So I came from a very, very small town in WI.  I only graduated with 77 kids, and by my freshman year of high school year, five of those girls were with child.  Yep, let’s say half the class were girls, and at the age of 15, almost 13% were pregnant.  Now I grew up in the house of old school.  My mother was floored when one of the preggies walked up, at 7 months along, and sang the National Anthem before a sporting event (Let’s remember this was 16 years ago).  And I was super shocked when one of the 15 year old mothers refused to give up partying because ‘Just because she had a baby didn’t mean her life was going to change’.  There was sperm and high-class flying all over the 5 mile radius of this town.

So I rediscovered the girl, who wasn’t going to change, on Facebook.  She’s now married with four kids.  Her oldest is 16 (makes me cringe thinking I could have a 16 year old already), but anyway, I guess old school me thought that the other 3 were by the husband.  Well, not so much.  So she bragged about some status talking about her 2nd child’s dad.  Not the dad of the first, and not the dad of the last.  I guess I kind of shrugged it off, knowing the mentality of the town I grew up in.

Then come to find out, baby #3 isn’t the same of #1, #2, and #4.  She’s only been married once, which was to baby daddy #4, so it’s not like were talking children out of various divorces.  It just made me wonder how many Baby’s Daddies are too many?  Am I way too old fashioned to think it’s odd that she brags about this?  I think by Baby Daddy #3, I might be pulling out some colored contacts to make sure #1, #2, and #3 have some qualities that can make it look like one daddy is possible.   Not that I know anything about parenting, but does this kind of screw with kids when they all have different dads?  And then I’m just thinking about the management of custody. You could have three different weekends/every other weeks, whatever the arrangement, that you have to think about all of the time.  Sounds like a lot of headaches to me. 

Sorry Ms. Jackson, this just does not sound like a fun situation, and it’s not one I would feel too proud of to be bragging about.  Call me old fashioned, but I think I could swallow it if the first three kids were a product of three divorces.   Not sure why this bothers me so much, but it does.

On a side note, I’m sitting here watching a marathon of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.  Is it just me or does anyone else wonder why Bruce Jenner participates in the show when it’s named after his wife’s ex-husband?  And it’s not like all the kids aren’t his, two of them are.  I’m just saying…..I feel kind of bad for him and think it should be keeping up with the Jenner’s.

Every neighborhood has the neighbor who knows everything about everyone and tells you things about themselves that you never really wanted to know. Mine lives a couple doors down.

A few years ago I was taking Eldest for a walk and ran into Nosey for the first time. Happy to finally meet another neighbor, I stayed and talked with her for a while. Actually, I listened, she talked. She told me where they had moved from, how her husband was fighting cancer, how old her kids were, and how her shit was purple. Ok, so she didn’t tell me her shit was purple but she told me so much that I felt like she told me what color her shit was.

Then the topic of our fellow neighbors came up, and the fact that some of our neighbors were not white and how she was a bit disappointed. For me, I felt like I was kinda thrown into a weird situation. I’m white but I don’t mind living in a diverse neighborhood. In fact I feel like it is a good environment for my children to grow up in.

So to try and , well, I don’t know what I was trying to do.  All I know is that I started trying to name all of the white neighbors that I knew.  When I mention some neighbors not far from us she quickly shut me down. “No, they are Hispanic, their last name is Romero.”

“Ummm, oh ok. I didn’t know their last name.”

That’s when I realized that she didn’t know MY last name.  While I am blue eyed with pale skin, hubby is dark and handsome with an ethnic last name. THE HORROR!!!

 So to try and save her from saying anything else she might regret when she finds out what my last name is, I tell her straight out. “Well, just so you know. My last name is *******. My husband’s family is from ****** . I just thought you might like to know.”

After I said that, our conversation was pretty much over and I started back on my walk.

That evening I told hubby about my encounter and he laughed his ass off saying that I had now introduced myself as the bitch of the neighborhood. It wasn’t my intention to come off as a bitch. I just didn’t want her to find out a weeks later what my last name was and be embarrassed that she said all of that to me.

I mean shit, she probably got a geography lesson out of it because chances are she had to look on a map to figure out where hubby was from. Plus now she knows that the man working in my front yard isn’t the hired help.

I must not have scared her off too much because she still gives me the juicy gossip whenever I see her. Ahhhh, nosey neighbors.  Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em.

Yep, that topless lady you all were searching for on Google Earth was…my sister…in Fiji…ahem. (I say this as I pace back and forth hoping you’ll buy it.)

Ok.  So you’re a smart group.  I WAS in Fiji last week!  I’ve been holding back telling you where we were staying, and I’m telling you – it was killing me, because it’s funny.  We stayed at the LikuLiku Resort.  Just say it outloud, then you’ll laugh.  It’s kind of like Britney Spears’ song, “If You Seek Amy”.  And here is my trip report:

Obviously, this is where we stayed:

This is what we ate:

This is where we defaced public art:

And this is where, well…it explains itself:

And then we got crabs in our holes:

So we drank coke:

And I proved I could put my toe next to my boob. Proving the reason why I got my toe painted to match my bathing suit, plus I have a nice rack, memba?:
 

I’m hopefully off to see Lulu this Thursday!  I will keep you all updated, as much as she will allow.  Missed you all and CANNOT wait to get my body back into this time zone!

A few Friday’s ago I was on edge.  The kind of edge that if my bangs blew the wrong way just one more fucking time I was going to lose my shit in the Target parking lot.  Yes, that kind of edge.  I don’t really know why, which made me even edgier.  We were getting closer to leaving for Fiji, was I stressed about leaving the kids and the house and the dogs and the cat and The Brother in charge?  Was I stressed because I wasn’t 40 pounds lighter like I wanted to be before Fiji?  Was I stressed that I could not for the life of me find a sleeping bag for my daughter for her first sleepover that I was going to miss because I was going to be in Fiji?

Probably all of the above.

But, this was the evening I was supposed to meet the ever fabulous Twila and Elanah at Crossroads Winery so I should’ve been looking forward to having a drink with my chicks and listening to the live band.  Instead I decided to be Super Mom and color eggs in the free 15 minutes I had before needing to be at said winery.  Then I was going to throw on this slamming sexy outfit that I’d been thinking about all day.  Hello! brand skinny jeans with a halter style red lace shirt, topped off with my cat like black boots with the really up there heel.  And my tan, oh so very nice looking paired with the red shirt.

I came out of the bedroom, my 17 year old son stopped in his tracks!  “Mom!  You look GREAT!  I can really tell you’ve been working out!”  Nice, hmmm, maybe there is something to this Pilates thing.  I round the corner, heading to the front of the house where the only full length mirror exists.  My 14 year old daughter stops on the staircase, “Dang mommy!  You look GOOD!  You have lost so much weight!”  Well, damn, I am looking good!  I think I’ll stick my boobs out a little further as I turn the next corner.  I get to the mirror and I’m all, damn is right , LOOK AT THAT ASS!

Then husband walked by.  I said, “Hey honey!  What do you think?”  And he points towards my shoulders and makes a general circle with his finger and says,

“It’s a bit much, don’t ya think?”

HUH?  I was devastated.  He had just called me fat in the language that I speak.  So I return to the closet, ripping off the red shirt.  I proceed to try on FORTY, I shit you not, FORTY other shirts in effort to find one that doesn’t make me feel homely, fat, disgusting, like my nose is too big, or that my ears are too large for my head.  I ended up in pajamas.  In bed.

Husband realizes I’m 45 minutes late to meet Twila and Elanah and comes into the bedroom, finding me in bed he says, “What are you doing?”  And then I let into him.  How dare he call me fat!  How dare he put me through what was the last 45 minutes of sheer TORTURE!  And now I needed to hang up FORTY shirts!  And he stood there appearing to be blindsided.  “What?”  “What exactly did I do?”  Like I’m going to let him get away with playing stupid.  Oh no, I’m too smart for that. Ahem.  So I attempt to explain to him my issue, and I realize as I’m explaining it that it really is MY issue, but I don’t want him to know that.  This is when I launch off into a big tantrum about how the wine bar is expecting Sabrina!  And doesn’t he realize the PRESSURE it is to be Sabrina!  And I really don’t know how he kept from laughing at me directly.

So I got out of bed and put back on my skinny jeans, but I paired it with a formal Ralph Lauren button down, long sleeve blouse.  And I left.  And when I got there, and I met the Winemaker, John (who I fell in love with instantly), he started showing me shirts they sell.  And they happened to have one that had a wine rack on it and across the top it says, “Nice Rack” in rhinestones.  And guess what!  I changed immediately into this shirt.  I drank my ass off.  Then I dry humped the drum player from behind on their last set.  (Thank you Twila for not putting that video out on YouTube yet.  I will continue to pay you in leprechaun money until you delete it.)

And when I came home I showed off my new shirt proudly to Husband, who then understood what all the fuss was about and laughed at me directly.  And The Boy, who had 2 buddies sleeping over, told me to take my drunk ass to bed.  But not until AFTER I walked into his room and asked his 17 year old friends if they liked my new shirt.

And it was the best Friday I’ve had in a long time!

So I have to admit I had heard so much about Jimmy Buffett concerts, that I always wanted to try one out for myself.  Last year we did get tickets.  However, after missing out on the tailgating experience, and being the only sober person in the venue, I still was pleasantly surprised by the fun I had.

So this year I signed up for not only the concert again, but the tailgating portion too.  I was excited, but I’m thinking I set my expectations just a bit high.  This realization smacked me in the face during the second half of the concert while I was dreaming of aspirin and a cozy bed.   

So the tailgating part…Well I never knew Jimmy and Nascar had so many similarities.  I avoid Nascar events on purpose as I’m not one for RV’s and well, hanging out in campers and RV’s.  I guess maybe I’m getting too old.  Then again, there were people in their 60’s who couldn’t stand up or speak straight.  So I guess it’s not an age thing, but maybe just a preference.

Moving on to the concert which was much like the Twilight Zone.  I settled in, just in time for Jimmy, with my $22 cheeseburger and margarita and was fortunate enough to sit next to a four year old.  Yep, I’m the one who got stuck next to the four year old who cried for his mother for the half hour it took her to go t-shirt shopping.

In front of us were two sets of couples who spent the entire concert sitting and listening to head phones.  I had no idea what they were listening to, until they started cheering for the Mavericks at what appeared to be the end of their first playoff game.  Does anyone else find it odd that they would spend almost $500 between the four of them to sit and listen to a Mav’s game?

Then there was the couple just kitty corner in front of us, who would have made us more comfortable had they just stripped down and started having sex.  Between her hand down his pants, and his up her shirt (at one point, taking off her bra and sticking it in his pocket) allowing us to use our imaginations just became too difficult of a task.  They should have just laid it all out there, literally.

Then there was the dear old crow sitting behind us.  Why was she a crow, you ask.  Well, she didn’t know any of the words to ANY song, and instead of sitting there silently, or clapping, she cawed like a crow.   Yep, 2 hours of ‘CAW’, ‘CAW’, in the most horrible high pitch voice imaginable.   I honestly, can’t tell you what she was trying to do, cheer, scream, pretend she knew the words, I just don’t know.  However, I do know that by an hour into the show, I was ready to seriously hurt her.

So the singing portion of the concert was eh, and the encore was horrific.  It was 15 minutes of the evening that I really wanted back.  I think these musicians just need to suck up the fact that we don’t care about their new songs.  Just sing Margaritaville and Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw for 2 1/2 hours, and we’re happy people.  I don’t want to hear a depressing song about the recession to send me home with. 

At this point Jimmy is did, done, over, and I will say the money won’t be spent again.

Almost all of my closest friends are tall, thin and beautiful. A few are shorter than me but they are still thin and pretty. My friends are the ones that lose all of their baby weight within 2 months plus another 15 pounds because they are breastfeeding. I’m the one who instead of losing weight while nursing, my body holds onto it because it thinks I’m going to be a contestent on Survior and it might need the extra fat. I also just happen to have the friends who never get strechmarks. Me? Well, after carrying two 9 pounders you could probably plan your road trip to D.C. on my stomach. 

I’m not fat, in fact I think I am below what the average size woman wears. But I am also not a person that you would look at and say “Wow, she’s skinny.”  I’m just me, and on me nothing fits. I could take 50 articles of clothing into the dressing room and walk out with nothing. It’s why I make a huge fashion mistake and buy the same shirt in 5 colors. BECAUSE IT FUCKIN FIT! It’s also why I have very few clothes. So, when I received an invitation in the mail for the fanciest wedding of my life, I realized that I needed to go shopping.

For my little shopping trip I decided to enlist my best friend who also has a big event coming up and needed to buy stuff. The plus side is that she is much more stylish than I am, she’s fairly quick when it comes to shopping and she will tell me straight out if it looks good or if I will wind up on the back pages of Glamour’s don’t list. 

The minus… she’s skinny. Really skinny. Like size 2 maybe size 0 skinny. She doesn’t work out, eats shit and is fucking skinny. The downside of her being skinny is that she doesn’t really have boobs where as I have DDs. At least that’s what she tells me. I say just get a padded bra. 

So we could go on our shopping trip baby free, we hired two babysitters to watch the kids and drove off as fast as possible so that we could have an ample amount of time to shop. First stop, Nordstrom’s. Right away I just start racking up the dresses not caring if I like them or not. I just need something that fits. I run off to the dressing room to start trying on dresses while Best Friend still looks. By the time she gets into the room I have already thrown 5 dresses to the floor in anger. Best Friend walks in to the dressing room, tries on a cute dress on sale and what do you know? It fits. Perfectly. 

“Errrrrrr,” I say to myself. “Surely not everything can fit that well.”

I try on another dress and amazingly it fits, and is kinda cute. Then Best Friend tries on the same dress. (In XS) And guess what, it fits. BEAUTIFULLY! Well shit, guess that means I’m not getting it. Could you imagine? My average ass showing up in the same dress as her skinny ass. I think I know who would win that contest. 

After she racks up about 5 pieces of clothing to my 1, we head over to the fancier section to find our dresses. She pulls one dress off the rack, I pull….ummmmm. I think maybe 10. She buys that one dress plus the other clothes, I walk away with no dress and my one piece from the beginning. 

Best Friend is supportive, positive and understanding our entire trip. In fact, she is my favorite person to be around other than my family. But no matter how badly I wanted to shop with her I now realize that I shouldn’t. I just don’t think my ego can take it. I already get frustrated enough when I shop alone, why did I have to throw my skinny friend in to the mix? Why do I ever throw my skinny friends into the mix?

Damn it, I need some fat friends. Or at least some friends with a little bit of meat to them. I need some friends who have stretch marks, saggy boobs, and big hips. Ones who need to try on 30 pairs of jeans and 10 shirts. Who’s boobs pop out of every low cut shirt and don’t even think about purchasing a bra with padding. Where are they?  I need you!

We’ve lived in this house for a year and a half.  We move a lot.  But I think this house will be the one that sticks.

Husband has been fussing about our wood floors for about half that time.  He swears every 5^th plank is bowing up, or has a split, or something, I’m not real sure.  He keeps trying to show me and I keep not seeing it.  I’ve even gotten on all fours and laid my head down and looked left and right to see these “bad” boards.  I’m just not getting it.  But holy Lord does he bitch about it DAILY!

This has resulted in numerous phone calls to our builder.  And the floor company actually came out and said our floors were faulty!  And I’ll be damned.

SO , they offer us a $20,000 check!  Sqweeeeeek!  Oh, but no, Husband insists the floors be fixed instead.  And I’m all like, “But!  Dude!  Do you have any idea what I could DO with that $20,000??”  “DUUUUUUUDE!”  I’m envisioning a little lipo, a retouch on the ole knockers.  Or maybe a new dining room table.

Instead, thanks to the fact that my entire downstairs is wooden floored, I have to move out of my house.  For, like, 14 days.  Dogs have to go to the kennel, and all my shit has to be MOVED.  (Isn’t the $20,000 sounding betta and betta with every word I type??)  And I have a lot of shit , like grand piano kind of shit (Yes, I do have some class.  I do live in Collin County you know!)

And, so, for 2 weeks this summer we have to be out of our house.  This is where you come in, Internet.  What would you do with a family of 5 for 2 weeks over the summer?  Cabo?  Embassy Suites in Frisco??

(I bet you’d take the money and run, wouldn’t you?  If Husband wasn’t so excellent with his hands, I’d be putting on my running shoes, )

With my first pregnancy hubby and I had no problem coming up with the perfect boy and girl name. And of course when our eldest came we gave him the boy name that I had always adored. So when I discovered that I was to have another boy I found myself in a bit of a pickle.

Let me start this journey out with telling you that I was teacher in my previous life.  And if you have ever talked to a teacher, they will tell you that they associate names with behavior. So let’s say little Luke has the worst case of ADD you have ever seen. Guess what, now you will never name your kid that because you are afraid they will turn out the same. It can go the other way too, a sweet kid = sweet name. Needless to say, naming a kid is hard. I’m picky AND I was a teacher.

Finally after months of debates, 5 baby name books and lots of unsolicited advice we came up with our final name. Colby.

Now that I had a name I started trying it on for size just to make sure that it fit.  Yep, I like it.  

Whoa, not so fast Twila. After about a week of me trying it out, hubby breaks the news to me. “Twila, I don’t think I’m feeling it. It’s just so, so, so country.”

“HUH? Ok, no problem, I’m sure we can pick out another name.”

What I really was thinking was, “What the fuck dude, his name is Colby, that’s what I’ve been calling him, and that’s what he’s going to be. And what is this country shit anyways? My teacher friend down in HP tells me that’s what all of her jock students are called. Fuckin’ country.”

Needless to say, I wasn’t letting go.

At the end of that week I was coming back from an evening appointment and sat daydreaming at a red light.  As I was coming out of my daydream I noticed a mud covered truck stopped in front of me.

My first reaction was,” Damn, I thought my car was dirty.”

My second thought, “Wow, those are some REALLY big wheels.  Am I back in the 80s?”

Third thought, as I am looking at the back window, “Hmmmm, looks like they are in the FFA. They still have that?”

Then I notice under the 4 inches of dirt that this FFA truck owners name is Colby. “Oh no, hubby can’t be right on this one.  I won’t believe it.”

Thanks to Twila for finding this little gem on the internet – very funny!

Eye Of The Tiger

Oh Crossroads Winery where have ye been all my life?  Just right up the friggin road is all!

We had the pleasure of being invited to one of Frisco’s hidden treasures last Friday night.  Elanah being the one that eats children, or is it that she doesn’t have children, I forget, anyway , she’s our resident Where To Go For A Drink Without Kids Gal.  She wasn’t quite sure about this place, not remembering if she’d been there or not.  So we went!

I arrived and met John, whom I fell madly in love with instantly.  He’s the Winemaker and boy does he make some wine!  He has this specialty wine that’s a mix of Cabernet, Syrah, and Merlot and it is delish!  I left there with four bottles, and a t-shirt, but you can learn more about that later.

The place is truly off the beaten path.  But once inside you feel transported to California.  There are wine barrels and beautiful lighting.  And I’m serious about the lighting , it’s perfect.  Made my boobs look big and my nose proportionate.  I think we met everyone and the place was packed.  John said it was a little slow, seeing how it’s Easter weekend and all, but I thought the place was just crowded enough for my pleasure.  And, yes, there was a kid there, but I hardly noticed the little snot nose.

I have been formulating this review for a week now and it could be one of the longest reviews I’ve ever done if I don’t just shut up.  It was truly one of my most favorite experiences we’ve tried yet.  We will be back!  Maybe have a Housewife book signing there one day!

If you haven’t been you truly must go!  Jeans and tees are perfect attire and definitely meet John, tell him “Nice Rack” sent ya!

Sabrina gives Crossroads Winery an ecstatic 5 out of 5 Countini’s!

So I had heard about this place before, and to be honest, didn’t hear stellar reviews of the wine. This was when they had first opened, and none of my friends had made the trip back over the years.  I went on Friday, hesitantly, thinking I was going to have to switch to water after slowly attempting to get down the first glass of wine that we tried. 

When driving up, this place doesn’t look like something that’s going to be a pure delight.  However, as soon as you walk into the door, you’re taken into a whole different place, that’s open with wine barrels, a bar, a large seating area, and a spot for a band.  To put it simply; I loved it, and I had a blast.  John, the owner, is a pure treat, and made the experience all the better.  It was great conversation, great atmosphere, and great wine.  This place is a complete diamond in the rough, and would make a great Friday evening out, or a Sunday or Saturday afternoon relaxation.  I’ve already told everyone I know about it.

The wine was actually really good too, and I brought home several bottles.  I shared them at a community event this past week, and they received rave reviews.  I’m telling you, this place is worth trying.  Its fun, it’s something different, and I absolutely love finding local places like this to spend my time.

Elanah gives it five, so extremely full that you need to suck off the top before picking up and taking a sip, Collin Countinis

Finally! A night for us housewives to unwind together.  Last weekend we traded our Collin Countinis in for wine, lots and lots of wine. I dragged my ass all the way out to the very edge of Frisco to enjoy Crossroads Winery.  At first I was a little skeptical, it is on a two lane road far away from anywhere I ever go and it’s in a warehouse.

As soon as I parked I thought, “oh shit, what am I in for now?” But once we walked in, we were warmly greeted by John and his peeps. Sabrina of course was already a drink or so ahead of me so I figured I better get going before she drinks me under the table.  John let me taste his own mix of Cabernet, Syrah and Merlot. DELICOUS! Just the right amount of dry and the tiniest bit sweet.

Soon Sabrina and I were jamming to the live band and enjoying our wine among all of the wine barrels. Once Elanah arrived, we had a few more glasses and then John came over with shots. My heart about stopped when he arrived with them because I still had to haul my ass 40 minutes back home. But John let us know that it was just  a specially chosen wine with a sweet pickled jalapeno. Well fuck, I LOVE jalapeños! So down they went. And as usual, my clumsy ass didn’t get the jalapeno, so what does John do? MORE SHOTS! This time no hands of course. Hmmmmm, not so good at that one either. But man, Sabrina sure is an expert. 

Once we were finished with the Jalapeno shots, John came around with another wine shot, this time containing a cherry. Right as we are about to down them some fucking bitch comes flying out of nowhere and tips my shot over, breaking the glass and pouring it all over me!

Ha, just kidding, I was clumsy again and knocked the shot over.  (But some crazy lady attacking me sounds better. Doesn’t it?) Not a problem, John quickly got me another one to try.

We housewives had such a great time that we shut the place down. Although, not before buying ourselves a few bottles of wine to bring back home. I even brought a bottle to Easter dinner and all of the guests were asking where I had found the wine.

Twila gives Crossroads Winery 4 out of 5 Collin Countinis. I can’t wait to go back.