I’m not a morning person.
It didn’t use to be this way. As a child I regularly bounded up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed hours before the rest of my family. There was something very delicious when you’re eight about having the house all to yourself in the quiet dawn of the morning for an hour or two.
Generally I’d use this time to eat several bowls of Cookie Crisp and play video games. PRIORITIES PEOPLE.
It wasn’t always fun and games. It also meant that I was the first child awake at every sleepover, garnering myself some quality time with the host’s mother over what was probably a very awkward cup of tea.
By the time I was a teenager, I settled into my current sleep habits. I am neither a morning person, nor a night person.
It takes me two hours to get with it in the morning. Not get ready; if need be I can shower, dress, and leave the house in 15 minutes, albeit with wet hair.
But it’s no use trying to talk to me, or expect me to talk to you, or expect me to do anything other than look in your direction and maybe grunt for one or two hours after I wake up. More if there is no coffee to be found. My brain just does not register any outside stimulus until about 8:00 am.
But, karma has delivered my comeuppance in the form of two small girls who are very much morning people.
For quite a few months one or both of them would regularly awaken around 6:00 in the morning, ready for some quality cheerios-and-television time.
And as spring waxes with earlier and earlier dawns, my children wake up earlier and earlier.
No problem, I thought. Blackout curtains! If it stays dark in their room longer, they’ll sleep longer. Up went the blackout curtains.
The next morning my kids were up at 5:30. The blackout curtains didn’t work. My kids are reverse-vampires.
On the plus side, they probably won’t be able to see their reflection in the mirror or cross a running stream. This will come in handy in 15 years, when I won’t have to fight any teenagers for the bathroom in the morning.
On the other hand, they’ll probably sparkle ala the vampires in Twilight, giving credence to their aforementioned stripper names.
I’m doomed.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Introducing Sapphire VelvetCheeks
My parents named me after the Rolling Stone's "Angie," but they never meant to call me anything other than "Angela." Being the rebel that I am, I wouldn't meekly stand by and let my parents decide what to name me.
No.
"Angela" was a popular name in the late 70's and early 80's. Heck, I was one of three Angela's in my class at school, and in my dance troupe there was as many as four other Angela's at any given time.
So, when taking roll at the first day of Kindergarten, the teacher came to my name and sad, "Angela? Hmmmm...... do you like to be called "Angela" or "Angie?"
You mean I get a choice? Well!
"Angie!!"
I never really explained how this came about to my parents, who for twenty years wondered why the hell every one was calling their daughter, "Angie."
In naming my own children, I took pains to try to name them something unique enough that they wouldn't have to go through the, "Which Angela are you? Angela M., Angela B., or Angela T.?" rigamarole I went through.
So far, I've been successful. But if either of my girls truly want, they can change their names when they get older.* I probably won't announce this to them though, lest I become the proud mother of "Cherry SweetLips" and "Destiny SparkleJugs" or some other name inspired by the ladies at the local gentleman's club.
Keep them out of prison and off the pole, that's my motto.
*For the record, I don't hate my name and wouldn't change it. Well, I did change it when I got married. But being the crazy feminist I am, I seriously considered NOT changing it. So I kept my first name, changed my middle name to my maiden name, and took my husband's last name for my own. It's more confusing that way.**
**For those who know me in real life, please refrain from using my middle and last name in the comments. Instead, you may refer to me by my stripper name: Sapphire VelvetCheeks. I suggest you do the same.
No.
"Angela" was a popular name in the late 70's and early 80's. Heck, I was one of three Angela's in my class at school, and in my dance troupe there was as many as four other Angela's at any given time.
So, when taking roll at the first day of Kindergarten, the teacher came to my name and sad, "Angela? Hmmmm...... do you like to be called "Angela" or "Angie?"
You mean I get a choice? Well!
"Angie!!"
I never really explained how this came about to my parents, who for twenty years wondered why the hell every one was calling their daughter, "Angie."
In naming my own children, I took pains to try to name them something unique enough that they wouldn't have to go through the, "Which Angela are you? Angela M., Angela B., or Angela T.?" rigamarole I went through.
So far, I've been successful. But if either of my girls truly want, they can change their names when they get older.* I probably won't announce this to them though, lest I become the proud mother of "Cherry SweetLips" and "Destiny SparkleJugs" or some other name inspired by the ladies at the local gentleman's club.
Keep them out of prison and off the pole, that's my motto.
*For the record, I don't hate my name and wouldn't change it. Well, I did change it when I got married. But being the crazy feminist I am, I seriously considered NOT changing it. So I kept my first name, changed my middle name to my maiden name, and took my husband's last name for my own. It's more confusing that way.**
**For those who know me in real life, please refrain from using my middle and last name in the comments. Instead, you may refer to me by my stripper name: Sapphire VelvetCheeks. I suggest you do the same.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
This Is What Happens When You Take Your Seven-Year-Old To A Debbie Gibson Concert
The earliest music I recall being enamored with, that my parents were NOT partial to, was, well, *cough*Debbie Gibson*cough.*
In fact, I was so smitten with Debbie Gibson, that one summer, when given a choice between going to a Debbie Gibson concert or going to a Six Flags theme park, my sister and I both enthusiastically squealed, “DEBBIE GIBSON!!!!!111!!!!!”
Hell, Debbie Gibson was the only reason I subscribed to Tiger Beat magazine. Do they even make that anymore? If both Coreys were still alive, they probably would. You have to keep current on things like that.
Despite what should’ve been the good influence of my best-friend’s-brother’s infatuation with glam-metal bands, my taste in music degenerated quickly. For the next five years or so I was smitten with ... golden oldies.
So smitten that, at age twelve when normal youths play spin-the-bottle at birthday parties, I hosted a 50’s theme birthday party complete with poodle skirts. I was the HEIGHT of sophistication.
Even with the advent of Nirvana and grunge music, I clung to my obsession with Elvis, an obsession that also led to the discovery peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches which by and large are still my favorite kind of sandwich. The only thing that saved me from becoming a music pariah was my accidental discovery of Pearl Jam while fiddling with the radio dial.
From there on I extended my music repertoire to include something OTHER than doo-wop and show-tunes. Mainly Jewel, who I discovered around age 15 because OMG SHE SAYS BITCH IN ONE OF HER SONGS!!!!!111!!!! What can I say, I was a real innocent.
Things grew from there. I won’t bore you with the ins-and-outs of my favorite music these days suffice it to say that I now enjoy a wide variety of music. Even though I spent nearly a whole year addicted to anything Andrew Lloyd Weber. Dodged a bullet with that one.
Come on, what's not to like?!
In fact, I was so smitten with Debbie Gibson, that one summer, when given a choice between going to a Debbie Gibson concert or going to a Six Flags theme park, my sister and I both enthusiastically squealed, “DEBBIE GIBSON!!!!!111!!!!!”
Hell, Debbie Gibson was the only reason I subscribed to Tiger Beat magazine. Do they even make that anymore? If both Coreys were still alive, they probably would. You have to keep current on things like that.
Despite what should’ve been the good influence of my best-friend’s-brother’s infatuation with glam-metal bands, my taste in music degenerated quickly. For the next five years or so I was smitten with ... golden oldies.
Come on, what’s not to like?
So smitten that, at age twelve when normal youths play spin-the-bottle at birthday parties, I hosted a 50’s theme birthday party complete with poodle skirts. I was the HEIGHT of sophistication.
Even with the advent of Nirvana and grunge music, I clung to my obsession with Elvis, an obsession that also led to the discovery peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches which by and large are still my favorite kind of sandwich. The only thing that saved me from becoming a music pariah was my accidental discovery of Pearl Jam while fiddling with the radio dial.
From there on I extended my music repertoire to include something OTHER than doo-wop and show-tunes. Mainly Jewel, who I discovered around age 15 because OMG SHE SAYS BITCH IN ONE OF HER SONGS!!!!!111!!!! What can I say, I was a real innocent.
Things grew from there. I won’t bore you with the ins-and-outs of my favorite music these days suffice it to say that I now enjoy a wide variety of music. Even though I spent nearly a whole year addicted to anything Andrew Lloyd Weber. Dodged a bullet with that one.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Every Child Should Have Early Exposure To Jefferson Starship
It’s been my experience that every one thinks they have good taste in music. This probably isn’t true, just as it isn’t true that every one looks good wearing capris, or that there’s no such thing as bad sex.
Still, I recently became the proud owner of Flogging Molly’s newest album, Speed of Darkness. It’s been playing at my house non-stop, while Preschooler accompanies with an off-key rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” spliced with refrains from the “A-B-C” song. Hey, they really have the same melody, which probably makes my child some sort of musical genius.
Anyhow, this got me thinking about whether or not Preschooler is really aware of the music I’m playing, which then got me thinking about the first non-nursery rhyme music I became aware of. Which is....wait for it....
Yes, Starship’s 1985 rendition of “Sara” and their later hit “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” are the earliest “real” songs I recall enjoying, and this coming from the child who once spent an entire trip to the shoe store singing the “My Little Pony” theme song.
Now, my parents were pretty liberal about playing music they enjoyed around the house, so I can only attribute my infatuation with Starship to them playing the record at home. After all, my first record (yes, record) was Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet. Plus, I was named after the Rolling Stone’s “Angie,” and my sister’s name was inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon,” which goes to show that my parents were either kind of cool OR kind of hippies. Probably the former. Probably.
My parents often had friends over and they’d play card games and board games, while my sister and I and their children choreographed interpretive dance routines based on whatever songs were playing on the record player. And the song that was played the most was....wait for it.... Bob Dylan’s “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”
A seven-year-old that creates a dance routine to this song, complete with sequined costumes and feather headbands, should be off to a bright start.
Despite all this high culture, my own taste in music had to go through some growing pains of it’s own.....
Still, I recently became the proud owner of Flogging Molly’s newest album, Speed of Darkness. It’s been playing at my house non-stop, while Preschooler accompanies with an off-key rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” spliced with refrains from the “A-B-C” song. Hey, they really have the same melody, which probably makes my child some sort of musical genius.
Anyhow, this got me thinking about whether or not Preschooler is really aware of the music I’m playing, which then got me thinking about the first non-nursery rhyme music I became aware of. Which is....wait for it....
Yes, Starship’s 1985 rendition of “Sara” and their later hit “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” are the earliest “real” songs I recall enjoying, and this coming from the child who once spent an entire trip to the shoe store singing the “My Little Pony” theme song.
Oh yes there was a theme song, back around 1985 or so when kid’s tv shows
were created solely as advertising ploys.
Now, my parents were pretty liberal about playing music they enjoyed around the house, so I can only attribute my infatuation with Starship to them playing the record at home. After all, my first record (yes, record) was Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet. Plus, I was named after the Rolling Stone’s “Angie,” and my sister’s name was inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon,” which goes to show that my parents were either kind of cool OR kind of hippies. Probably the former. Probably.
My parents often had friends over and they’d play card games and board games, while my sister and I and their children choreographed interpretive dance routines based on whatever songs were playing on the record player. And the song that was played the most was....wait for it.... Bob Dylan’s “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”
AKA Everybody Must Get Stoned
A seven-year-old that creates a dance routine to this song, complete with sequined costumes and feather headbands, should be off to a bright start.
Despite all this high culture, my own taste in music had to go through some growing pains of it’s own.....
Monday, June 6, 2011
What Is It With Me And Cats?
I dreamed about a cat last night, which either means I should adopt a stray, or that someone is trying to kill me. Probably the former. Probably.
Adopting a stray anything has been on my mind for a couple of years. But I have 2 kids 3 and under and my hands (and patience) are FULL. Plus, Husband and I totally plan on using the notion of getting a pet to blackmail our kids. You want a dog? Well.... first you’ll have to demonstrate how responsible you are! When you’ve learned to do your own laundry AND make a cheesecake, then we’ll talk.
Still, there’s no harm in shopping around. So every now and then I’ll go online and mentally adopt 50 cats.
One day in law school, I hopped onto Petfinder.com to explore the feasibility of adopting a horse. I normally sat in the front row of the class, because I’m unable to focus on anything when I sit in back what with all those distracting backs-of-heads. Since the seats were auditorium-style, this meant that the people in the row behind me could see my laptop screen, and the people behind them could see their laptop screens, etc.
A friend of mine who religiously sat in the back of the classroom, like a NORMAL student, said that by the end of that class, nearly everyone was on Petfinder.
I’m a leader like that.
Adopting a stray anything has been on my mind for a couple of years. But I have 2 kids 3 and under and my hands (and patience) are FULL. Plus, Husband and I totally plan on using the notion of getting a pet to blackmail our kids. You want a dog? Well.... first you’ll have to demonstrate how responsible you are! When you’ve learned to do your own laundry AND make a cheesecake, then we’ll talk.
Still, there’s no harm in shopping around. So every now and then I’ll go online and mentally adopt 50 cats.
One day in law school, I hopped onto Petfinder.com to explore the feasibility of adopting a horse. I normally sat in the front row of the class, because I’m unable to focus on anything when I sit in back what with all those distracting backs-of-heads. Since the seats were auditorium-style, this meant that the people in the row behind me could see my laptop screen, and the people behind them could see their laptop screens, etc.
A friend of mine who religiously sat in the back of the classroom, like a NORMAL student, said that by the end of that class, nearly everyone was on Petfinder.
I’m a leader like that.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Doogie Meowser: Cat M.D.
Over the long Memorial Day weekend, I threw an awesome cookout. Any party that starts with beer and ends with scotch is a good party. There was booze, food, and the crowning finish: a cat on a rope.
Wait, what?
Around six or seven in the evening, the next-door neighbors put a cat outside. It was the world’s fattest cat, and in hopes of fighting the inevitable descent into cat diabetes, they tied the cat to a stake in the front yard. Periodically, they’d move the stake to another place in the yard. It was the logical thing to do.
I’d never seen that cat before. It certainly wasn’t the cat that crashed my house a few days after we moved in. I was unpacking some boxes in the basement, when I felt something scurry past my leg. Thinking it was some kind of rodent, I shrieked and ran upstairs, only to find a large orange tabby cat reclining on my sofa. The cat had a collar, but no tags, so I just put it outside thinking it would go home. Instead it spent the next six hours meowing on my porch.
My brother-in-law suggested keeping the cat and naming it “Doogie Meowser.” Unfortunately, the cat left before I could get it to respond to its new name.
Still, if I ever got a cat, I’m totally taking my brother-in-law up on that Doogie Meowser suggestion. With a name like that, the cat would be OBLIGATED to become the world’s first and youngest cat doctor, and I’ll be able to retire early and mooch off my cat’s millions. That is, until the cat throws me in the old-folks home. But that won’t happen for years.
Wait, what?
Around six or seven in the evening, the next-door neighbors put a cat outside. It was the world’s fattest cat, and in hopes of fighting the inevitable descent into cat diabetes, they tied the cat to a stake in the front yard. Periodically, they’d move the stake to another place in the yard. It was the logical thing to do.
I’d never seen that cat before. It certainly wasn’t the cat that crashed my house a few days after we moved in. I was unpacking some boxes in the basement, when I felt something scurry past my leg. Thinking it was some kind of rodent, I shrieked and ran upstairs, only to find a large orange tabby cat reclining on my sofa. The cat had a collar, but no tags, so I just put it outside thinking it would go home. Instead it spent the next six hours meowing on my porch.
My brother-in-law suggested keeping the cat and naming it “Doogie Meowser.” Unfortunately, the cat left before I could get it to respond to its new name.
Still, if I ever got a cat, I’m totally taking my brother-in-law up on that Doogie Meowser suggestion. With a name like that, the cat would be OBLIGATED to become the world’s first and youngest cat doctor, and I’ll be able to retire early and mooch off my cat’s millions. That is, until the cat throws me in the old-folks home. But that won’t happen for years.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
This Is Why I’m Not Allowed To Write Articles For Cosmo
In honor of the fact that summer is a mere twenty days away, I'm offering up my top ten tips on staying safe and sane over the next 12 weeks.
Yes, I know I actually wrote a list of summer Do’s. I’m a rebel that way.
- If you are as pasty-white as I am, go ahead and use that extra-powerful SPF5 sunscreen. Red is a good color on you.
- Everyone looks good in a thong. Even your grandparents. ESPECIALLY your grandparents.
- When you go to the beach, don’t worry about the rain. Just bring an extra-big beach umbrella. If the rain turns into a lightning storm, go ahead and plant that giant umbrella under a tree. You’ll be sure to stay dry.
- Bottle rockets are always a good idea.
- Alcohol + bottle rockets is a BETTER idea.
- Wear flip-flops to work. The sound of your shoes flapping on the floor as you travel to the mail room will only demonstrate how proactive you are.
- Home-made potato salad tastes extra-delicious if you leave it in the sun for a few hours. Your guests will thank you.
- Hold your next family reunion at a nude beach. First case scenario, no one shows up out of sheer embarrassment. Second case scenario, people drink a ton of beer in hopes of erasing the memory of this event, or at least going blind. Either way, you win.
- There’s no shame in wearing socks with sandals.
- Crap! You mean I have to think of one more thing? I can’t work under all this pressure. You’ll take your nine pieces of advice, and you’ll like them.
I’m all outta ideas.
Yes, I know I actually wrote a list of summer Do’s. I’m a rebel that way.
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