I'm in love with...

@AndyCohen!

Because if you hadn't guess by my Tweets, I am a BIG Real Housewives fan. By “big” I mean, not only a full-figured girl, I don’ t miss an episode. Of ANY of them. And I’m not choosy. DC? Jersey? NY? Orange County? Atlanta? Beverly Hills?

If there’s a new season of Housewives running, I’m watching.

I’m also watching “Watch What Happens Live” with Andy Cohen. At first I was watching cuz I couldn’t get enough dirt on these chicks, but gradually, over time, I have developed a little middle age crush on Mr. Cohen.

Okay, I think he is totally HOT!

Love his cute body, his shy ways and the way he has learned to “go for it”. Oh, and he squints those cute crossed eyes when he’s reading off of his blue cards. Dear God,

I love that in a man! (It makes me feel less alone.)

And could this guy know any more about extensions, weaves, injectables, and rhinestone false eyelashes? And still maintain his Manly Man ways about him?

So Cooper Anderson. Move over. There’s a martini swilling, lip smacking, bitter mother ready to claw her way (or body slam) you to get me one of those Andy Sweet Kisses!

My Mazel of the Week? Andy Cohen. Doing just about anything.

Kisses!

But back to my obsession.

#1. Kelsey leaving Camille. When I first heard? I thought: YOU BASTARD! What a shit! (Really? A 29 year old blonde?) That poor, poor Camille. I totally felt for her.

#2. Three episodes later . . . Kelsey? Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you pack!!! I would have rented the U-haul!!!

#3. I have a total girl crush on Bethany. I love a “call it as I see it” chick. I love you Bethany!!!

#4. Where’s the Real Housewives of Palm Springs? Cuz I could so represent the Fat Chick/Fat Chic! I’m calling Pheadra now to find out who deals, I mean supplies her with those Rhinestone Eyelashes!!!

#5. Andy – call me!

Obituaries and Shoes. A Story of My Life . . .

Wow, it is just now hitting me, that this is the worst part about being a Mommy. (As you know, I think there’s a litany of things that suck about being a Mommy. So, if I say it’s going to be the “worst”, go with God – it’s gonna be bad!)

Now, fabulous girls in your 20’s or 30’s, you may not relate to this, but anyone who gets winded walking the kids to school or orders Spanx in bulk is probably going to know just what I am talking about. I am at THAT middle age; middle age where I am obsessed with death.

Five years ago, I wondered why they even ran those Obituaries in the paper. Really, they could have used that space for another column of Dear Abby, or Ask Carolyn. You know, stuff that is actually interesting and relevant to my life.

Then a few years ago my eyes started to linger. These seem like interesting little narratives of people’s lives. Now? I read them compulsively.

If someone has passed away, you know from untimely accident and they are younger than I am, I feel that I’ve been given a gift: “I have gotten three more years than that Poor Sap.”

But this obsession with death, and the concern with exactly how much longer I will live, kinda affects my parenting.

Cuz it isn’t quite hard enough to parent, now I look at my kids everyday and wonder “Will I see them through to college?” Can I live until they have incorporated all the life lessons that Mommy has to give?

And then the question comes into play, what if I live a long life? How much therapy will they need if I live 30 more years? And do I have to pay for that therapy? College and therapy? Will this affect my future shoe budget? And at my age, can I expect to even need cute shoes much longer?

I know this is supposed to make me treasure all the moments we have together.

I do have a consciousness about remembering we’re in a golden moment in a golden period of our lives.

But that doesn’t mean I enjoy one fucking minute of The Witching Hour. (You wanna know about homework, juggling jazz, ballet and soccer check out. . . http://thedeeview.blogspot.com/2010/01/witching-hour_27.html

Or the “She’s looking at me” “Make her stop looking at me!” Or the hysterical weeping over not getting their way every minute of every day of their lives.

I just want that weeping to be about stupid shit. Like an owie on their finger or the fact that we were out of hot dogs or the WII game is cheating. #again

Well, maybe I should stop reading the Obituaries. Hell no. Never gonna happen.

But I am probably going to buy some more shoes. Cute shoes. Cuz I’m an eternal optimist.

I have an unnatural relationship with my couch

So when we got our little trailer in the woods, we needed a couch. I took great pride in finding one at a local consignment store. It looked really good: clean, neutral color, kinda puffy. Cool.

Look Honey – only $250 dollars for a SLEEPAWAY sofa! How great is that?

Now can you make it fit in your truck and haul it up to the mountains?

Never in my life have I been so tortured in a sitting position.

This couch hated us. It would literally push its cushions and our asses to the floor.

Or you would start out sitting, but find yourself slumped in a very odd position, only your neck keeping you “upright”.

So, then you would try lying down. Uh. Well, only if you can “rest” with one foot on the floor.

We tried everything. Propping up the front legs, removing some of the stuffing, velcroing the cushions.

This “bargain” was sheer torture.

So we went to Macy’s furniture department during a sale.

And found a couch. A big, beautiful, comfy couch.

But due to our recent “couch misstep” I was leary. So we left.

And went back with our Kindles and iPhones, explaining to the saleslady that we would be needing some “time” with the couch before we could make a decision.

We bought the couch.

The only problem now?

I love this couch so much, my husband has to get up in the middle of the night (while I’m sleeping IN THE BED) to lie on it.

My children aren’t allowed on it, while I’m on it. It turns out, I’m on it a LOT. (Hey they’re kids – they can sit in chairs or the window seat!)

The best part? It’s leather, meaning just a quick wipe with a cloth and Voila! Mommy’s drool stains are gone!

I love my couch.

"Decisive"

well, uh . . .

Every year, my girlfriend Dorothy @EcoOrganizer, says to pick your word for the upcoming year.

Last year my word was “Out There”. (Okay, two words for me. I’m rebellious like that.) Which was really fun. Until it wasn’t. Then my word(s) were “Never Mind”.

But “Out There” did become a defining value by which to make choices. I went to Bloggy Boot Camp and tried to buy everyone off with gifts. Gifts of cheetos and vodka. Really, is there a better way to garner affection? That was a scary, yet successful way to experience being “out there”.

I was definitely more “out there” in my business and the way I made decisions, as well as in my volunteer work with the school Site Councils.

But I did struggle last year. I struggled with being overwhelmed a lot. As a business chick, as a mom who figures I can never get this shit right, as a volunteer (trying to figure out when my opinion mattered and when it didn’t’) and in my creative pursuits (writing a book, my mosaic artwork, working on my one woman show).

So I decided this year my word would be “Decisive”.

We even wrote each of our words on a Christmas ornament (hey, the box of ornaments was half off at Rite Aid). Blondie wrote: “Fun”. Glowie wrote: “Family”. Taxes007 wrote: “Patience”. (Read into that whatever you would like!).

I wrote: “Decisive”.

And then I panicked. Seriously.

I was afraid that wasn’t the best word to define my life for a whole year.

So I also wrote: Health, Strength (working the Pilates thing), published author, fun (I’m a rather driven and uptight person when not under the influence. And even then . . .) and adventure (cuz I’m a little agoraphobic about things like travel or going places too far from my house.)

So there goes everyone’s ornament up on the tree. Each person’s name, the year and their word. My ornament however looked like it had been hit by a group of crazy taggers.

But dammit. This decisive thing? I’m gonna make it work.

I hope.

Happy New Year.

And tell me your word!