Teaser....

Today I offer you an exclusive insider's trailer for the sequel to the movie "The Hangover". Oops! Since I am not technologically adept, I am unable to share with you the actual video for this trailer. (I mean...come on... I can't be the ONLY one who has no idea why your iTunes library "dies" with your computer, can I?) Instead, I am going to do my best to give you a very descriptive idea of how the movie plays out....

Maybe you've seen The Hangover...maybe you haven't. Essentially, it's about some guys and a bachelor party gone wild (disclaimer: I can't really speak to the actual nature of the movie, since I was sawing logs less than 5 minutes in on my couch!). That's really beside the point, however, because the director and executive producers wanted to take a departure from the "predictable" and "comical" situations that were portrayed in the first film. Based on exit polls at theaters across the United States, it was clear that viewers were looking for a more "gritty" and "raw" film. Think Leaving Las Vegas meets Intervention meets Jon and Kate Plus 8 (RIP).

You may be wondering how it is that I have gotten my hands on such "top secret" Hollywood inside information. Well, I have it on good authority from my friend, whom we'll just call Lill, that she is going to be the star of the sequel and that this shit is going to be riveting.

So...instead of a bachelor party, this film centers around a suburban housewife who lives somewhere in the New England area. It's winter and, although she'd prefer to just hunker down and watch DVR'd episodes of Private Practice and Modern Family (a MUST see...um, says Lill), the social invitations just keep pouring in. Now, Lill is a girl of somewhat small stature and she's not known for her ability to drink anyone under the table...in truth, her reputation is that she sure can put them away, but the next day, she is forced to face the nasty reality of a mean hangover (thus, the title....stay with me, people.) Oh, and by the way, Lill is a very social creature who absolutely thrives on adult interaction after a long week home with the chitlins, so she is eager and ready when she heads out to spend time with friends or new acquaintances. She promises herself, "Lill...last weekend was a ONE time thing. No need to go crazy with the alcohol. You don't need that shizzle to have fun!" Well intended as she may be, she ends up the next morning praying to the porcelain god, while her children are wondering how on earth the "stomach bug" could have resurfaced to torture their poor mother.

I shit you not when I say that this trailer is kick ass. I have lived, er... seen it. It has all the elements of a huge blockbuster. The score? Well, let's just say it may or may not have been ripped off from Indiana Jones and it is sung, hummed, and whistled by Lill's crazy kids, providing a suspenseful backdrop for the violent heaves that Lill is producing in her bathroom. Precious. Other amazing sound effects from the Foley pit (a term Lill picked up at Hollywood Studios in Disney World, one of her favorite places) include LEGOS being rifled through loudly, the teeny tiny sound of Pop Tart crumbs littering Lill's favorite new area rug, while she lies helplessly in bed, unable to stop the piglets from leaving their breakfast waste behind, and the ridiculously loud sound of some seriously clackety dress up shoes that Lill's daughter decides to wear up and down the stairs.

The gritty nature of this film really comes into view when Lill, sick as a dog, realizes that it may or may not have been a little too long since she last cleaned the underside of her toilet seat. (Zoom in on utter disgust.) She wretches even harder, reaching out desperately for the wet wipes on the back of the commode, hoping to give herself a decent place into which to deposit her spew. Does she make it? Indeed, and the tide begins to turn for our protagonist.

Ultimately, Lill has an Aha! moment and she decides that she may just never drink alcohol again. After all, why does she want to waste beautiful, sunny days, laid up on the couch and praying that she will be able to keep some soup (and a breadbowl) from Panera down long enough to enjoy it. "Weight Watchers, be damned!", she exclaims. The points, at this point, are well worth it. She thinks to herself, I'm sick as hell and I'm not going to drink it anymore!

A word of caution, this film is rated PG-13 for brief nudity, and unmotherly behavior. As always, this film is brought to you by Corona Light and KFC. Hope you get a chance to check it out!

Full Circle

Happy 2010, everyone! By the grace of God, I somehow survived to ring in yet another new year. (Well...technically I was passed out in bed when the clock struck midnight, but let's not get bogged down in the particulars.) The month of January has come and gone almost completely without notice (a good sign, since I hate the winter and the cold and cloudiness in Syracuse just dragged on and on).

Per my modus operandi, I had a litany of resolutions at the onset of the new year, and now I'm down to about two, and those are teetering at best. I am back on the Weight Watchers wagon, although this past week has been fraught with missteps and overindulgence. While I could beat myself up for it or try to excuse my behavior by pointing out the fact that this week included the one year anniversary of my mother's death, I instead have chosen to accept that I overdid it this week, to forgive myself and to move on. There is ultimately no "reason" that I am overweight except for the fact that I tend to completely overdo it with food and underdo it with exercise. The bottom line is that there will always be something to celebrate/grieve/commiserate, etc. and I am going to have to figure out a way to do so that doesn't involve, say, a bag of Doritos or a King Size Snickers Bar (sigh). I am at the place of acceptance and I am feeling like I am moving in the right direction, and I must admit, it actually feels good to be in control. I'm not getting cocky, however....like any other "addict", I realize I am just one chocolate chip cookie away from a sugar binge.

One of my good friends (and fellow bloggers) had posted about a website called FlyLady and how she was striving to finally love herself this year. Immediately, I thought, "Hell, yes! This website is for me." After all, it preaches about not tackling too much at once, and making baby steps in the right direction (mostly related to housekeeping or personal organization). For someone like me, who is a 100 percent black and white thinker, moderation is something I truly strive for and I thought this website seemed like just what the doctor ordered. UNTIL.....My e-mail became inundated with "flight plans" and "challenges". I am here to tell you that the Fly Lady, while she gives out sound advice and a great plan for getting your hands back on the steering wheel of your life, is a bit of a stalker.


So, I had to "break up" with the Fly Lady, because I just felt like I couldn't live up to her expectations and, instead, have devised some simple goals for myself in this year. What I would really like to do this year is to learn to like myself and not rely as much on approval from others (Yes, hubby, I'm talking to you :) for my happiness. I want to read more books, spend less time worrying about things that I cannot control, yell at my kids less, spend less money on and more quality time with my kids, and try to see the positive in my life. (Because, YES. I really, honestly DO know that I have it pretty damned good.)


I've decided that I don't want my eating habits to be the focus of my whole life. Maybe if I obsess less about food, I won't be so crazy about what I consume. I want to be at a point in my life where I am not questioning when "zero point" foods start adding up to points, where I live in fear of a piece of shit scale, and where I value myself for all that I really do for my family and friends. I think I am a pretty good person (NOT perfect), and I know that, when my mom died and we were writing her obituary or her eulogy, not once was her clothing size considered. Instead, her life was measured by the many, many lives she touched and for the love she had for her family and friends. That is the yardstick by which I want to be measured, too and, if I can measure up half as much as my mom, I will consider that a tremendous feat.

So, onward and upward....looking forward to all that this crazy life of mine holds in store. I also resolve to try and blog more often, since it is truly one of my guilty pleasures. Bye for now!

Tis the Season

Well, it's official. The holiday season is upon us, and I have really mixed emotions about it. For all of you who relish the putting up of ridiculous amounts of decorations (that will just have to be taken down in a few weeks anyway), I say "More power to you." To me, it's like doing laundry or washing dishes....a futile effort that is seldom appreciated. As with every other aspect of my life, though, I dutifully trudge through the holidays, Mike's Hard Lemonade in hand, hoping for some divinely bestowed holiday cheer and keeping in mind that, as my husband says, "It's for the kids." Kids who, by the way, want EVERY toy they see a commercial for on t.v., none of which they deserve.

Over the years, I have given up on having great expectations for the holidays. Inevitably, there's always some sort of let down. I have had to say goodbye to my visions of a Norman Rockwell (okay, Pottery Barn) Christmas décor and have, instead, ALMOST embraced the Clark W. Griswold-esque scene that my house becomes. Hell-OOOOOO colored lights! With my kids, the general rule is the cheesier, the better.

Seriously, though....as much as I love to rock out to some kick ass Christmas music, here's what the holidays mean to me:

Shopping loses any sort of thrill that it once had. I went out on Black Friday and spent four hours in the trenches, and came home fairly satisfied with my purchases. The fact that I had to deal with ignorant people is something that I had anticipated, but when more than one dumb bitch got up to the cash register in Gymboree and had the BALLS to ask the cashier to find something in another size (when there were CLEARLY people on the floor who could have found it before she got into line), I nearly lost my shit. Any person who shops during the holidays should follow the basic etiquette....Be prepared when you get to the checkout, separate your items according to gift receipt, and don't engage the cashier in idle chitchat. I definitely don't think that's too much to ask, and it may prevent a homicide some day. I'm just saying.... Oh...also, if you find yourself at the cash register, with a pile of items rung up and your card won't go through, please have another form of payment. If you don't have at least one other option, that is a STRONG indicator to me that you probably can't afford what you've picked out. And DO NOT be rude to the cashier when your card won't go through and she is desperately trying every retail trick in the book to make it work. Put your head down, walk out ashamed, and let the rest of us get our shit and get the HELL out of there. I'm talking to YOU, Old Navy guy.

Inevitably, over the holidays, my husband and I will fight. Over what?, you may ask. Oh, I don't know....let's just say anything and everything gets turned up a notch as the 25th approaches, including tension that normally would be at a nice simmer. There will come a day sometime in the next few weeks when I decide to, on very short notice, invite someone over to our home for a meal or some drinks. Then, the frenzy will take place. I will zip around, trying to make my house an accurate portrayal of how I desperately WANT to be perceived, and in the process I will ask my husband to put up some wall décor or build a wall of built-in bookcases, for example. And I will need it done, say, immediately. And he will be pissed. Little stuff like that.

And let's not forget about the financial anxiety that inevitably accompanies Christmas. Not that I am not blessed to be in a healthy financial place in life, because I AM, but I always worry nonetheless as the total pops up at the checkout. What's worse is that, despite all of the money spent on the kiddos, I always worry there won't be enough STUFF. Ironic, since it's the very stuff I will be cursing out shortly after the New Year, but sadly true. Last Christmas Day, my worst nightmare materialized as the little man was visibly and audibly distraught at the disparity between the amount of presents he received from Santa and the ones his sister got. It was heartbreaking.

Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves as parents to make it such an amazing holiday? I really couldn't say. All I DO know is, it's not all shits and giggles. This is REAL life, where expectations aren't always met and someone's feelings will inevitably get hurt. Some people will be sad, and some will be too drunk, and still others will think it's all about them. So, if I get through the next month and have some good times and laughter with friends, that will be enough for me. It has to be, because that's what the season is REALLY about for me.

Are you shitting me?

Somehow, since becoming a mother over 6 years ago, my life has revolved constantly around the bowel habits of my children. I have devoted (cumulatively speaking) hours to their stools' analysis. How do they look? Are they too firm? Too soupy? Occurring frequently enough? Too frequently? I have wiped more bums than I care to think about and rejoiced when my youngest was finally "potty trained". Looking back, I now realize that my elation was a tad premature and that the potty training experience isn't truly complete until they can wipe their own bums. Until then, I am obligated to participate in every b.m. that happens, no matter how inopportune the time may be. Even as I was typing this, I was interrupted by those words I dread, "Mommy....I have to go poop."

Someday, I am certain that I will look back at my early thirties and recall them as more than the "Bum-Wiping years" but for now, I feel that I am completely and utterly at my childrens' bodies' beck-and-call. I lie awake at night wondering if my children are plotting out how best to sabotage my daily routine with their poo. Without fail, my kids have to go to the bathroom within 15 minutes of arriving to any outdoor park, especially if there are no public restrooms. Case in point: This summer, I set out for a local playground with my kids, hoping to give them some much needed playtime while I caught up with my far-away friend who lives a half mile away. Within five minutes of our arrival, my daughter announced that she had to go poop. Bear in mind, I always ask them to try to go before we leave the house, but I am usually met with defiance. "I don't HAVE to go, Mommy!" And you know what they say about leading a horse to water.....

So, fast forward to my enraged self at the park that day. My friend kindly offers me the use of her bathroom (which is a good 1/4 of a mile closer than my own...critical distance when poop is involved) and so the monchichi and I set off to go potty. My son stays behind, not wanting to miss a moment of playtime. As she settles her sweet little bottom onto the potty, she tells me that, in fact, she doesn't have to go poop. I tell her to try, but she screeches back at me. Unfortunately, I know where this is going. This is the story of my fucking life. I KNOW that, in just a few minutes, she will be urgently telling me that she does, in fact, now REALLY have to go poop. It's all about control with this one, and I have to surrender, which really SUCKS.

But, whatever....no time to dilly dally. My friend is waiting for us at the park, so we head back, me knowing full well that this is not the end of the story. Little did I know that the story would take an unusual twist. Within two minutes of our return to the park, my son informs me that now HE has to go to the bathroom. Pee or poop?, I ask. Poop, he responds. The rage is building.....I tell him to get into the car and, when safely within its confines, I scream at him. "Are you trying to tell me that you didn't have to go five minutes ago when I left with your sister?" You see, my kids have a special knack for waiting until it's urgent. They get their literal anal-retentiveness from me, but not in the good, "I have to have my house immaculate", kind of way. I suffered a childhood of constipation and so my motto is "Better out than in", so I comply and get them to the bathroom ASAP.

But enough about my own bowels...So, my son DOES go (Hooray, Colin!) and then we head back to the park, only to be met by my daughter who (shocker!) says she now DOES have to go. Bear in mind that we have been at the park less than 15 minutes total at this point, 10 of which has been spent in transport to my friend's house for potty usage. At this point, I tell my dear friend (who is super understanding) that I can NOT stay at the park any longer, as I am about to lay a public smackdown on my children for sabotaging MY time with my friend with THEIR bowels. So, we pack up and head back to the homestead where (again...shocker) my daugher does NOT go to the bathroom.

This story plays itself out over and over and over again. It was Clare's theme in Disney World last month. "I have to go poop, Mommy." Then, " I don't have to go." Me: Just try, honey. (because we just fucking raced to the bathroom because I don't want to deal with shit pants on vacation!) Then, (in an unGodly screech) "I don't HAVE to go!". The other mothers in the stalls around us must have either been laughing their asses off or thinking "Thank GOD that's not me."

And so there you have it in a poopy little nutshell....one of the many banes of my existence. I am the victim of a fecal power play that I CAN NOT win. I look forward to the day when I am free from dealing with all of this shit. Until then, I plan to expect the "expected" and to accept the fact that "shit happens."

So...this girl walks over to her car.....

Okay....so, as you are aware, I had the unfortunate experience last week of leaving my car windows open overnight during a torrential rain storm. The bright side of the situation was that the next day was absolutely perfect fall weather. It was in the high 60's, low 70's, and blustery.....just the kind of weather I needed to dry out my sopping mistake.

As soon as I was able to, I headed out to my ride (which we just got this summer), and proceeded to open up every window and every door. So proud of myself, I smugly thought that the evidence of my absent-mindedness would all "blow over" in no time.

Fast forward to later that afternoon when it all of a sudden dawns on me.....I race over to the car, frantically looking for something that, I know damned well in my heart is NOT going to be in there.

A couple days prior, I had gone dutifully to my primary care doctor for my first physical in at least a decade. While there, I casually mentioned that I would be going on vacation in a few weeks and that I am extremely anxious about flying and would the doctor please consider prescribing me just a little something to maybe just take the edge off during my travel? She happily obliged and handed me a prescription for Xanax, with the caveat that I should cut the dose in half at first and try it a few days before I leave to make sure I know how I am going to react to it.

Now, I am a HUGE fan of the show Intervention on A&E, and I've seen more than one disastrous scenario when people are ridiculously drugged up on Xanax and literally falling down...unable to stand on their own, enough so to give me pause before taking it. My doctor also said, "You need to walk this one in to the pharmacy". I thought, "Shit. They must do that so that you will only get it filled if you really need it. This is a serious, controlled substance. Yikes!", but I am willing to try it if it's going to make takeoff, touchdown and any turbulence in between even slightly more bearable.

So, anyway....back to the fateful day in question....So, I frantically text my hubby when I know that the prescription is missing. He had been in the car that morning, filling out a deposit envelope for the bank ATM. Surely, I think, he must have grabbed it. After all, HE'S not absent minded like me. We never worried that HE might leave the car seat on top of the car as he drove away with one of our babies barely clinging to life on the roof.

His response when I ask him if he moved the paper? "What the fuck are you talking about?" My heart sinks. I now realize that, in fact, the prescription (for anxiety medicine, mind you) has literally blown away. I am screwed. I immediately imagine myself calling up my doctor...

Me: Hi. This is Jill. My xanax prescription blew away...
Dr.: Jill....if you have a problem, there are services I can refer you to.....

I also imagine my neighbors, who I just met recently at a block party, finding the paper and thinking "Uh oh....Cuckoo people are moving in on Clover Hill." Then I remind myself that a LOT of people I know are on various meds, and I don't feel so ill at ease. So what if I am anxious? I can think of plenty of things far worse....

So, as I am explaining this rotten scenario to my father-in-law later that afternoon, after giving up all hope of finding the runaway Rx, he looks out the back window and says, "What's that?" I go outside to check, figuring there's no way in hell that it could be the prescription, but it IS. A small miracle at the end of what can only be described as a cosmic joke on ME. I swear to God I am the only one that shit like this ever happens to. And so it goes.....

When it rains.....

my car windows are probably open. Yup. Left them open (much more than a crack) two nights ago as it proceeded to pour all night. I tried in vain to sop up as much of the mess as I could with towels, as I stood out in the continuing precipitation, but finally gave up since I felt like I was getting nowhere fast. As we boarded the vehicle just a short while later, I gave each passenger a towel to place on their respective seat, and we headed off to the movies. It's just my luck! Shit like this ALWAYS happens to me and I'm starting to think it's no coincidence. I'm just saying....

In other news, I just read a stellar book. Devoured would probably be a more appropriate term. Most of the time, I struggle to complete a magazine article without being interrupted by my kids. The book was called Beautiful Boy by David Scheff and I heard about it a long time ago on Oprah. When I was at the library this week, the book was serendipitously placed at eye level, beckoning me to take it home. I did, (along with the true story of Maureen McCormick..I'm moderately embarassed to admit) and for two days, I have been completely engrossed in the true story of a father's struggle to deal with his son's addiction to crystal meth. I forgot how good it feels to be completely absorbed in a story. The fact that this particular one struck close to home made it even more appealing. If you have a couple of days, it's a great read. I'm giving it the Jill Jackson seal of approval.

Things have been moving along here in the hometown. The house is being transformed into a beautiful home. Yesterday, I looked back at some of the before pictures and, to be honest, it looks like a completely different place these days. We still probably aren't going to be in before we leave for vacation in three weeks, but I know in my heart it is going to be well worth the wait once we DO get in.

I am doing a little better myself, too. Two months ago, I was not in a good place mentally or physically. I was in a serious funk and it took the urging of a good friend to get myself some help and I can honestly say that I am feeling better most of the time. I am working out (sporadically, but still....) I am seeing a therapist now, and confiding things that I haven't before, and it's liberating and daunting all at the same time. I have come to the conclusion that I have a serious issue with food.....as in, I eat too much of it and it's more of a compulsion than I'd previously cared to admit. For those of you who know me, this comes as no shock, I suppose. I weigh more than I've ever weighed. The truth is that I eat rotten things, even when I'm not hungry. Chocolate is my nemesis. I feel like an addict much of the time, understanding all too well the irrational binges and giving in to relentless cravings.

They say that admitting you HAVE a problem is the first step to recovery. So there. I have put it out in the blogosphere. It's official. I am struggling. Now, it's time to do the work I need to do to get myself back on track. Fingers crossed....if a kid can recover from crystal meth addiction, this should be a piece of cake. Oops! There I go again! Wish me luck. xoxo, Jill

On the Outside Looking In

Lately, I am a voyeur of sorts. I have sort of withdrawn from the cyber world, evoking comments on facebook to the tune of "I don't think Jill is on here very often....will pass this along to her". Lest you think I have been completely off-site....In fact, I still am checking in now and then on my favorite websites and such....For once, though, I am being more of a listener and less of a squawker. (A real struggle for me!) Please note: For all of you who have been with me physically lately and are saying out loud to yourselves: "Who is this nutcase kidding? When we talk, it's ALL about her!" I admit, it is. I am only a better listener on the internet. Cut me some slack....baby steps.

Tonight, I happened to catch up on two of my very favorite blogs. They are written by girls who constantly make me laugh out loud when I read their witty, exceptionally well-written posts, and they quite literally put a much needed smile on my face today. These are real girls (okay, women) who have a lot on their plates, just like me. They don't wallow or feel bad for themselves (that I KNOW of) too much, and they are still managing to bring a little sunshine to my corner of the universe on a more-than-occasional basis. They inspire me in a lot of ways and tonight, I sit here challenging myself to "think positive" and stop being such a Debby Downer.

I am going to try to stop obsessing over the negative in my life and, like that cheesy tune goes, accentuate the positive. My former therapist assured me that no feeling occurs without a thought first and that, if you can change the way that you think, you can change the way that you feel. So here goes:

I am fucking melting. It is so hot. (At least I have a roof over my head. At least it's not the middle of a lake-effect snow storm.)

My son's behavior is so rotten lately I want to do things that would make Child Protective Services' phone lines light up like a float in the Walt Disney World Electrical Light Parade.
(But he is so cute and smart, sometimes.)

The fact that my clothing is "organized" on a train table in the finished basement of my father-in-law's approximately 1200 square foot 1980's time capsule (read: home) right now really bites. (Soon, I will have a beautiful home. So promises the hubby.)

I am almost 34 years old and I have a massive zit festering right under my nostril and I have SEVERE allergies right now, making nose-blowing an agonizing necessity. (At least my huge canker sore, that is so big its pain is radiating into my ear, is finally going away.)

I am overweight. (That must mean food is plentiful, right? I could be starving in Ethiopia or Darfur or wherever the politically correct place of pity is these days.)

When I went running yesterday, a bug literally bit me right on the ass, even though I was wearing bug spray. (At least I was running when it happened instead of eating a Reese's peanut butter cup Blizzard at DQ, which is what I really wanted to be doing.)

So, you see, there really IS a silver lining. I am just perpetually in search of it. Thanks to my friends who constantly cause me to reflect on my own life and see the good in it, of which I know there really, truly is plenty.