So there I was at work, not bothering anyone as usual, when my phone rang. I answered it and had the following exchange with the person on the other line (and yes, my tone was extremely bitchy): Read More »
If you’ve been following my adventures you know that my husband, Mr. Rizzuto, likes it when I talk dirty. He’s been encouraging me to explore my inner-romance novelist. He even gave me the outline of a story, which I will recount here:
I’m minding my own business taking a shower when the bell rings. I hurry to answer the door and find Orlando Bloom on my stoop. His car has broken down and he wants to use my phone. I let him in, one thing leads to another (at some point my towel falls off) and Mr. Rizzuto catches us in the act. Mr. Rizzuto is angry, or not. He’s leaving that part up to me.
This is an historic occasion, faithful reader! I give you my first stab at cheap romance. (Actually, this is more like a screenplay. It just flows better that way, work with me.) Read More »
So yesterday before I left for the holiday festivities I got the bright idea that I should wash dishes. I got to thinking about my grandmother for some reason (it wasn’t Thanksgiving related) and the next thing I knew I was bawling uncontrollably in my Palmolive. This was strange because my grandmother died in 1979. I guess I’m not over it yet.
Today I had to continue the battle of wits with my unarmed opponent (the Department of Motor Vehicles). Mr. Rizzuto decided that he had to get some work done around the house and that I should take the baby with me. I told him that I couldn’t possibly take that savage to the DMV with me, but it was all to no avail. You can guess how it all turned out.
So I spent the better part of today on the verge of tears and wanting to be a widow. We made up, but I feel like I’ve been through the ringer today.
If you’re so inclined, please take this opportunity to tell me how awesome I am. And feel free to c&p comments from other threads on other websites where I’ve asked for pity before. Thank you for your consideration.
My nine-year-old son and I were just watching Seinfeld and doing the Elaine dance around the living room. You know, the one where she sticks her thumbs out and bounces around like she’s having a seizure? It reminded me of what I’m thankful for this year.
This summer the Rizzutos were on vacation at a large northeastern amuesment park. At one point we decided to get on one of those huge plastic slides, the one where you have to slide down on a burlap sack. While we were waiting in line we were talking about our previous trips to amusement parks. My son reminded us of the first time he went on one of those slides when he was little.
“I was scared to go down,” he said. “Then Mom saw me and she climbed up and went down the slide with me.”
I didn’t remember that at all, but it made me feel good. My parents would never have done something like that with me when I was his age. Not that they were bad parents, they just weren’t…what’s the word…? Fun. They weren’t fun.
I’m glad I’m not the kind of parent that’s too uptight to go down the Big Slide, and I’m thankful that my son remembered that, of all things. Because he could have remembered some other stuff that I can’t blog about.
I’m going to go lay down now. I think I hurt myself doing the Elaine dance. Happy You Know What.