……Mom/Mechanic

This past week, my job as a rideshare driver has confirmed my belief that America needs to institute a mandatory service industry internship for all citizens. Anyone who plans to eat at a restaurant, shop in a retail store, or take an Uber home from a tipsy evening out should understand what a completely thankless job working in the service industry can feel like. It boggles my mind how rude and completely disrespectful Americans can be to anyone “serving” them.

As a young, twenty something, I did my stint as a server at Chili’s.  I admit I was terrible at it, my fake smile skills are seriously lacking. But it made me a better person and, of course, a better tipper, than I ever might have been. If every entitled Forever 21-er in the U.S. had to spend six months trying to please the un-please-able, I think we’d have a more pleasant country. At least, a kinder nation.

I quit my career as a mechanic a little over a year ago because the hours were too much. You can’t be a part-time mechanic. I understand. People want their cars back. Fifty hours a week plus alternating Saturdays was not earning me any coveted Mother of the Year trophies. Children grow up in the blink of an eye. I was missing everything. I became a driver for Uber and Lyft because I can choose my own schedule. If I need an afternoon off for double Field Day duty, I don’t have to request it. I just take it. That’s the thing I love most about my rideshare job. After fourteen months, there are several things I DON’T love about my job, the worst being repeat conversations! Ugh, almost every passenger I have talks about the same thing- the weather or my job. I don’t want to discuss the rain in Colorado anymore. Trust me, we’re all over it! And if one more person asks me if I like driving for Uber/Lyft, I think my head might explode. Especially because I feel like I can’t give an honest answer without repercussions from my “employers” or in my customer ratings.

A couple of things about Uber you may not know:

1) Tips are not included. If I drive the minimum fare, one to two miles, the ride costs you $4. Uber takes one dollar off of every fare for a “safe rider fee” then they take an additional 20% commission. On a four dollar minimum fare, I make $2.40. There is no tip included. As drivers, we’ve repeatedly asked Uber to add a tip button to the app like the Lyft app has but we’re still waiting……

2) We pay our own gas, parking, maintenance, etc.

3) There is no hourly wage. We keep 80% of our fares minus the $1 safe rider fee, period.

4) Drivers have to maintain a 4.6 rating out of five stars to remain on the platform. Each customer we drive has the chance to rate us. I’m perfectly fine with this but a lot of people think four out of five stars is good. It’s a B, right? If I’m rated 4 stars, it’s a failure. I risk deactivation. The worst is the passengers who rate me poorly because of surge rates or traffic jams, like I’m somehow in control of these things. Actually, the worst is passengers who rate me poorly because I refuse to cram more than four passengers in my car because a- it’s a Forester, not a clown car and b- it’s illegal!!!!! Or the passengers who give me one star because I won’t let them drink their PBR or Silver Bullets in my car. Again, it’s illegal! I don’t really feel like I should be risking my driver’s license for your crappy beverage.

5) Uber has cut their fares 50% percent in the last year, which is fantastic for passengers. We’re almost have the price of a taxi cab but the driver’s have gone from earning $2 a mile down to 95 cents a mile (!!!!!!) with a tiny raise back up to $1.10 per mile (varies per city) Imagine your boss telling you that your $20 per hour job was dropping to $15 per hour then $10 per hour. Then imagine every customer you drive asking, ” How do you like driving for Uber?” And rating you poorly for answering honestly. It’s pretty degrading.

My new “office”

My last few “shifts” have been pretty nightmarish. It started Friday night when I picked up Leah and her equally inebriated BFF. Their pickup location was wrong which is somehow always the driver’s fault but I found them and successfully transported them to the drop off location after fifteen minutes of inane, mind-numbing chatter.

My next fare was a group of foreign women.  They refused to cross the street to the parking lot I was safely pulled over in to pick them up so I had to drive around the block before they would enter my van . (Insert extremely annoyed eye roll) As I’m driving them 1.2 miles to a light rail station ( my favorite kind of $2.40 lucrative fare) my phone starts ringing with the caller I.D. showing Uber passenger. When I’m working, Uber scrambles my number so passengers can call me with directions, etc. I have this contact saved as Passenger. I ask the ladies in my van if anyone is calling me. It’s happened before where I get a pocket dial while driving someone but they tell me it isn’t them. I decline the call because- I’m working, it’s rude, and it’s unsafe. After declining five “passenger” phone calls, I finally pick up. It’s the wasted girls I just dropped off wondering if they left their phone in my minivan. I explain that I’m driving another passenger right now and as soon as I drop them off, I’ll search my van and return their call. They LITERALLY call another seventeen times until I finally reach the light rail station to drop off the perturbed ladies who actually take a minute to search for the lost phone before leaving to catch their train. I thank them and apologize for the 22! phone calls during their ride. Sure enough, my phone is ringing AGAIN. I tell Leah there is no sight of her phone on my floor and suggest she borrow another friend’s phone to call hers so I can listen for ringing. She finds it on the ground where she fumbled it getting out at her destination.  I thank her for the ridiculous amount of phone calls and get on with my clusterf@#k evening.

Next up, I pick up a couple about my age taking their parents out to dinner. I pull into the loading zone in front of their building but the genius landscaper put river rocks out to the curb and the 60-somethings don’t feel like twisting a brittle ankle walking across the rocks to my van so I pull a few feet off the curb to safely load my passengers. Sure enough, Johnny Law pulls up next to me in his DPD vehicle to inform me that I’m blocking traffic with this maneuver. Thanks Captain Obvious, just trying to help out the elderly in-laws, give me ten more seconds… Sheesh cannot win tonight.

The next day , as if Friday night was not trying enough, I picked up a group of five day drinkers. It took me almost ten minutes herding this wasted group into my van. One passenger actually jumped into the front passenger seat over my pretty sizable center console like this is some kind of Dukes of Hazard flashback. The last straggler showed up with an open family-size bag of Doritos and crumbs coating his face.  I pulled into traffic with a bad sense of foreboding. (Surely I can say sure enough at least more time here……) Sure enough! Not two blocks later they spot a sixth inebriated friend in need of a ride at a green light (Natch!) They  throw open my left rear sliding door so he can dive into my Caravan like it’s some kind of freaking swimming pool deep end. Drunk number six is wearing at least a bottle of some hideous smelling cologne and everyone but me (the fuming driver) laughs and plugs their nose at how ridiculous he smells. I get them to their next bar and get out to make sure everyone gets out safely and SURE ENOUGH!!!!!! dumbass Dorito boy dumps the remains of his Doritos all over the back seats of my car. Seriously WTF!!!!! Spike, the ride requester, and least drunk of all these hooligans is mortified and tries to gather cash from his friend to tip me for the debacle. I explain to him he can tip me through the app so he shows me his payment screen where he’s tipping $20 as penance for this mess. I peel out, furious, heading to the nearest car wash to vacuum this mess before I can continue driving. And…….. Sure Enough, that jackass switched his tip from $20 to $5 before hitting submit which I found out on my daily summary. Grrrrrrrr!                                                                                    

I know this sounds like my jobs sucks every day but for every ridiculous or petulant  and obnoxious person I drive, there are at least five rides that go smoothly with people I really like talking to. Like the guy who recognized my Brand New ringtone ( as in Okay I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don’t  not like the opposite of Super Old) leading an awesome conversation about all the times we’ve seen our favorite bands live. Or the mom I drove last night, three years behind me on her parenthood journey with a 3 and 5 year old constantly feeling like a Mommy failure in this ridiculous new world of competitive parenting. We both reassured eachother that we’re doing an awesome job and raising mini humans is tougher than anyone warned us about.

I know this isn’t my dream job. I shouldn’t complain but sometimes a little venting can’t hurt. Besides, my dream job is working at any job part time, enough to pay my bills and have the time to be the soccer Mom I always dreamed of being, (hopefully raising better adults than the Dorito D bag) so thank you for making that possible. My point is, please please please, find some manners, respect, and common courtesy when dealing with your service industry peeps. If you can tip, Tip!  Please rate your drivers fairly, knowing that a four star rating could cost them their job. Try living the golden rule…… and if anyone needs a promo code for free rides!!!! Or a driver referral to try this dream job out for yourself!!!!!

Lyft promo code= DANA2247 5 free rides up to $20 each or sign up to drive for a $750 bonus!

  Uber promo code = k69ug $20 off your first ride

“I’ll keep my eyes fixed on the sun.” -Cage the Elephant

      I’ve been to my fair share of music festivals. This isn’t my first rodeo but Beale Street Music Festival  was it’s own special experience.  We flew into Memphis Thursday night for a free Marilyn Manson show (it’s good to know people Thanks Matt!) and aside from being approximately one thousand degrees in the little venue, he put on a pretty sweet show. I can add Manson to the ever-growing list of artists I’ve seen. I especially liked his covers of Sweet Dreams and Personal Jesus- an homage to our dancing Ground Zero days.

       Cage the Elephant, Awolnation, Flogging Molly, the Pixies, the Flaming Lips, Paramore, Band of Horses and Rise Against were the acts I came to see. They all rocked-

Cage the Elephant with their Jagger-esque lead singer killed it as usual

Awolnation playing all the hits and the bad wolf song I dig off their new album

Flogging Molly with their leprechaun-like lead singer, his amazing wife on flute and violin, plus several hotties      brought a tear to my eye as always with “If I Ever Leave This World Alive”

Band of Horses tore it up with their sexy beardedness

Rise Against gotta love their brand of angry rock, apocalyptic love gone wrong

Paramore rocked more break up songs and women rule anthems

Flaming Lips won the confetti contest per usual and Wayne’s frog costume was especially cute but no Beatles or Pink Floyd covers or anything off Transmissions from the Satellite Heart ( sad face )

    

Lips Confetti-fest

   

                                                                             My husband’s Pink Floyd cover seeking twin

AND The Pixies– Come on it’s the Pixies!  Even with a younger thinner Kim Deal stand in, they were tight!

           It’s awesome to come to a festival and not have any conflicts where I have to choose between two bands playing the same time slot. My hubby was not so lucky, choosing to accompany me to Paramore instead of venturing off to see John Fogerty. He said next time he’d go with Fogerty and we laughed because there’s never going to be a next time Fogerty and Paramore play the same festival at the same time- ship has sailed. Just like I missed Wilco and Ed Sheeran for Cage the Elephant but I wouldn’t really say I “missed” either.

          There were a lot of highlights to this long weekend but I wanted to note a few parts that stood out good, bad, and humorous (at least to me )

— The weather was astounding. They call this month of music Memphis in May but it’s been redubbed recently to Memphis in Mud due to the relentless rain showers and hurricane warnings that plagued this festival. We had nothing but clear skies and sunshine so thank you Mother Nature. Though I purchased a super cute pair of “Festival” wellies (actual company name) they remained in my suitcase the entire stay. Luckily, Denver will have more than enough spring showers for me to wear them.

— Memphis is a special place. I appreciated the southern hospitality we experienced almost everywhere. Maybe in Denver, I’d cringe to be referred to as “hun” but it just works there somehow and sounds endearing as opposed to grating. Also, at almost forty I’ve probably earned the title “Mam” so I took it as a sign of respect instead weeping over my dwindling youth.

— Unfortunately 80% of our Uber/Lyft drivers seemed to have no idea how to navigate their own city. I found myself giving directions multiple times to our drivers. I don’t think the visitor should be explaining driving directions but ridesharing is fairly new in this city so they’re still working the kinks out. My favorite Lyft driver Deanna drove a bright orange bitchin’ Camaro. She was fifteen minutes late picking us up at our hotel because she was busy getting an illegal turn ticket on her way over. She drove us to Southlands, a local casino and decided to come in a gamble awhile as opposed to working. When she pulled into the valet, everyone knew her name like George at “Cheers”.

— We had a lot of food recommendations and we managed to try at least half of the places we intended to. Brother Junipers boasts the “best breakfast in Memphis”. It was certainly delish with definitely the best home fries in the city. Gus’s famous fried chicken was tasty though spicier than I imagined. Central’s BBQ was ridiculously good. So much so that three of us ordered $90 worth of lunch, not that they’re expensive but because we seriously wanted one of everything including three desserts. I’m actually flying home with ribs in my suitcase at my husband’s insistence much to my chagrin.

     The festival food was also pretty amazing.. I’ve been to festivals where beer and wine are the only beverages and pizza, hotdogs, and nachos pretty much sum up your food choices but Memphis did it right. I absolutely won the deep fried food eating contest I somehow personally entered. The mac and cheese was delightful, the red velvet funnel cake with powdered sugar AND cream cheese frosting was decadent and diabetes inducing. Honorable mention to the preposterous eggroll stand selling eggrolls stuffed with chicken pot pie filling, macaroni, and bacon!- some kind of serious stoner concoction that completely worked somehow.

— Our Quality Inn, while being located in some kind of Uber maps black hole, was filled with other out-of-town festival attendees who congregated every night in the courtyard ( directly outside our room of course) that turned into a Mignight in the Garden of Good and Evil after party which my overly friendly chatty husband loved and I , the almost 40 cranky wife not desperately clinging to youth, loathed. Luckily, the AC unit in our room was loud enough to drown out most of the pre-sunrise courtyard shenanigans. Our hotel also had continuously daily roundtrip shuttles down to Beale Street, fantastic because post show Ubers were fleeting and high-surging but dreadful because the return trip pickup location was six blocks from the festival , a long trek after most of us had already walked several miles between stages throughout the day on swollen, often mustard covered feet. Saturday night after the show, when we’d finally made it to the pick up point, patiently waiting for our shuttle to arrive, secreting counting the incoming stragglers and knowing we were getting on the next bus goddammit! a horse drawn carriage (bountiful on Beale Street apparently) pulled up on the sidewalk effectively blocking the entrance to the parking lot. We could see our shuttle bus valiantly cutting through the backed up traffic trying to reach our weary, wasted crew. Fourteen of us watched helplessly as our van tried to turn in causing even more of a jam while this carriage driver obliviously tried to cash out her customer. When one irate man not so nicely asked her to move, she snapped back causing his PETA activist wife to tear into her about the mistreatment of her horse. I feel like I can’t accurately describe how hilarious this was to those of us inebriatedly waiting for a safe ride home but the best part was after she FINALLY moved so the van could enter and load us in, we had to flip around in the parking lot to exit and by the time we reached the street again, she had pulled her carriage forward to block the exit. There was a collective “you’ve got to be f#cking kidding me!” shout from almost everyone on board.

— We spent most of our time in the crowds far stage right near the backstage entrance. After Flogging Molly performed, one of their super cute guitarist (from Boulder no less) came out with a four pack of Guinness and hung out in the crowd with us for a bit which got this fan girl’s heart beating fast.

— One thing new to me in the crowd at Beale St.- people who lay a blanket down in the middle of a crowd of thousands, literally believing that their space should not be trespassed or trampled on. One group actually put four blankets together, covering almost twelve square feet in the crowd like their ticket was somehow different from mine because of their “VIP” blanket, even going so far as to yell at people for stepping on it. This is not a Jazz in the Park picnic people!

       Not that Denver is perfect, but I seriously love my town even more so when I leave it. I love that none of our restaurants or bars are smoking facilities. I love that the majority of tattoos I see at home are great ones and not sad roses or transformer logos. I’d borrow a few things to bring back from Memphis like the sausage&cheese plate appetizers, the close proximity of a Goodwill store to nearly all the restaurants we tried, rum punch drinks with dry ice bubbling like a witch’s cauldron, the strange eggroll experiments from the Gouda Boys food stand and the sense of I’ve-still-got-it ness I felt from the twenty something boy/man hitting on me at the P & H lounge pool table even after he told me he was a “chef” at Red Lobster.  I also love the anonymity I feel in any strange town that grants me the courage at the mike stand in a seedy karaoke bar to belt out Journey and somewhat butcher Black Crowes ( but come on! Hard to Handle IS hard to handle after so many rum punches ) Side note: the extremely enthusiastic plaid-shorted Carlton-esque boy dancing by the stage was a definite bonus.

          I’m writing this aboard my flight home which was delayed over five hours. They let us board only after the maintenance crew spent at least ninety minutes on the plane, after rumors at  the increasingly irate gate of a possible test flight watching our original departure time change from 7:15 to 10:54 finally to somewhere before one in the morning. Our perky flight attendant even thanked us for our patience quipping “sometimes planes need work too”.  Seriously, should we have even boarded this plane!?  Clearly, I’m exhausted and want only to land safely and kiss my children after five days of playing hooky but I can say this trip was astounding, funny, awesome! (and I’m too tired to think of a better word really )

         Like I said, I’ve been to a LOT of festivals. My swollen feet say I should retire the wristbands. My bleeding eyes say if I never see another dipshit in a flowered headband or ridiculously unflattering cut-off shorts trailing threads like tampon strings, it will be too soon. My anger management coach advised me to avoid any show where some stupid girlfriend will try to spend the whole concert on her poor beau’s shoulders like this is not rude to the thousand people standing with two feet on the ground behind her view-blocking high-waisted short wearing fat ass!  But I LOVE seeing bands play live. I couldn’t even pick a favorite this weekend but I’ll always remember Paramore closing their set by pulling one young girl out of the crowd to come onstage and sing a verse with Hayley Williams, belt it out like a rock star in front of thousands of people, some of them her peers who skipped their prom to come to this show. I’ve always dreamed of being a singer, having the crowd sing my lyrics back to me as I rule the stage at Red Rocks where I once walked to receive my high school diploma twenty plus years ago. I loved watching this young girl having the best night ever with Paramore singing-

“Just watch my wildest dreams come true,

Not one of them involving

You…”

         Deliriously signing off as I patiently await the Riotfest lineup and pray for a safe landing in my Mile High city. Dreaming of Milwaukee’s quarter machine foot massagers and my comfy travel pillow conveniently unpacked in my laundry room.

                                                             “I would only lose weight if it affected my health or my sex life,

                                                                                                 which it doesn’t.”

                                                                                                           -Adele

I just returned from a ten day vacation in Florida with my family which is obviously nothing to complain about. The problem was skipping the gym for ten days, staying in a condo with unforgiving full length mirrors and returning home what feels like a thousand pounds heavier.

I’ve pretty much always had a hate/hate relationship with the gym. I wasn’t into team sports as a kid, another only child symptom. I’ve eternally had a serious sweet tooth and love for anything covered in cream sauce so I’ve  been perpetually on the curvy end of the spectrum, far, far from the Calista Flockhart body type.

         As soon as I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I called to cancel my gym membership. Not really cancel, just put on hold during my pregnancy. The gym employee told me I could only put my membership on hold for three months.

         “But I’m going to be pregnant for forty weeks!” I exclaimed.

“You can still work out even if you’re pregnant.” she calmly explained.

Not this girl. By the time Bella was born, I weighed 205 pounds (!) by taking care not to deny myself a single midnight Taco Bell run or any strange pregnancy craving. I was smarter with my second child, only gaining 30 pounds instead of the more than double the “recommended” gain of 65 pounds I packed on in preparation for my daughter, mostly because I realized what an awful lot of work losing fifty pounds actually is! I understand that I’ll never regain my pre-pregnancy body. Like most of us, I wish I took the time to appreciate my 20’s figure while I still had it.

I also understand that I pretty much exercise only to counteract all the delicious crap I eat. I believe life is too short to eat only kale and quinoa so if I have to run one mile for every Oreo, it’s worth it. I don’t prescribe to any of that nothing tastes better than skinny feels bullshit. If only the gym wasn’t such a major pain in the ass!

Reasons I hate the gym:

1)  When the televisions in the cardio area are all tuned to cooking shows. I don’t ever want to watch Paula Deen or her obsession with butter but I certainly don’t want to see food or people cooking while I’m exercising.

2)  All the twenty somethings in their full on makeup. This is 24 Hour Fitness, not Match.gym!

What kind of monster wears false eyelashes to the gym!

3)  Getting on a machine only to find out it’s broken.  Or the clock in the women’s locker room that had the wrong time for three months before they simply removed it. Or the inner shower door handle that has been broken for a year which would take a $4 new fixture and two screws to replace!

4)  The nasty parking garage stairwell that has never been cleaned as long as I’ve had a membership.

5)   Women who can’t dry off in the shower or pool areas and leave a trail of wet spots on the locker room floor and benches.

Apparently, this is how to weigh yourself “soaking wet”.

6)    People who sweat profusely and don’t bother to wipe their sweat off the machines when they’re done using them. Nasty!

7)    The guy on the treadmill behind me open mouthed coughing for thirty minutes straight while I work out. Cover your freaking mouth or stay home! Common decency!

8)   Bringing my children to the “Kid’s Club” only to wait in the hallway until other children are picked up because the club is always understaffed. Especially when I pay an extra $20 monthly for the kid’s club membership.

9)    Women who decide the gym, instead of a coffeehouse or their living room, is the perfect place to catch up, screeching and cackling loudly to each other over their stationary bikes, huffing and puffing, oblivious to anyone else who might be trying to read a book or enjoy a peaceful moment away from their riotous offspring.

10)    Stepping naked and sweaty into their showers only to realize that all the hot water has left the building.

11)    The fact that no matter how many times I go to the gym, half the time I manage to forget to pack something necessary in my gym bag. Last week, it was socks and chapstick on the same freaking day which made for a frustrating workout.

12)   Somehow, the large bathroom stall in the women’s bathroom is always locked with no one in it. I asked at the front desk if someone keeps locking it and crawling under? (So gross to even think about anything but flip flops or gym shoes touching the bathroom floor!) They seem to think the stall door locks itself, if it is shut too hard which is practically impossible. so I’m resigned to using one of the three of tiny stalls where you literally have to sit on the toilet to shut the door.

13)    Just the overall disgustingness of 50+ people sweating together in one place, hawking loogies and dripping sweat from the bimbettes to the roid ragers!

Centipedes on the gym floor!

14)     Last but not least, of course, the goddamn smug pregnant women, glowing instead of sweating, proving to me that yes you CAN (and probably should)  exercise during pregnancy.

Just had to rant there for a minute. Truthfully, I’ve found that the angrier I am, the better workout I have so surrounding myself with all these things that make my blood boil has actually helped me try to stay fit. And while I’d love to be thirty pounds lighter, I also LOVE to eat so I just chant to myself while I stair step or spin:

“Four cheese ravioli,

Cadbury cream eggs,

Au gratin potatoes,

Sea salt caramels.’

Whatever works

“I would only lose weight if it affected my health or my sex life,

which it doesn’t.”

-Adele

          I just returned from a ten day vacation in Florida with my family which is obviously nothing to complain about. The problem was skipping the gym for ten days, staying in a condo with unforgiving full length mirrors and returning home what feels like a thousand pounds heavier.

         I’ve pretty much always had a hate/hate relationship with the gym. I wasn’t into team sports as a kid, another only child symptom. I’ve eternally had a serious sweet tooth and love for anything covered in cream sauce so I’ve  been perpetually on the curvy end of the spectrum, far, far from the Calista Flockhart body type.

         As soon as I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I called to cancel my gym membership. Not really cancel, just put on hold during my pregnancy. The gym employee told me I could only put my membership on hold for three months.

         “But I’m going to be pregnant for forty weeks!” I exclaimed.

         “You can still work out even if you’re pregnant.” she calmly explained.

         Not this girl. By the time Bella was born, I weighed 205 pounds (!) by taking care not to deny myself a single midnight Taco Bell run or any strange pregnancy craving. I was smarter with my second child, only gaining 30 pounds instead of the more than double the “recommended” gain of 65 pounds I packed on in preparation for my daughter, mostly because I realized what an awful lot of work losing fifty pounds actually is! I understand that I’ll never regain my pre-pregnancy body. Like most of us, I wish I took the time to appreciate my 20’s figure while I still had it.

        I also understand that I pretty much exercise only to counteract all the delicious crap I eat. I believe life is too short to eat only kale and quinoa so if I have to run one mile for every Oreo, it’s worth it. I don’t prescribe to any of that nothing tastes better than skinny feels bullshit. If only the gym wasn’t such a major pain in the ass!

Reasons I hate the gym:

1)  When the televisions in the cardio area are all tuned to cooking shows. I don’t ever want to watch Paula Deen or her obsession with butter but I certainly don’t want to see food or people cooking while I’m exercising.

2)  All the twenty somethings in their full on makeup. This is 24 Hour Fitness, not Match.gym!

What kind of monster wears false eyelashes to the gym?!

3)  Getting on a machine only to find out it’s broken.  Or the clock in the women’s locker room that had the wrong time for three months before they simply removed it. Or the inner shower door handle that has been broken for a year which would take a $4 new fixture and two screws to replace!

4)  The nasty parking garage stairwell that has never been cleaned as long as I’ve had a membership.

5)   Women who can’t dry off in the shower or pool areas and leave a trail of wet spots on the locker room floor and benches.

Apparently, this is how you weigh yourself “soaking wet”.

6)    People who sweat profusely and don’t bother to wipe their sweat off the machines when they’re done using them. Nasty!

7)    The guy on the treadmill behind me open mouthed coughing for thirty minutes straight while I work out. Cover your freaking mouth or stay home! Common decency!

8)   Bringing my children to the “Kid’s Club” only to wait in the hallway until other children are picked up because the club is always understaffed. Especially when I pay an extra $20 monthly for the kid’s club membership.

9)    Women who decide the gym, instead of a coffeehouse or their living room, is the perfect place to catch up, screeching and cackling loudly to each other over their stationary bikes, huffing and puffing, oblivious to anyone else who might be trying to read a book or enjoy a peaceful moment away from their riotous offspring.

10)    Stepping naked and sweaty into their showers only to realize that all the hot water has left the building.

11)    The fact that no matter how many times I go to the gym, half the time I manage to forget to pack something necessary in my gym bag. Last week, it was socks and chapstick on the same freaking day which made for a frustrating workout.

12)   Somehow, the large bathroom stall in the women’s bathroom is always locked with no one in it. I asked at the front desk if someone keeps locking it and crawling under? (So gross to even think about anything but flip flops or gym shoes touching the bathroom floor!) They seem to think the stall door locks itself, if it is shut too hard which is practically impossible. so I’m resigned to using one of the three of tiny stalls where you literally have to sit on the toilet to shut the door.

13)    Just the overall disgustingness of 50+ people sweating together in one place, hawking loogies and dripping sweat from the bimbettes to the roid ragers.

Centipedes on the restroom floor.

14)     Last but not least, of course, the goddamn smug pregnant women, glowing instead of sweating, proving to me that yes you CAN (and probably should)  exercise during pregnancy.

            Just had to rant there for a minute. Truthfully, I’ve found that the angrier I am, the better workout I have so surrounding myself with all these things that make my blood boil has actually helped me try to stay fit. And while I’d love to be thirty pounds lighter, I also LOVE to eat so I just chant to myself while I stair step or spin:

“Four cheese ravioli,

Cadbury cream eggs,

Au gratin potatoes,

Sea salt caramels.’

Whatever works 🙂

Mamachanic (Mom/Mechanic) Basic Auto Care – $45.00 Class

As a woman, I know how intimidating taking your car in for repairs can be. I’d like to teach basic car knowledge to anyone who wants to learn- men, women, new teen drivers. Give yourself some peace of mind, driving around in our Colorado winters by learning more about your vehicle.

I’m a ASE certified former VW mechanic and mother of two. My basic car care class will include- how to check fluids, set tires, install a spare tire instead of waiting three hours for AAA, check filters, know what services you really need to keep your car on the right maintenance schedule and make it run forever.

If you’re interested learning more about your specific vehicle I would recommend a one-on-one class.

CLASS DETAILS
Saturday, May 23 2015
11:00:00 AM
Price: $45.00

For More Class information or to Sign Up – Click here

“Oh yeah, life goes on.

Long after the thrill of livin’ is gone.”

Jack & Diane

John Cougar Mellencamp

      I find myself fumbling over the words lately when people ask me how old I am. First, I take a second to ask myself then the words “thirty-nine” just feel so foreign coming out of my mouth.. My birthday recently passed pretty casually as most birthdays do after your twenty first. My last post about the benefits of turning thirty nine was a way to boost my feelings about growing older but I certainly have complaints…..

1) Aches- I awoke this morning with a pinched nerve in my neck. You’ve heard the phrase, “I slept wrong.” How do you sleep wrong? How can I mess up something so basic and necessary, something I derive so much pleasure from? Honestly, I love my bed. It didn’t help to have a seven year old boy sneak in post-midnight to sleep on top of me half the night I’m sure. The fact that I can go to bed and find myself with some new ailment in the morning, I think this comes with age. Trust me, I can do without the aches. I feel like the Tin Man most days, creaking and popping like my oil can is low. Why, oh why didn’t I appreciate my young body before it started loudly protesting every time I bend to tie my shoes or even stand up too quickly?

2) Acne– It’s bad enough to have thunder thighs, deflated boobs, and a spare tire but Jeez Louise am I ever going to outgrow zits? Maybe I should eat less chocolate or somehow reduce stress but I thought pimples were a teenager’s cross to bear. Could I please have a few years of blemish free skin before the crow’s feet and wrinkles set in? Don’t even get me started on the Sahara desert that is my neck skin, constantly dry and flaky. I actually wrote down “turkey neck” on my last pre-facial form. My aesthetician thought I was referring to an actual medical issue then proceeded to tell me there’s no cure before massaging my face full of her best products which promptly made me breakout like a pizza face. I’m sure liver spots are soon to follow.

Liver spot check

3) Low rise jeans- Maybe this one isn’t really a complaint about getting older but can someone please put an end to this ridiculous fashion trend?! Zippers should be longer than three inches. I should be able to bend without half my ass crack showing. Whoever decided to sew jeans that begin three inches below the belly button has never had children and should be forced to road trip with mine! ( Nicknamed the “bicker twins” because of their constant arguing sometimes escalating to blows )  I have been relegated to shopping the “mom jeans” section only, Thank you for abominating something  I once enjoyed doing into a sad errand I will now only perform after a three day fast. Luckily, I can still enjoy shopping for my string bean children. And as a side note, those button adjuster straps in kid’s jeans to keep their pants from falling down, can we get those in grown up pants too please?!

4) Turning into our parents- I know it’s inevitable but that doesn’t mean that I’m not terrified to hear myself (OFTEN) muttering “kids these days” in an exasperated little old lady voice. My husband and I , desperately clinging to our non existent youth, attended a pre-NYE Decadence Ball this winter. We enjoy EDM, ( electronic dance music) though the fact that I even called it that shows how ridiculously old I am. One of our favorite DJ’s was playing so we went to this ball which was basically a glow-stick-swinging, lollipop-licking ecstasy festival. We actually enjoyed a few raves (IN OUR YOUTH) but to walk around the convention center surrounded by saucer-eyed barely clothed  teenagers (18 and over but still CHILDREN!) who are closer in age to my ten year old daughter than me was frankly horrifying. I can only imagine what kind of nightmare the upcoming teen years will be like in our household. I almost ran home to start work on the basement fortress I plan to lock my daughter in if I even see her eyeing furry boots or booty shorts.

         As a girl, I dreamed of becoming the next Whitney Houston. (long before the crack, of course) I spent every last penny of my allowance money at Super Star Recordings, a karaoke-like store in the mall where you could purchase tape recordings of your fabulous renditions of such hits as Debbie Gibson’s Shake Your Love or the Bangles’ Walk Like An Egyptian before copyright Blurred Lines-style lawsuits were even in existence. I used to watch shows like The Voice or American Idol commiserating with the contestants straining to reach certain notes out of their range. Now I relate more to the parents of these child “prodigies” picking up the pieces of their shattered children after an elimination or crying tears of pride watching their young star enchant an audience, I’ve reached the age where I’ve given up on some of my dreams and now only want to help my children achieve theirs and I’m actually ok with that if I could just stop hearing my mother’s words coming out of my mouth.

5) Time flies!- Whether you’re having fun or not. Not only is it mysteriously 2015 but it’s already halfway though March! My daughter is already a decade and my “baby” is turning eight in a matter of weeks. I remember the tortuously long wait for my sixteenth birthday to finally arrive, days crawling by tortoise-like until I thought I’d just die waiting to get my driver’s license. Twenty one feels like yesterday to me. I know, without even blinking, I will wake up as a Grandma one day, hopefully with a kick a$$ hoverboard  (or a-money-money as my son likes to say) and a cushy retirement fund- Yikes! In the wise words of Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Jamo’s version of smelling the roses- he likes to high five the trees

        So here are a few of my getting older gripes. If you have any to add, that I maybe haven’t had the joy of experiencing yet, I’d love a little warning on what else I have to look forward to. Obviously, I’m far too old for surprises. 😛

“I wish that I could be like the cool kids,

‘Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.”

– Cool Kids- Echosmith

         February is a double whammy month for my husband with Valentine’s Day and my birthday happening within two weeks of each other. He always manages to make me feel special. I’ve reached the age where my own birthdays aren’t much of a celebration anymore. Almost halfway to eighty isn’t something I really cheer about so this year I decided to make a list of the positives of turning 39.

1) I’m not a trend victim anymore.

I know better than anyone that no one wants to see my post-pregnancies body sporting  little high waisted shorts. Especially not the super short Daisy Duke style. I also won’t be wearing any silly flower headbands across my forehead. Sure, I fell victim to many fads in my youth including double-rolling my jeans, multiple Swatch watches on my wrist, and extremely crunchy Aquanet eighties bangs  but I’ve matured beyond the age where I feel the burning desire to follow trends. In fact, I know I’d look ridiculous, even desperate trying to. If the trend is something ultra comfortable like Uggs (or yes I even admit Crocs) then I might give it a shot but my days of scraping by trying my best to be cool are over. I’ve traded Wet Seal and Forever 21  for Target. (pronounced to rhyme with ballet, of course) I’ve lost that yearning to fit in or try to please anyone. It’s quite refreshing.

My fashion victim husband wearing my kitty tank.;)

2) Better service

My hubby and I have long considered ourselves “foodies” but the service we receive in many restaurants has finally, dramatically improved. I remember biting into a piece of plastic in my four cheese ravioli once and having the manager explain this was normal because they boil their pasta in plastic bags before serving it. No offer to comp the meal or even a free dessert. When you’re twenty something (or still look it, in my husband’s case) you get a different kind of service because everyone assumes you’re just a young punk with no tipping skills regardless of your homeowner status or credit score. I may not have the angled bob let-me-talk-to-your-manager hairdo that most Cherry Creek cougars sport but I’m not ashamed to expect competency when dining out. If I’m paying $12 for a fruity Mojito, you’d best not take my glass until I’m finished. On the flip side, my husband and I both paid our dues working in the service industry so we know what a thankless,craptastic job it can be.We know how to tip our servers and how to treat them- LIKE HUMAN BEINGS! It’s just nice to be treated like grown ups, where the manager checks on our table because he values us as customers and isn’t secretly suspecting we might be washing dishes later to pay the tab. ( Little side note: To the waitress who cards my fountain of youth husband and not me, bad idea child.)

3) No more guilty pleasures

At thirty nine, I don’t feel like I need to hide my music taste. I’m not ashamed to watch Vampire Diaries. My Valentine’s Day present this year was two tickets to Taylor Swift and while I like ALL kinds of music, I don’t listen to any of it secretly. Gone are the days where I hid my obsession with My Chemical Romance or Ke$ha. I’m not embarrassed to still love George Michael. I don’t have to explain myself to you people. We don’t all have to like the same thing. I won’t hide my Young Adult fiction fascination from Twilight to Hunger Games or my cheesier 50 Shades fandom. Feel free to judge me, but at 39, I refuse to feel “guilty” about my pleasures.

Me, about 13, deep into my Debbie Gibson mania

4) I know who my friends are.

They accept me for my quirks, faults, and bad taste. I spent a lot of years trying to cultivate certain friendships, nursing old relationships back to health like an abandoned garden but frankly, I don’t have much of a green thumb. Some people don’t really need to be in my life. Being in my thirties, married with children, I don’t have a ton of free time so I’d like to spend it with people who matter to me. Facebook is fantastic for updates on all sorts of friends from distant to ancient. I understand there are some people I may see once a year or less so Facebook is great for keeping in touch. I’m not saying those friends aren’t important. I’ve just realized, the older I get, some relationships are toxic or draining or just completely not beneficial and time-sucking and I’m OK not having those types in my life anymore. I know who my true friends are, near and far. I’m much happier with quality over quantity. I don’t miss that acceptance I yearned for in the past.

 

5) No more FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)

In my twenties, we went out almost every night- to dance, to play pool, to drink. If I missed a night in the Park Tavern, I was almost certain I’d miss something amazing. I’d look forward to  Lipgloss all week, certain if we drove up to Summit county on Friday night for weekend snowboarding, I’d miss the perfect song set or bar fight. These days we mostly go out for concerts or dinners, with weeks going by between “dates.” I don’t mind a bit. I prefer Netflix to any crowded Lodo bar with puke-future twenty-one year olds. We usually celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 16th or 17th. New Year’s Eve has become a new tradition of a delicious price fixe menu at one of our favorite restaurants often followed by an evening of board games. Jeez! When did I get sooooooo old?! To be clear, I’m often thrilled by cancelled plans. Having my first child at twenty-eight gave me plenty of time to sow my wild oats. While it confounds me how all this time has flown by, I’m quite content being almost thirty-nine which brings me to my last benefit…..

 

6) I’m not 40!!!!!!!!!!!!!!                                                          yet

“That’s a fine looking high horse.”

Take Me To Church -Hozier

      I’ve been at this parenting game a little over a decade now. Most nights, I sleep all right but there have been several nights I’ve lied awake, mind buzzing with all the mistakes I’ve already made, several instances where I’m sure I’ve scarred my children for life. True, I like to joke about it now and then but I thought writing a list might actually help me to remedy these bad behaviors.

     I realize there are several “failures” I can no longer rectify:

–I didn’t breastfeed “long enough.” I’m not sure who determines the correct time slot but with both babies I had 3-4 months maternity leave before returning to a full time position as an automotive technician at a Volkswagen dealership. There wasn’t a women’s bathroom or locker room in our shop because there weren’t any female mechanics. I had to use the restroom on the dealership showroom floor. I diligently brought my breast pump to work for about a month, dragging it out to the showroom lady’s room various times a day, freezing my milk in the break room fridge until it became too tedious. I began raiding the cupboards in my pediatrician’s exam room for free samples and my breastfeeding days were soon over. Six months tops for both kids, I can hear the disgusted sighs already from the breast milk advocates.

–Second, both my kids used pacifiers. Probably for too long. We weaned my daughter off her “paci” when her brother was born, at about two and a half so at least she wasn’t entering kindergarten with the thing still leashed to her shirt but I can tell you I’d rather pay the orthodontist bills than spend the rest of my life in prison charged with shaking a baby. Those pacifiers were lifesavers LITERALLY! One dentist I spoke to told me Bella’s under bite is something she was born with and not something I caused with our pacifier dependency. I guess you can blame her future years in head gear on genes instead of my poor parenting skills. 🙂

      Not much I can do about bad teeth or lack of nutrient rich breast milk these days but are a few things I can change about the way I parent.

1) I yell– kind of often. I know it’s a crappy thing to do but after saying, ” jackets and backpacks” a thousand times sometimes shouting gets results. I can hear my voice in my daughter’s snotty comments to her brother on occasion and I’d much rather she mimic my better actions.

2) My kids love junk food. I’m not saying I feed it to them exclusively but if my son could survive on chicken nuggets alone, he’d be ecstatic. Ecstatic and FAT! My kids love fruit too so we’re doing something right there. They eat processed foods, bad sugars, etc. They have dessert every night. I’m pretty sure their toothpaste is even bubblegum flavored but they’re both fit and healthy. I don’t want to raise my kids without treats. If  Jamo occasionally has Cool Ranch Doritos for breakfast, he’ll survive. I don’t want to give them any food or body issues by eighty sixing all the delicious, bad-for-you so we practice moderation.

3) My kids are addicted to video games. They watch television daily and they’re obsessed with Minecraft. They’re also both on basketball teams, ski regularly, and my daughter is usually reading at least three books at once. I know some parents don’t allow children to play on the I-pads or I-phones. Some families don’t even own a TV! (the horror!) I’m not one of these parents. Again, we use moderation when it comes to technology. Honestly, it’s a great threat to have if they’re misbehaving to ground them from video games. When they were younger, we used educational apps that taught basic math and alphabet skills. Every Friday  we have family movie night. Sure, we’re all sitting in front of the boob tube together but we’re TOGETHER. I love introducing them to my favorites like Princess Bride or Fifth Element. It’s 2015! I know some parents frown on television or video games for their children but Minecraft is a fantastic imagination tool. I know my kids are learning technology skills I’ll be able to utilize when I’m old and need their help figuring out the latest new-fangled invention.

4) We’ve raised our children pretty religion-free so far. I don’t really believe in most religions. I think it would be awesome to believe someone has this great plan for me and is always watching out for us but I don’t have that crutch. Too many bad things happen all over the world every day for me to believe someone has a reason for all this. Too many religions hide their hatred, judgment, and racism behind their beliefs. Whenever I’m feeling super stressed or overwhelmed, I like to read Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series to gain perspective. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs. My children have picked up on all kinds of random religious ideas from their friends but I want them to figure out what they want to believe in for themselves.The only thing I got out of church when I was young was the feeling of being unworthy. I don’t want that for my brood so I’m teaching them right and wrong and leaving fear and God out of it.

5) I’m pretty bad at following through. If I ground Jameson from videogames for a week for being disruptive in school, I usually make it about five days before I cave. Every night, our bedtime ritual includes story time with Dad and snuggle time with Mom. Snuggle time is my daily one-on-one time with each child. Some teacher in Jameson’s elementary career implemented a “highs and lows” sharing time in her classroom where they would go around the circle, each child naming the high and low part of the day. I’ve stolen this technique and use it during snuggle time as a way to catch up with each child every night. Truth is, most days my “high” IS snuggle time, getting to hug  my kiddos tight and marvel at the funny little people they’re growing into.  Some days, if they’re bickering or misbehaving the punishment will be “half a snuggle” or no snuggle.  My son always asks if he can earn his snuggle back before bedtime and I usually let him because snuggle time is my favorite time but I know following through on my snuggle-free bedtime will teach them to make better choices next time. Follow through is tough but so is being a grown up and a parent so I resolve to work on all of these shortcomings.

      I realize our own parents had their own blunders, roller skating and chain smoking during pregnancy. 🙂 I know a few kids who “drove” on Dad’s lap or rode facing backwards in the trunk of their parent’s station wagon. I try to improve on the last generation’s parenting, by making sure my children have helmets, lifejackets or whatever protective gear necessary for their extra curricular activities.  My children received all their vaccinations. I still let them drink from drinking fountains. I strive to make good parenting decisions but I refuse to bubble wrap them through life.

       I remember before I had children of my own, secretly judging the parenting skills any time I saw a child with a raspy cough, booger covered face, or finger up their nose. Now I fall into the “glass houses” category. Children get colds, Moms can’t wipe faces 24/7 and as much as I complain, I can’t keep my son from eating boogers. I even tell him he’ll get a new freckle for every booger he eats, but he isn’t deterred.  It’s very easy to judge a person’s Mom aptitude when you don’t have your own children. The Mom to Mom comparisons have also gotten out of hand. This is not a competition, there are no medals. To the lady in the Target checkout, with your rolling eyes and loud, exasperated sighs, when my kids are crowding you or bickering in line, I know I’m not the best parent.  I’m working on it so save your sighs. I am my own worst critic so trust me I’m aware of all these mistakes. The dream for this insomniac is to feel confident in my parenting decisions without the worry that comes with raising people. To my fellow Moms, who judge the way I’m raising my brood with sugar, screaming and Silent Hill (just kidding!) without scripture or Satan, regardless of our beliefs, we are all parents, doing our best.

      “Like all parents, my husband and I just do the best we can and hold our breath,

and hope we’ve set aside enough money to pay for our kids’ therapy.”

-Michelle Pfeiffer

 

Mamachanic (Mom/Mechanic) Basic Auto Care – $60.00 Class

         I’m a ASE certified former VW mechanic and mother of two. I’d like to teach a class on basic car care- how to check your fluids, set your tires, install a spare tire instead of waiting three hours for AAA, check your filters, know what services you really need to keep your car on the right maintenance schedule and make it run forever.

          As a woman, I know how intimidating taking your car in for repairs can be. I’d like to teach basic car knowledge to anyone who wants to learn- men, women, new teen drivers. Give yourself some peace of mind, driving around in our Colorado winters by learning more about your vehicle.

CLASS DETAILS

Saturday, Feb 21 2015

01:00:00 PM

Price: $60.00

For More Class information or to Sign Up – Click here