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From Graham Moore to Lady Gaga to Glory, my most prized Oscar moments reviewed

Here we are. The Oscars. You love them. You hate them. You’re above all the Hollywood kiss buttness, or you’ve got a paid subscription to it. Ahem <cough> me. Paid in full.

I love the Oscars. I watch the Oscars like it’s religion. No. Wait. Better than religion. I fall asleep in church (no offense Pastor), but I don’t fall asleep watching the Oscars. You just never know what’s going to happen. And face it, all that spray tan and fashion and cleavage is very eye catching.

Even if you HATED the Oscars this year or HATED the movies this year, you had to love certain moments.

Let me break them down for you.

It might be hard for me to remember that far back, considering the show started 3 days ago and I’m sitting here growing a beard longer than Matthew Maccaughnheyeey’s. DUDE. I can never spell his name without looking it up.

In no particular order whatsoever:

When JK Simmons won his Oscar for Best Supporting Actor and he told us to call our parents. Not just email them or text them, but to call them. Which my mama knows that I am not interrupting my Oscar telecast to call her. Bless her heart. But she’ll hear from me. Probably tonight in an email. That’s okay though. She knows I love her. Did you call your mom or dad?

Then when the director of Ida from Poland won the Best Foreign Language Film and was talking over the music and then the music finally finished but he was still talking. That’s how it’s done! Give the English is a Second Language People some extra time folks. It’s not fair!

Who didn’t love a Lego Oscar statue handed to Oprah during the Everything Is Awesome musical number? I’m sure she knew that was the only one tonight that she was getting. But bravo to her for being the first black female producer nominated.

Okay, I can’t wait. I have to cut to John Travolta and Idina Menzel doing their whole shtick over the “Adele Dazeem” fiasco of last year. BUT THEN, but then John had to go and ruin it and touch Idina’s face! If anyone touches my face I will cut them. I’m sure she was all thinking, “dude, why are you touching my face, there’s like two hundred dollars worth of cosmetics and shit that have been painstakingly placed on here, do not touch my face. Have you washed your hands recently?” Because that is what I would be thinking if someone was touching my face. But props to her for just being a true sport.

And then, and then, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, the best part ever of the whole night ever, ever, in the night of all Oscar nights. Like, even better than any previous years when Adele sang or Beyonce sang, or that cute couple from Once sang, but when the lights came up on the orchestra and forest of trees and Lady Gaga all sillhoutted as a lonely goatherd (just kidding) and she did the whole “The Hills Are Alive….” and she NAILED IT! YES, THAT!

gaga sound of music

All night long, everyone was all, “Gaga’s doing a tribute to Julie Andrews.” “Oh my gosh, how can Gaga do Sound of Music?” “Heaven help us all Gaga is going to sing Edelweiss wearing a Miss Piggy hat” or whatever.

But in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, “Dude, this chick can sing. What is everyone worried about? Tony Bennett has been touring with her and put his career on the line all year doing duets with her. Do you NOT know this?”

And then boom. With the first melodious, “The hills are alive….” the room went <GASP> and jaws dropped, and goosebumps popped up and Twitter exploded, and the universe of Gaga Hating, Sound of Music loving people collided into a rainbow of fruit flavors that was more scrumptious than a bag of Skittles or a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

I just sat back with Emma while the tears rolled down our cheeks and we were all “Hell yes!”

And then, AND THEN… Julie Andrews actually comes on stage and hugs Gaga and you can tell Gaga is all verklempt because this, this, people is DAME JULIE ANDREWS and she’s all “Thank you Lady Gaga for that lovely tribute.” And you’re all, “what the fuck did I just hear?” Because anyone who didn’t like that number is dead to me. Dead, I say.

gaga and julie andrews

And yes, this was after the glorious musical number of Glory from the movie Selma, performed by Common and John Legend. And not to take away from that performance, but everyone knew that performance was going to be amazing. And it was. The set direction of the Edmund Pettis Bridge was fantastic with the people marching, Common coming from the streets in the distance and not to mention their victory speech for winning Best Song when John Legend mentioned the fact that the number of incarcerated black men is more than that of the slaves in captivity in 1850. A disturbing statistic to say the least.

We can’t overlook the fact that two recipients, both the adapted screenplay winner for The Imitation Game and the producers of Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1 for documentary short; mentioned suicide.

The pained and troubled people of this world need a voice, need to be heard. We need to talk about suicide. And God bless Graham Moore who accepted his award with these words, ” I would like for this moment to be for that kid out there that feels like she’s weird, or she’s different, or she doesn’t fit in anywhere. Yes, you do. I promise, you do.”

A movie like Crisis Hotline is needed more than we think. Twenty two veterans commit suicide a day. A day.

graham moore quote

To keep this post less long than an Oscar telecast, I will skip so many details but just gush about Patricia Arquette’s acceptance speech. You know the one where she said that basically all us who have given birth to everyone else deserve equal pay and equal rights. And if you think that’s too political for an awards show then, sorry. I guess you don’t want equal pay or equal rights. Because why not say things at an award show? Heck her character in Boyhood plays a single mother. And she played that character for 12 years. She can talk about equal pay and equal rights.  But what made that moment even more glorious was Jennifer Lopez and Meryl Streep in the front row cheering her on. Because even though those women have a bajillion dollars between them, they know the plight of the everywoman. The woman who gets up to get her kids to school or puts off vacation to save for college, or gets passed over for a promotion or has to fight insurance companies for birth control coverage. They know. So yeah, preach it Patricia.

meryl and jlo during arquettes speech

Eddie Redmayne’s portrayal of Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything deserved every inch of that win and the gold statue that he dedicated to victims of ALS around the world.

Julianne Moore FINALLY won an Oscar. This dame has been nominated like 22 times and always gets edged out. But finally, she got her glory. And like a true talent and gentlelady she is, made sure to give honor to the Alzheimer’s community and the recognition they deserve.

So maybe you hated the movie Birdman that won for Best Picture. Or maybe you loved it. I think we can all agree that just because our favorite picture doesn’t win an Oscar that year doesn’t mean we need to give up on movies, or award shows in general. After all, there’s still enough entertainment, humanity and gosh darn inspiration to get us to keep coming back for more. Right?

Like my friend Sandy says, “I don’t always like the movies, but I appreciate the gifts and talents that create them.”

And that my friends is my Oscar recap. Join me again next year when maybe I will have attended the show itself. I might post a selfie with Benedict Cumberbatch if I do. Mark my words.

 

 

 

 

 

I tried Bullet Proof Coffee and it was gross

photo from www.freestockphotos.biz

photo from www.freestockphotos.biz

Picture me scrolling through my feed on Facebook. I happen to come upon all this chatter about coffee that makes you lose weight.

<sound of record screeching> Back up. I can drink coffee and lose weight? Hell yes! Can I have a scone with that too? No? Damn you!

If you’re having a hard time keeping up with all the food trends, Paleo, Raw til 4, juicing, caveman, lemon water…. don’t worry. So am I.

I’m trying really hard to lose the 20 pounds or so I’ve packed on in the last 3 years while blogging. Yes folks. Blogging makes you fat. If I had taken up farming, or bowling, I probably would be a supermodel by now, but no. I decided to sit on my couch with cups after cups of tea and write about laundry and cat puke. It hasn’t done much for my derriere.  Except make it flat. And wide.

So when I saw all this stuff about Bullet Proof Coffee is great to replace your breakfast, give you loads of energy during the day and forget you need to eat so the pounds magically melt off (I added that part) you can pretty much bet your flat bottomed dollar that I’m going to give it a try.

The Bullet Proof Coffee or BPC recipe is as follows-

Take organic non-GMO, only harvested during the full moon fair trade coffee beans, or Folgers. You pick.

Brew a nice strong cup of joe. Instead of adding your usual, you know, Coffeemate, Half and Half, Splenda, whatever shit you put in to coffee to make it taste good, because dammit, coffee doesn’t taste good black. It doesn’t. Just sayin’.

Take a tablespoon of grass fed unsalted butter and plop that in the hot coffee. This is important. Don’t use Country Crock or I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, or even just regular butter, the grass-fed aspect of this is important because it’s what gives the butter the aminos and nutrients, blah blah blah, that give the coffee its bullet-proofness.

Take coconut oil. Pure organic of course. A tablespoon will do. Plop that in the hot coffee too.

Watch in disgust as the two make an oil slick not worthy of drinking and start dreaming of a nice foamy latte.

Don’t give up yet. This is where you either put it in a blender (nobody got time for that) or take a little hand mixer or hand held frother (that is not a sex toy) and whiz it up in your cup until you’ve emulsified the fats with the coffee.

Now drink.

If you don’t gag first.

You will feel an oily slick on the roof of your mouth and your lips will feel coconutty soft. This is an added benefit. But also an aspect of this that might catch you off guard because it will feel like you’ve been in a pork chop eating contest instead of sipping your espresso.

Now the beauty of this whole concoction is to give you a great coffee buzz while buffering your system with the fats for the coffee to be absorbed and divvied up through your system over a longer period of time. You get a high and a fullness without all the calories of breakfast.

Like most things in our great country, people have decided to do this with vigor and gusto. Tell people that putting butter in their coffee will help them lose weight and you’ve got them drinking Venti sizes of the stuff.

Not so fast bitchachos.

Just don’t forget to actually eat. You know. Food? The stuff that gives you vitamins, nutrients, sustained energy, antioxidants and actual calories to burn? Yeah that.

To be honest, I wanted to like this. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t get over the butter slickness of the beverage. Yes I blended it but it was still like an oil slick down my throat. And I couldn’t get over the weird feeling of being jacked up on fat and caffeine. It gave me a headache.

If you love this method- by all means- go for it. I’m not putting anyone down who does it. But if you’re curious like me and tried it and didn’t like it, then now you know you’re not alone.

 

 

Jump on in, the water’s fine.

 

frugalista blog jump on in the water's fine

You’re standing on the edge of the high dive. You look down. It feels like 50 feet, but it’s only 15 feet. Your palms sweat. Your breathing staggers.

You back up and climb down the ladder! Holy shit, I’m not jumping from that high!

Don’t blame me if I wouldn’t jump off of a diving board, what with my fear of heights and the fact that I don’t like swimming? I can’t handle it!

But I did do stand-up comedy last weekend, which is practically the same thing.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m a theater major, I perform all the time. What’s the big deal?

The big deal is I’VE NEVER DONE STAND-UP!

Sure, I’ve hosted MamaCon, hosted BabyFest, performed in plays, made my zany YouTube videos; but nothing compares to winging it in front of a live audience trying to be funny, hoping you hear laughter and not quiet cricket chirps.

And to be fair, how does one measure their success performing in front of an audience? Laughter? Applause? Because I heard both. Maybe folks were just being nice. Or they were drunk. So, job well done, right?

Sounds good to me.

I think though what means more to me is how I did something that would scare a lot of people shitless and I lived to tell the story. Some folks handle snakes, some folks jump out of an airplane, ride their bikes off of a ramp, whatever for a thrill. I’m starting to think that performing in front of an audience is my mid-life crisis antidote. It’s the cocaine upper to my every day ordinariness. I like it. I hate it.

When I’m asked to do something, I usually say yes. If I’m asked to address an audience, I don’t scare off easily. If someone asked me to sing the Star Spangled Banner at a Seahawk’s game I would be scared and say no. There’s only so many talents in my wheelhouse!

I met Joanie with Spilt Milk comedy two years ago at MamaCon. She said that one day I should come to Portland and perform with them. SUUUUURE. I can do that.

So back in November, a Facebook message with Joanie went something like this:

Me: Why haven’t you asked me down yet to Portland?

Joanie: I thought you were busy and didn’t want to. How about January?

Me: January? As in for real?

Joanie: Yes. January. We have a Friday show I could use you for.

Me: What should I do?

Joanie: Anything you want.

And then I decided that I wouldn’t just read a blog post like I had done at some other events. I would do some stand up. Like talk to the audience and make them laugh. And then I would put on Spanx. In front of them. On stage. Because somehow, THAT’S easier than telling jokes! I know, I know. I’m weird. What’s the big deal? It’s not underwear. It’s Spanx.

I spent my days and nights running through what I thought was funny, in my head. I muttered to myself while walking the dog. I talked to the mirror alone in the bathroom while blow drying my hair. It’s a process folks. The creative process is complex. I’m sure this is what Sarah Silverman goes through each time. Before she lights up her cannabis pipe, right?

Sometimes, I would lie in bed with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling while a cold sweat prickled my skin. WHAT WAS I THINKING? I COULDN’T DO THIS! I would yell inside my head. Not outside my head, because James was sleeping next to me.

There was that part of me that wanted to give up. The part of me that was my lower descending colon that would gurgle and bubble every time I thought about trying to get up in front of a crowd just to ‘be funny’.

But I’m no quitter! Who’s a quitter? NOT ME!

Is that from the movie Rudy? I don’t know.

Sometimes what we fear most, makes us stronger and free in the end. I read that on a motivational poster at the KINKOS I went to in the 90s.

I picked a wing man. You know, a buddy that would support me. My wing woman Betsy joined me for the 3 hour drive and split a hotel room with me for the night. She’s been a huge supporter of my blog and books since day one, and I just needed someone to tell me honestly if I sucked but in a nice way while bringing me a soy latte. Or tell me that she peed her pants and she thinks I’m the funniest ever.

I love that when we got to the hotel room that afternoon with a couple of hours to spare before the show, she let me go by myself for a tea at the corner Starbucks and get my thoughts in order. She may not be a performer, but she gets ‘the process’. Some may think a shot of whiskey would have been good for the process, but honestly, I needed to be sharp.

I’d have a gin and tonic before I went on stage anyway. And lots of french fries. Why is it when I get nervous I want to eat?

The intimate little bar held about 60 people. There was a little stage, a microphone and a stool. We even had a green room. You know, the space between the dining area and the restroom backstage. Like all performance venues!

I was to go after Nikki Schulak. Nikki does readings and is a humorist. She always cracks me up. Her book, “My Mid-life Thong Crisis” is a hoot. There’s some body hair and dimpling involved. I like that Nikki read about diets and Prozac and eating her way through Europe.

I decided that during her set, I should probably stand up and get on deck. I felt my legs wobble. Was I capable of this? I mean, what the hell was I doing? I didn’t have anything written down. I had a few jokes that I felt packed a bit of a punch. Hoped they at least would giggle. Maybe snicker under their breath.

So up I went with my package of  Spanx and nerves of steel.

I threw out a couple of labia jokes and used a few choice phrases, and oh my gosh- they laughed!

I won’t spoil it for you. You can watch the videos here.

When I was finished, I felt like I climbed fricking Mt. Everest! Tired and winded? Sort of. But mostly exhilarated. I did it! I faced my fear and I did it!

You know what? It felt fucking awesome.

I might do it again. We’ll see.

What ladder to the high dive will you climb?

Is there something you’re afraid of but really want to do? Do it.

Just fucking do it.

frugie blog in spanx

 

 

 

My dirty little secret

Why is this hard for me to admit? I have a secret. And it’s literally a dirty one. And I’m not saying ‘literally’ incorrectly in this case. Like, it’s legit dirty. I’m a sucky ass housekeeper. I thought I was okay, but I’m not. I am so not okay.

my dirty little secret by frugalista blog

Here’s another thing that’s hard to admit. We hired a housekeeper. This is a twofold emotion. 1) I feel amazing euphoria about the idea of someone cleaning for me and then coming home to what looks  like magic elves worked and made my house sparkle. 2) I feel enormous failure at doing what I’m supposed to be doing as “homemaker” and I feel terribly self conscious about my filth.

Apparently I don’t feel awful enough about reason #2 for it to make me forget reason #1 and just do the work myself.

You see, I thought I could handle it. I can’t. The cleaning part, I mean. I dust sometimes. I clean bathrooms, sure. And I’ve been known to clean my shower naked (settle down), but scrubbing baseboards, wiping door knobs and cleaning under the stove? Those are all foreign to me.

How am I supposed to feel when poor Marta (names have been changed to protect identities) picks up my electric stove burners and there’s crusted, charred food remains? I was walking by her to get a glass of water just as she did that. I gasped. I told her I was sorry and didn’t know that those things could come out. Well, truth is, I did know, but I think something happened that caused me to have amnesia about it, because I haven’t done that in well over a year and never in that year even thought to.

This is after she’s taken over 2 hours to clean what I thought was the ‘clean’ part of my house. The living room where no one goes in that just has our Christmas decorations. I figure, what’s a little bit of dusting and vacuuming? She cleaned the blinds, the light fixtures, polished the piano… it exhausts me just typing this. I never saw her stop and check her Instagram or sit on the couch with a donut and coffee.

Which face it- is what is primarily my house cleaning problem. I’m like a two year old and I get easily distract… OH look, something shiny!

See?

Or Doug in the movie Up, I just can’t seem to….SQUIRREL!

I haven’t been diagnosed with adult onset ADD but there’s a slight possibility I range on that spectrum.

I’m pretty sure Marta passed her non ADD quiz with flying colors because I left for the store and 30 minutes later she was still scrubbing that stove. She doesn’t get distracted but continues with a job until it’s done. Even this blog post took me several hours to write because I kept getting interrupted. With my mind.

Apparently she does take water breaks. I offered her some because I didn’t want to look like a complete asshole while I sat on the couch with my laptop, and she said she brought a water bottle she drinks from. Well, THAT makes me feel SOOO much better. Considering while she worked, I sat on my couch, drank a Starbucks chestnut praline latte, ate a piece of ginger bread loaf and then later for lunch had a burrito. I am the worst white mom cliche of the burbs if there ever was one.

In my sheer mortification over the messy state of my house, when I thought it was clean mind you, I went upstairs to start cleaning my bathroom before she got to it. I had picked up all the junk and bottles and lotion and shit, around the bathtub and the counter, but I was feeling terrible. Now this probably is not even a dent to the clean that was to become of my bathroom. And yes, I know you’re thinking, “so you paid someone to come clean, but you cleaned first?” Yes. Yes I did. Now maybe in two weeks when she comes again, I will not pre clean, but just let her go to it and it will be done lickity split because it won’t have 10 years of crud stuck to it.

When she was finished, things sparkled. Blindingly. I couldn’t even see my shower doors and almost walked through them.

Who are these magic cleaning people? Are they even human?

Now I understand when I go to someone’s house and I see how spotless their home is. They must have magic superhuman cleaning people.

My dusting and scrubbing is sub par to Marta’s. Which begs the question, “What do I do all day?!”

If she was paid in how many times I apologized or told her to just ‘give up’ on a particular area already and move on, she would be dripping in Ben Franklins.

But the beauty in all this, is not just to cast a light on my horrible housekeeping that would make Ma Ingalls shudder in dismay, but to motivate myself to be better. I want to be tidier. I want to keep things clean. My kids do too. We’re just lazy about it. Now we’ve got a great start and motivation to see things how they should be, and to maintain instead have to completely overhaul.

Oh, and just for the record, I’m never cooking in that kitchen again. It’s too clean to mess up.  I can see myself in the reflection of the appliances. Amazing! And I can’t bear to sit on the couch because there’s vacuum track marks along the upholstery. Have you seen such a site?

 

Say what? The world’s chocolate supply might run out by 2020. A call to arms.

At first Emma told me casually like it was the weather report, “Hey mom, did you know that the world is running out of chocolate.” She could have easily been saying, “did you know it’s going to be 50 degrees out with partial clouds” based on the tone of her voice. As if, life can go on casually.

Trust me, I kept my cool in front of her. I didn’t panic. I barely registered in my head what she had just said. Probably because I was checking Pinterest and Instagram at the same time while waiting for the oven to heat up for my batch of brownies.

But like a good mother, I didn’t convey my panic. It wasn’t until the kids went to bed and I googled that shit for myself. What in heaven’s name is she talking about? That sounds as ludicrous as when she told me Iggy Azalea was just a white girl from Australia.

So yes. It’s true. Scientists think we can run out of cocoa beans by 2020. Folks- that’s only in 5 years. Leading manufacturers of chocolate, Mars Inc. and Barry Callebaut say that over consumption and problems in farming have reduced us to this crisis. Apparently the westernization of China has caused them to eat more chocolate. The Chinese can be blamed for everything- lead in our toys and now the world’s chocolate shortage. Thanks China.

If you think you’re prepping for a zombie apocalypse, maybe you should be prepping instead for a chocolate apocalypse. (Typing apocalypse is hard.)

What’s a chocolate apocalypse (fuck, I need a new word) you ask?

Let me draw you a picture- half the world’s population rely on a certain product to get them through a certain time of the month. Now take that half and say that 20 percent of them are under the age of 10 and 30 percent of them are over the age of 60 (I have no clue, I’m just throwing out stats here people), then we have 50 percent of PMS aged females who will be wondering the earth for chocolate. They will have torches and pitchforks and heat pads and Pringles and it won’t be pretty. They will search the earth while carrying DVD copies of Steel Magnolias and The Notebook under their arm and they will be crabby.

That’s at least 40% of the world’s population (again, just making this up) desperate for chocolate.

Sure we’re worried about the bees dying, and Ebola, and polar ice caps melting, but this- this is serious folks. Do you know what this means?

Nutella will just be hazelnut spread. And that sounds disgusting.

Reeses peanut butter cups will be just peanut butter cups. Not as delicious at all.

Oreos will be only the cream filling.

No chocolate chip cookies. Just oatmeal ones or snickerdoodles.

Nougat will be considered acceptable.

No chocolate Easter bunnies.

Chocolate fondue fountains will run dry and rust.

No hot cocoa. You might as well float those marshmallows in just some hot water.

M&Ms? Forget it. Extinct.

What will Professor Lupine give Harry Potter when he sees a dementor?

If Willy Wonka were real, (Johnny Depp or Gene Wilder, you choose) I would appeal to him to unearth some kind of magic cocoa bean supply. I would hope his Oompa Loompas would be the foot soldiers to this cause.

And the problem is, we can’t stock pile chocolate. Because that’s gross. I’ve tried. It’s unpleasant.

Chocolate will be the new drug trade. Empires will rise and fall. Tourists will be kidnapped in Swiss villas for their advent calendars.

This is serious folks.

We need to save the chocolate crops now. I don’t want some scientific GMO frankenchocolate. I want regular chocolate.

So China- listen up- back off the chocolate. Everyone- we need to ration this.

If we keep calm and don’t go crazy, perhaps the cocoa bean farmers will be able to catch up to our demand with their supply. Maybe 5 years is enough time to sound the alarm and solve this before it’s a problem.

Can we do this? I think we can.

KEEP calm and save the chocolate by frugalista blog, world chocolate shortage, humor

If Kim Kardashian can break the Internet, so can I

Actually DID Kim break the Internet? I know she sure tried.  When one posts a naked booty shot all greased up, it kind of gets folks’ attention.

When I first heard about it, I totally rolled my eyes into my head. It was all over my Instagram feed and it didn’t take long for the crazy captions to start.

That Kimmy sure knows how to get our attention!

If you haven’t seen it yet, you’re probably wondering what the heck I’m talking about!

Wait for it…. Trust me. I’ll get there.

My first thoughts whenever Kim does something like this is ‘oh puhleeze, She’s always trying to get attention.”

And then, a light bulb clicked on.

“I’M ALWAYS TRYING TO GET ATTENTION TOO!”

I mean, right? I post goofy selfies, I promote the books I’m in, I put up YouTube videos. I write sponsored posts. I have a big posterior.

I haven’t gotten a perfume deal or a TV show, or even a million followers on Instagram, but I have gotten free curling irons, dog food, gift cards and Poise pads.

See? Me and Kim, were totally the same. Sort of. Just trying to make a buck.

And now, presenting how Kim #BroketheInternet.

Trust me, if my UPS man came knocking that day, he would have gotten a surprise.

I think I can say #frugiedismantledtheinternet

Noticed her oiled physique and my pasty dimpled one?

See her tiny itty bitty (photoshopped) waist, and look at my muffin top- they’re like twins.

Maybe I can get a champagne company to pay me to put a glass on my booty shelf like she did. You’ll have to Google that image, I’m too busy sitting here promoting my Amazon Affiliate store.

What am I thinking? I’ll be lucky if a toaster pastry company wants my booty in their ad. Well, it would be truth in advertising though.

Looking good Kim!

Kim Kardashian breaks the internet, frugie dismantles the internet, parody, spoof, humor, frugalista blog

 

Thank you to the talented Kim Bongiorno of Let Me Start By Saying who did my graphic!

 

Conversations with old married people

Effective communication is the touchstone of a good relationship. Listening to what the other person has to say. Actually hearing their words and not just spouting off when you want to hear yourself speak, but actually letting the other person tell you what’s on their mind.

Sometimes it takes a teenager to point out what you might be missing in this area. Sure, you’ve been married 17 years, your daughter is only 14, what could she possibly know? Apparently she just has better hearing.

It’s Sunday evening. We’re both with blankets on our laps, laptops on those blankets and on separate couches.

 

Me while sipping peppermint tea, shouting to McSweetie in the other room: “You can come in and watch football now. I’m done with my show.” (That show happened to be Les Miserable.)

McSweetie: “That’s okay, me and the cat are here napping.”

Me: “Why are you taking a nap at 8′oclock at night?”

McSweetie: “I’m norphn nea bate gluck”  (I don’t know, I couldn’t hear him.)

 

Emma walks in.

“That was the dumbest thing between you two just now. When you asked dad if he wanted to come in and watch football he said, ‘I’m hanging out with the cat’ and then you said something about taking a nap, and then he said ‘what time is it? It’s 8 o’clock’.

“You guys are the worst old people and you’re not even that old.”

Oh didn’t you know? Forty is the new seventy.

40 is the new 70 by Frugalista Blog

 

Study says a study about labor pain is the douchiest dumbest thing ever

What if I said a study says that a man getting his balls chopped off isn’t as painful as men claim?

SAY WHAT?

That’s preposterous! I can’t even imagine. I mean, that would be terribly painful. Well. Now don’t get me wrong. It hurts. But ask the man 2 months later and he’ll say maybe he’ll have forgotten the pain.

Or, let’s say he pushed out the Hope diamond from his urethra and didn’t get any pain meds and he might say that it hurt like a mother fucker, but later he forgot the pain once it healed.

Where am I going with this?

Yesterday I read a ridiculous article with the headline, “Study says child birth pain not as painful as women claim.” I’m only linking to the article so you can see how shit it really is. And maybe it’s not the article so much as the study itself that is complete shit.

frugie blog and the study childbirth not as painful as women claim

Let’s look at that shall we?

Child birth pain, not as painful as women claim.

SAYS WHO??

Who the fuck says that?

Women claim? Claim? That seems to suggest doubt. We ‘claim’ to have pain. I mean, maybe just a smidgen. I claim to have seen Bigfoot, but did I really see Bigfoot? I might claim to have once been able to do a back hand spring on the balance beam when I was 15. I might claim I can sing the entire Grease soundtrack by heart.

These CLAIMS may or may not be 100% true. But I’m not ‘claiming’ I had pain during childbirth. I’m shouting it from the mother freaking mountain tops that it hurt like a beast. A mother fucking Johnny Cash Ring of Fire beast.

When you look up the definition of claim it reads:

“an assertion of the truth of something, typically one that is disputed or in doubt.”

Further in the article it reads that the purpose of the study was to see if epidurals were helpful for moms.

See, this is what pisses me off.

Why are we always having to bang down the door for our own worth? We have to fight for birth control, for pain control, for equal pay. I am sick and tired of it.

Like Dee Snyder of Twisted Sister, we’re not gonna take it anymore.

Let’s hear from my panel of experts:

“Everyone always says that childbirth for a woman is like the pain of passing a kidney stone for a man. I have passed two kidney stones and two babies. The gigantic bloody howling bowling balls passing out of my body were way worse. Just sayin’.” – Ellen from Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms (who is a retired DOCTOR by the way.)

“Illinois woman claims that childbirth felt like a flailing rhino was ripping through her body wearing her vagina as a party hat.” Kerry from HouseTalkN who birthed 4 – 10 pound babies! (Not all at once, we won’t give her that much credit.)

“I thought my uterus was going to explode from the pain. It became one giant contraction. Labor had stalled and I didn’t know if I would pass out from the pain, need a c-section, or if it was possible to actually die from pain. The baby’s heart rate was hovering at a danger zone. When they gave me the epidural, I immediately felt warm and relaxed and within 40 minutes I went from 3 cm to 10 cm and delivered my baby girl.” – Me.

Pain is a personal experience. It’s subjective. You would never tell a combat veteran how his pain ‘claims’ to be measured. Pain needs to be honored and respected. It scars us. My painful experience of labor was etched in my cortex for months and months. It brought me to dark places when I was left quietly nursing my daughter, or suffering from a sleepless night. It caused layers of underlying fears and thoughts of inadequacy that haunted me months after my initial post-partum recovery.

I’ve worked through migraines and broken limbs, endometriosis and back injuries throughout my daily life. I’ve never relied on narcotics for these. Does that make them not painful? Less painful? No. It is how I process the pain. It is how I perceive the pain. It doesn’t make it less real.

Pain is not quantifiable. Sure we ask someone to rate their pain on a 1 to 10 scale. It gives us something to measure it in order to treat what they are experiencing. But what a 4 is to one person, could be a 9 to someone else. It’s based on subjective factors like experience and emotion, mental state, fear, lack of fear. Whatever.

Studies like this don’t help women. It doesn’t help our cause for men in lab coats to  try to determine how painful we ‘claim’ child birth is.

I don’t know what it’s like to get kicked in the balls, but I believe a man when he says it’s his worst pain. Is it worse than childbirth? I kind of doubt that. But it’s a severe horrible pain.

Professional soccer players get kicked in the goody sack several times in their career, it doesn’t stop them from playing. Nor does it require 6 weeks postpartum recovery, maxipads the size of Volkswagen Beetles and perineum bottles of warm water every time they use the bathroom.

“The researchers … called the moms twice, two days after birth and again two months later, to see if they used the same pain scale and provide an overall evaluation of her labor pain. The results show the women rated the process less painful two days after their delivery than they did when the researchers asked them again two months later.” (shit study from stupid researchers)

Well gee golly whiz. We actually forget our pain. Yes, this is true. It’s our body’s coping mechanism. It’s why you need a few years between each kid for the amnesia to set in. What happens when a woman is 6 weeks post partum or 12 weeks post partum and finds out she’s pregnant? She cries. That’s what. Because it is no fucking fun.

It’s beautiful, it’s amazing and I love my babies, but it hurts. And that’s not a claim. That’s a fact.

Am I making myself clear?

 

And just for laughs- let’s watch this video and remember how funny it was to laugh at these guys thinking women exaggerated everything.

The deformity I didn’t even know I had

Ladies- you thought your muffin top was a problem, wait until you start obsessing over your banana roll.

Banana rolls are a thing by Frugie Blog

photo credit Vox Efx

What’s a banana roll? Well, contrary to what you might think it is not the latest Pinterest treat to enjoy with your pumpkin spiced latte.

Although that does sound tasty.

It is the latest body obsession that we can thank bodacious babes like Nicki Minaj, Kim Kardashian and Iggy Azalea for. In the year of the butt, which let’s face it folks, has been every year for me, (ahem) we not only want to power out our lunges but now we can surgically take our upper thigh fat and place it in our booties. Well, not ‘we’, but plastic surgeons can.

A banana roll is an ‘unsightly’ (gasp) roll of fat just under the butt cheek. Because butt cheeks are made of fat. Duh.

Let’s just sit on this for a sec. Big butts are in. That’s cool. I always have appreciated a Kardashian backside. I will watch Keeping up the Kardashians just so I can feel better about my proportionally larger posterior.

But(t) not only are big butts in, a certain kind of ass is in. A large, perfectly round ass that has no folds or flaws that sits atop skinny thighs. Because THAT’S realistic (sarcasm font). A lollipop of a butt on a skinny leg. If you tell me that all of this is obtained WITH a thigh gap, I might have to punch someone.

What’s a thigh gap? Never mind.

The problem with celebrity culture bringing out ‘trends’ in body type is people become obsessed with unreal objectives.  These objectives achieved with plastic surgery, in the form of liposuction, that could be dangerous or reverse itself over time, aren’t worth it. Y’all know that Nicki Minaj got butt implants right? That’s not even her real ass! So if you’re trying to undo your banana roll with just your normal non-bionic butt, you’re probably not going to get the results you want in the first place.

According to the UK’s Daily Mail, some surgery clinics have seen business triple when it comes to sucking banana rolls from women’s backsides.

Well, it’s comforting to know the ladies of London have just as much insecurity as the rest of us. Geezus.

What is wrong with a flat ass? There’s a whole continent of folks with flat asses.

Let’s all mourn for the poor thing that thinks her butt is ‘deformed’ that posted her question on realself.com. The picture she posts shows a perfectly formed booty in my opinion. Nothing deformed about it!

You’ve read my rantings about body image before.

I can only handle so much the media, celebrity culture, and superficial masses are dishing out.

You’re thinking, “Gee Frugie, why not just shut up about it, ignore it and go on with yourself?”

Aww, where would the fun in that be?

Folks. I will not be getting lipo for my banana roll. Sure, it’s a stubborn bump of fat that sits under my butt cheek. Guess what?
You know what else is under my butt cheek? Cottage cheese.

Not like the real cottage cheese, but the proverbial dotty clumpy cellulite cottage thigh cheese. Yes, so pretty, I know.

I have been doing lunges and squats like crazy lately. Not because I want some pop star booty, but because working my glutes is a major muscle group that burns calories and gets my heart rate up. Plus, it makes my legs strong if I have to squat over porta potties in an emergency. I got me some serious butt game, no surgery.

I like to think of my body as a buffet; from my chicken-wing arms, to the muffin top cupcake fold in the middle, the now-labeled banana roll and of course, cottage cheese thighs.

And guess what- it’s all delicious THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

 

 

Motherhood is hard. You Have No Idea

Sometimes at the fork in the road of motherhood, you see your toddler thrashing about the floor in a tantrum, raging over a denied cookie. You think back to when they were tiny, helpless infants. That was easier right? If only I could follow that other path into a time machine, go back when it was simpler.

Oh, that’s called Mommy Amnesia. An actual Web MD condition. Okay, not it’s not. You just think it was easier then. It wasn’t. Remember the midnight feedings?

You think it’s going to be easier when they’re older. It has to, doesn’t it?

But what happens when you turn over your keys to your 16 year old? That’s as hard as crowning during childbirth!

Oh “YOU HAVE NO IDEA”.

All the stages of motherhood have been covered in this video. Tell me what stage you relate to most!

This video was created for the loving promotion of Jen Mann’s book People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Competitive Crafters, Drop-off Despots and Other Suburban Scourges

Frugalista Blog in the video You Have NO Idea