a hybrid…but would the hot dog buns get soggy in the sauna?

Brian came home from work and relieved me from my baby holding duties. He came downstairs with Gus, and said, “Look! He found his ear!” Gus was hanging onto his ear with sweet baby fingers. SO CUTE, right? We laughed, loving that he had an ear obsession, and took some pictures. Gus did this in conjunction with sobbing and not sleeping for another day (RED FLAG, MOM, RED FLAG), before I called my own mom to ask her about motherhood/crying forcing me into the dark abyss of prescription drug abuse. She was sweet and didn’t tell me I was an idiot, but did suggest going to the doctor. Upset baby with a cold and ear pulling? Ashton.

Our doctor confirmed he not only had an ear infection (whoops, maybe I should erase the ear holding pics we thought were adorable), but also an eye infection on its way. Whoops again.

Mom fail.

Second mom fail of the week was realizing the car seat straps are adjustable…after three months. They looked a little tight, and Gus hated car trips, but I’ve never used a car seat, so, safety first! Squish those arms in, Gus! It’s not like I read the entire instruction pamphlet beforehand. Did everyone else figure that out using common sense? I still have common sense, right? I felt so horrible, I even squeegeed out a few tears.

Sorry, baby love! The time you spend conducting New Parent Training will be compensated in your inheritance.

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Genesis

I made the leap to a big girl blog recently. My inspiration came in the form of the “About the Author” page in a new waffle recipe book. Generally, I don’t find that page particularly riveting, but as I was waiting the two and a half minutes it takes to sanitize my son’s feeding paraphernalia, a mentioning of “kittens on a fence” caught my eye. This author Katherine is multitalented; not only does she concoct dreamy waffles, she also “is the author of Perfect Pie and Pastry Recipes: Homemade Dessert Pies Made Easy Cookbook, Satisfying Slow Cooker Recipes: Meals Your Family Will Want To Come Home To, and the co-author of Names for Cats and Kittens: More than 2000 Names for Male and Female Felines. She has also published 50 Appetizing Muffin Recipes with Nutritional Information, and Kittens on a Fence Kindle Cover Crochet Pattern.”

She profited off of a Kindle crochet pattern. Go Katherine. I decided three things right then and there.

1. Her tester waffles may have included a stray kitty hair a time or two.

2. Chocolate BROWNIE waffles? Can we make this woman a saint and give her her own day?

3. People should be uninhibited in pursuit of their passions, regardless of how (fill in the blank) they are. Unashamed. UNAPOLOGETIC, even.

Although it’s been years since my English teacher stint, I still write, just because I like to. I feel like keeping a journal of collective thoughts on my computer is something an introverted World of Warcrafter would do, and that makes me concerned for my mental/social well being. This is my redemption, and Katherine and I don’t mind other people’s opinions. This is a read-at-your-own-risk, personal observations gone wild type of website, and will probably not include any outfits of the day.

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